Loving The Man I Wanted To Hate

Becky's POV

My dad was an electrical contractor running a small firm with about fifty employees. Business was good, and we lived in a modest bungalow in a middle-class neighborhood, Wendy, my younger sister, and I attended good school. Then, in February, all that started to change. 

“Dad, what is it?” I was alarmed. I just returned from school, exhausted, only to meet my dad clutching his chest.

He stared at me gasping soundlessly.

I immediately knew he was having a heart attack. I called emergency services, then my mother.

I hung up and turned to my father and began performing CPR. Help finally came and he was taken to hospital.

He was wheeled into the ED, while I sat worrying in the waiting room.

Would he be okay? My Mom came in. “What happened? Where is he?” 

“A heart attack. He has been taken to the ED,” I explained, getting up to hug her, but she brushed me away and sat down.

“Tell me what happened?” She demanded.

Sighing, I sat beside her, and explained everything.

“I am sure he will be okay, mom.” I tried to reassure her by placing my hand on hers. 

She removed her hand in anger, then got up and went to get coffee.

I sighed again. 

I didn’t know why mom hates me. She and my dad loved me when I was younger. Maybe because for ten years I’d been their only child. Then Wendy had been born and all that had changed. She had suddenly become hostile, and nothing I did was good enough anymore. Wendy was now her favorite. My Dad’s attitude never changed though. He continued to shower me with love, and we became very close.  

The doctor walked up to me.

“Is he okay? Please tell me he is okay,” I pleaded tearfully.

“He is stable now,” she assured me.

“Was it a heart attack?” I asked.

“Yes, but he is okay now. He was lucky you were there.”

My Mom came to join us. “Is my husband going to be alright?” She asked.

The doctor repeated what she had told me, then added, “He will be able to go home in a couple of days.” 

“Can we see him?” my mom asked.

“Sure,” the doctor replied.

My dad looked fine, only tired. He smiled at me. 

“Dad!” I went to hug him. “Thank God you are okay.”

“Thanks to you, sweetheart.” He hugged me.

“Leave him to rest,” my mom spat harshly.

“It’s okay honey, I’m fine,” my dad said.

“No, you are not, you work too much. The doctor says from now on you’ve got to take it easy,” my mom told him. “The business will be fine; you need to rest.”

My dad was discharged a few days later, but refused to reduce his work load.

In March, he suffered a stroke. He was in hospital for months, then was sent home. My Mom looked after him by day, and I took over at night. It was hard for me, but I loved my dad, and did it gladly. Just when it seemed he was getting better, he suffered another attack.

***

I stared into space. My dad was gone.

My mom sat beside me. As usual, her attention was focused on Wendy. I might have been invisible for all she cared. I looked around the auditorium, most of the mourners were my father’s employees, and a few of his friends. 

People at the funeral service were rising. I rose too, and we all went to the graveside.

The tears started up again. I had been crying since my father died, and had thought by now the tears would have all dried up, but I was wrong. I bit my lips and looked around for my mom and Wendy. I saw them a few feet away. My Mom had an arm around Wendy’s shoulder. I walked over to them hoping to have the other arm around my shoulders, but when I stood close to her, she wrapped both arms around my sister. I felt colder and lonelier than ever.

“Are you okay?” 

I turned. It was Jenny. She put her arm around my shoulders.

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak, glad that she had come.

“It will soon be over,” she assured me.

Finally, my father was led to rest. I could hear my mom and Wendy weeping. My tears fell softly.

By Friday afternoon, I was still brooding, but slowly coming to terms with my loss. I was in my room on my phone, searching for colleges I could apply to, then I heard my mom driving in. She had gone to see my dad’s lawyer to discuss his estate. I heard her come in and went to welcome her.

“Welcome back mom, how did it go?” I asked.

“Where is Wendy?” she inquired, ignoring my greeting.

“Next door with a friend,” I said. “Is anything the matter, mom? What did the lawyer say?” I asked, worried by her tensed expression.

“Later!” she snapped, and went into the kitchen.

I had a foreboding: very bad news was coming my way.

And I was right. After dinner that evening, I received it.

“I was with the lawyer today,” our mother began, as we all sat in the living room, “and the news isn’t good.”

We stared at her anxiously.

“Your dad got into a lot of debt. We are going to have to declare the company.”

“What! How?” I couldn’t believe it. I knew business had been bad after my dad had a stroke, and the hospital bills had been huge, but I didn’t ever think things were that ugly.

“I have not finished,” she interrupted, “the mortgage hasn’t been paid off.”

“Meaning?” I asked, knowing exactly what it meant.

“The bank is going to foreclose!” My mom declared. 

I was shocked. 

“There must be some mistakes,” I whispered. “Dad must have left something. He said he would make sure we went to college. He must have left us something.”

“Well, he did not!” She said harshly. “The lawyer and I have gone through everything. We are bankrupt. So you can forget college.”

“So dad couldn’t keep his promise?” Wendy asked sadly.

“It wasn’t his fault, sweetheart. The illness took a lot from us,” she told her gently.

“How much time do we have?” I asked.

“Till the end of the month.”

Wendy swallowed nervously, “Eighteen days!”

“So what are we going to do?” I asked.

My mom stared at me as if I were a pile of bird droppings.

“We are not going to do anything. Wendy and I are moving in with my sister till I decide what to do. You sort yourself out.”

I stared at her, and repeated her words, “Sort myself out. How do you mean, Mom?”

“What I said. Find a place of your own. You are twenty years old, already an adult. Start acting like one.”

“But mom, how am I to do that? I have no money, no job-”

“Then get a job. You are an adult. Figure it out yourself. Enough of freeloading! Take responsibility for yourself.”

“Let me stay till I get a job,” I said, hoping she wouldn’t decline.

“Wendy is my responsibility, you are not. If I were you, I’d get a job, and fast too. You have eighteen days.” She stood up. “Come on honey, it is time for bed.”

She took Wendy’s hand, and they left me sitting there.

First, my dad was gone, now my home is going too.