A Cliché or not a Cliché — Life is a Struggle

And surprises us

We all know the cliché that life is a struggle. We’ve probably all tried it on our backs.

Sometimes we think everything is fine and… bam! Life contradicts us. It brings a shade of gray or even black into our daily lives to remind us not to relax too much.

When I was young, in my late twenties, I felt so uncertain and alone. I had just finished a two-year-long relationship with a man who… was a true example of selfishness. I knew it was the right way to act and to leave him, but I was alone.

Then, I found a better job — well-paid and perspective. I met my husband and was sure he was the right man for me.

The first year of our marriage wasn’t the best because of… interference from relatives in our personal life, but… we managed to go through this. The same year, we lost our first child. Things were closely connected, but I do not want to blame the others. It was our fault because we were still young and did not know how to set boundaries.

But these are other stories…

We overcame the problems. All seemed calm and nice; we were happy, then our son was born, and we lived almost neglecting the “super concerned” relatives.

A phone call came one early morning.

The number on the screen was unknown. The man who phoned called me by my maiden name and said he was the mayor of a certain municipality. I knew where this town was. I’ve been there several times.

The mayor said that some people had found my father dead, lying in the garden of his mountain villa in a village about 20 kilometers away from that town. The mountain village was in the same municipality.

First, I felt nothing.

He wasn’t a good father. We had almost no connection, and I hadn’t seen him for more than five years. I did not know where he was living. He came to see me and his grandson some years before that day and then disappeared.

He disappeared because he did not get what he was coming for. This was money. Some cash to pay a debt. He had many loans. All the time he complained about how his life was not good.

I gave him a small sum to put some fuel in his old car, and he went away.

The last thing he said to me was that I had disappointed him. Yes, he dared to judge my life choices; regardless, he never cared about me. He was never next to me when I needed support. He did not come when I graduated from high school or university.

These things were not important. Nothing was significant except for his desires. He never cared about his children’s or his wife’s feelings. He never cared if we were healthy, unhappy, or alone.

But I was terrified when I felt nothing hearing about his death. I was terrified because of myself, not because of the news.

No matter what, he was my father. Blood is thicker than water. But I could not command my feelings. They did not exist.

He died the way he lived. Alone. He needed nobody for long. He wasn’t a family man. I knew he had several lovers. He did not even hide this.

In my country, people say that about the dead, we should talk simply about good things or… nothing.

Here I am talking about myself and my expired feelings.

The mayor told me that someone should go to him and take care of the formalities. He meant that a funeral should be arranged. It was obvious — these were my sister and me.

We were at least his daughter.

Our husbands accompanied us both and helped with the formalities.

I felt so sad, not because of his death but because of my sister and me.

I know, all funerals are sad. This was sad in a different way. We were just a few people on it. My father pretended he had many friends. It wasn’t true. No one but us sent him on his last journey.

I hope he rests in peace there, in this mountain village.

Life is a struggle for all of us. Some scars are forever. They are invisible, but they exist.

All my life, I try not to act like my father. Deep inside, I was afraid of repeating the pattern. I was afraid that genes might prevail.

Before, I felt some guilt. Could I do something to change things between me and my father?

Then I remembered how all the time he was away. I remembered his disapproval. I remembered how we fought every time I disagreed with him. I remembered his shouting. I remembered the slaps that made my cheeks burn.

None of these things were my fault. He was the adult. It was his responsibility to protect us.

He never did it.

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