Return to Mexico II

[Note: If you want to read this chronologically, start with the previous post - if you have not read it already]

When we returned to Mexico at the end of August, my father had indeed moved out. Stories emerged from people we knew that told of various times my father had been spotted over the years with other women. We all felt confused, betrayed, emotionally wrought. I cried, I yelled in my own quiet space, and I withdrew into my dark, quiet, and tumultuous world. At the same time, I built up a facade. One where I could smile and say that I was doing ok; one where I could try to confront the challenges of becoming an adolescent. This mask was built on denial. I never admitted to anyone what was going on with my family. When friends stayed over and asked me where my father was, I would say that he was on a business trip or that he had gotten an apartment closer to where he worked because it took to long for him to commute during the week.

My mother after overcoming the shock of what had happened began to attempt to salvage her marriage. She began attending counseling and asked my father to join her. He half-heartedly went with her a few times, but that did not seem to lead to any form of resolution.

Ironically, my sister and I saw our father more after he had moved out than when he lived in the same house. He would come over to visit in the evenings and he would take us places on Saturdays. I never really enjoyed these visits because there was a swelling anger in me towards him. What bothered me the most was that he would not tell us where he lived, nor would he give us his home phone number. He had a pager that we would call when we wanted to get in touch with him.

After some months, the routine became normal. Or at least it seemed that way. I was a mess inside, but I felt like I needed to continue with my life or at least try to. Instead of confronting the demons that where eating me up, I chose to ignore them and deny their existence. I think the whole family took this approach. My mother held out hope for her marriage and an eventual return of my father. She did not want to alienate my father by pushing for a resolution. My father, on the other hand, seemed content with the situation, despite the familial chaos he had caused.

And so things went on for over a year: my father growing more content with the status quo, my mother’s hopes vanishing, and my self-esteem plummeting. Until someone else spoke up to shake up the situation and foster in a change...

I will get to that next time.