Recognizing love without words

Whenever the thought of my dad comes up, the words that come to mind are: Hard working, Family first, Hard childhood, Alcoholic.

Most people who have a parent as an alcoholic have anger/resentment towards that parent for the dysfunction perpetuated around the alcohol. My younger siblings certainly do have that emotion, but for me, as the oldest, I remember my father before he dived into the bottle. I remember my father as the words above I have described, with alcoholic as the last word to describe him. To me, my father was always loving in the way he took care of his family. He taught me a few especially important standard operating objectives: Work hard and family first.

Patrick O’Connor was born in Kerry, Ireland in 1921 to a poor farm family. As was expected in their culture, the oldest son inherits the farm, so he is the one who leads management of family farm of sheep. My father, being the second oldest son, was given to my grandfather’s brother, my father’s uncle, to work off a debt my grandfather owed to purchase additional land for the farm. My father was handed over to live with his uncle as an indentured servant when he was only 10 years old. He lived in a barn and was treated as a slave. We don’t know specifics of what happened to him there, but we know, when he was drinking and he would mull over in his mind, he would say “Unspeakable things were done to me.” He never expanded on what, but as adults we came to believe he was molested.

When he became old enough to determine he had enough, at about age 16, he just walked away one day. He walked, across a mountain range to get back home to the family farm. When he arrived, his father was furious as the debt had not yet been paid off. He told his father “The only way I will go back to that place is in a pine box.” When his mother heard this, she insisted he was not going back. His relationship with his father was never repaired. My father worked on the family farm for a few more years and then became a hired hand for other local farmers.

While in his early 20’s he decided to move to London, England. He felt, even with a war going on, there was more opportunity there. His sister Molly was already living there. He worked construction, specifically, helping to build what is now Heathrow Airport during the war, and had several near misses of bombings and near-death experiences. He stayed a few years trying to get his number drawn on the lottery to go to New York, USA. He had an uncle who would sponsor him and one of his younger brothers was there as well.

When he got tired of waiting for his number to come up, he moved to Montreal, Canada where another uncle was, and he was able to live there and work construction. Because of its closer proximity to New York, he was able to cross the border to visit his family in NY. Finally, in 1950 he was able to move to New York, which is where he met my mother at an Irish dance. Her parents were also immigrants from Ireland, and she lived in an Irish neighborhood in Manhattan.

They married in 1952, and I was born in 1955. After visits to Albany NY to visit his sister Bridie who had now also immigrated, had met, and married another Irishman, Jim, that they liked the Albany area. Jim, Bridies husband, had been sponsored by an uncle in Schenectady, and was able to get a job in nearby Albany. My parents decided they did not want to raise a family in Manhattan. So, my father came to Albany to find a job. My mother, pregnant with me followed soon. I was born in Albany.

To my father, he was now living the American dream, but because he only had an 8th grade education, he never felt he was good enough, but he continued to work hard to support his family. Every 2 years another child was born until there were five of us.

He was never one to give advice or say I love you. That is not what he knew of parenthood. My mother was the family manager. My father’s job was to provide, which he did, sometimes working two jobs. Even though he started drinking heavily after the birth of the youngest two, who were twins, he never dipped into the money for his family. We believe he worked a second job; to give him drinking money.

My mother was overwhelmed with having to manage five children while being married to a man who would drink from the time he came home until he went to bed, and on weekends. After he did whatever he needed to do around the house, he would have late afternoon “happy hour” until he passed out.

For me, the shame, the challenges, and difficulties came from my mother as she constantly complained about his drinking and became a bitter victim of it. She decided it was my job, as the oldest, (Irish custom) to help her take care of the younger children. She was angry all the time and mean. This was more traumatizing to me than my father’s drinking.

As I became an adult, so much anger started oozing out towards my mother and I stayed away from seeing them for a while. During that time, I never heard from my mother, but my father would always come to visit me at least once a week and keep it on the down low from my mother. I always felt loved by him, knowing he was doing this behind my mother’s back. Even though he may not have given me individual attention as we grew up, I always knew he was working hard for us, drinking or not.

When he was on his death bed, I couldn’t help but feel guilty about the times I kept away, and I apologized for cutting them off for awhile saying “You know it was never about you. I’m sorry if I hurt you” He said in such a soft voice “You never hurt me.” That was so emotional for me. Even though he didn’t say he loved me, I know within that sentence was his love.

Even now that he has been gone for 17 years, I still feel his love with me. I see it in the stories my children have of their grandfather, of the perfection of his flowers on his front lawn, and the principle of never giving up I utilize in my own life and of which I have taught my children. I have learned to recognize how he loved me without words. He only knew how to do...with actions.

I have learned to forgive my mother, as I know she was just in great pain, but my relationship with my father will always be what I remember from all the challenges in that home. He may not have been the best dad in my siblings’ memories, but in mine, he showed love in the only way he knew how to…by taking care of us financially and being there for every family gathering.

Thanks Dad, for showing me, pain can’t stop you from doing the best you possibly can.