The Day My Dad Set Me Free

My parents and I were born in Ecuador. We moved to New York in the beginning of the 80’s. I am the oldest of three girls. Growing up in a house full of girls, we were taught all the “household duties,” cleaning, doing laundry, cooking, and the list goes on as normal.

Being that I was the oldest, I was given the task of cooking, looking after my sisters (in particular the youngest one. We have a ten year age difference), helping with homework, and picking up my youngest sister from school. Everyday after dismissal, while in high school, I would speed walk the 3/4 mile to her school. Then we would go home, do homework, cook dinner and wait for my parents to come home.

My Mom did it all, she got her GED, went to College and achieved her BA (while I was in High School), and she worked part time in the recreation department of a Nursing Home. My parents made the sacrifice of putting me through an all girls Catholic High School. In return, it was my responsibility to take care of my family while my parents were working.

Since the age of twelve, my Dad nicknamed me “la Mama chiquita”, the “little mother”. That’s who I was and that’s what I was. A Caregiver from the tender age of 12.

Fast forward to my college years. I assume, because of my “responsibilities” I was always given strict rules to follow. Curfew before 10 PM, no parties unless they spoke to my friend’s parents, no sleepovers, being watchful of my younger sisters, cooking and house chores.

When it came to my Dad having a hangover, or not feeling well, I was in charge of tending to him. My Dad even asked me to cancel my dates because he wasn’t feeling well. Like a good girl, I obeyed.

I started dating my husband when I was 18 and fresh in college. My social life became very real and I wanted to experience those moments. My Dad did not agree. At the age of 20 I was still expected to follow all the rules without questions or negotiations. This form of non communication had me boxed in from fully enjoying my young adulthood and college life.

So I made the decision to get pregnant! This was my only way out! To start my own life, away from my parents rules, be my own person. I waited 3 months before I told my parents. My mother had convinced me that my father would die of a heart attack if I ever got pregnant out of wedlock.

The night I broke the news to them, he was surprisingly very calm and even said he already knew I was pregnant. He said he felt it. He told me I needed to leave the house and make my own life. In fact, he suggested I leave that night if I wanted to.

This was no problem with my husband. He already had his own place (half a block away) and was very eager to start living together. However, I insisted I stay that night just to make sure my Dad didn’t have a heart attack.

Well, my Dad survived the night. The very next morning the first thing I moved into my “new home” were my stuffed animals. My dreams of finally being free and having no one to limit me would be short lived. Now I transitioned to being a caretaker for my daughter and husband.

About 20 years and 5 kids later I transitioned, once again, to becoming my Dad’s caretaker. After he suffered a fall and fractured his spine, he relied on me for scheduling and getting to Dr appts, having his lunch prepared, tending to him when he’s ill and basically companionship.

Now I must explain, we live in a multi-family home. We are literally feet away from each other. This is an experience that my kids will have for their lifetime. Living in a multi generational home with extended family. Talk about only seeing your family for the Holidays, I see them every day!

I don’t want to sound selfish or unappreciative (too late) but, I do love my parents. The bond between my Dad and I is the strongest.

I tell myself, “He’s the only Dad you have, take care of him.”

“He won’t be around forever, enjoy his company while you still have him.”

“He’s lived and done for you, now you need to live and do for him.”

I am once again boxed in.

My husband and I dream of moving south. Warmer climate, no more shoveling snow, a slower pace of life compared to the pace of NYC. But I fear moving away.

What would happen if I ever moved away? Who will take care of my Dad? Who will take care of his appointments? Who will make him lunch and have his never ending supply of coffee ready? Who will he talk to about his beliefs in aliens, reincarnation, the pyramids and the afterlife? What would be the consequences? And more importantly, who would suffer those consequences?

My Dad’s grandchildren are so precious to him. In all honesty I think my parents have their roles mixed up.

My Dad should be the Grandmother. The way he speaks to them, the voices he uses, the sounds he makes when they surprise him, the way his eyes light up when he sees them. It’s like he lives and breathes for them.

My Mom should be the Grandfather. Always has them in line, they listen and follow her rules, playtime is organized, her show of emotions is so much more guarded. It’s like they’ve switched roles. My Dad is a pushover and my Mom is the Captain.

A few weeks ago my husband was telling my Dad about some possible job opportunities in Georgia. My Dad surprised both of us (visualize both, my husband and I, jaws dropping to the floor) by suggesting that he look into that opportunity. He even told him, should something work out he should move down south first, get settled, and then send for us.

This was the first time my Dad ever voiced the idea, or possibility, of living apart from us. After that brief conversation, my husband and I began talking about “the nonexistent move” to Georgia.

Where would our daughters go? Would they stay in New York? If so, with who? What furniture would we take with us? What county would we live in? How many bedrooms do we want? How long would it take to make this a reality?

My Dad set me free.

We were on cloud 9.

And yet…I wonder.

How realistic is this dream of ours?

A few days ago my Dad had an eye Dr appt in which he was advised to go accompanied. They would be dilating his pupils and he would be unable to drive. We only found out about it an hour before his appt, when he came over to have his soup and coffee. He asked my husband if he could go with him. So he did and he also went to pick up my Mom from work later that afternoon.

Is this what would happen if we move away? Would he risk going on his own? Making appts without asking for company?

Is he capable of living without us? Or are we capable of living without him?

The day my Dad set me free was one of the most exciting days of my life. Now I have time to plan on how to make that dream come true. I will continue with my duties and responsibilities of taking care of my immediate and extended family.

Until that day finally arrives, the tears will continue to fall. Why? Because of the fear of what it really means to be free.

Shirley is a divinely sensitive, clairvoyant, poet, married, mother of five. Her blogs and chats help challenged Moms break free from their chains of depression. Her empath abilities give you, 1 on 1, individual guidelines on how to reach your highest potential for the life you desire.

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