Gift Cards Galore

I guess it's my turn to write something. I've been hesitant to write for a while now. This isn't easy. The rollercoaster of emotions that we stay on is one that I wished I could get off. It's complicated to put these things into words sometimes, and we are constantly on this cliff with our relationship with Dad. There are times it feels like he gets it and we can have honest conversations with him, that he's receptive and acknowledges what the truth is. Other times it's like he lives on a different planet where she is the queen, and all we are is troublemakers trying to ruin his life. That all the lies are his truth. It's so bizarre and exhausting.

There are times that Justin and I alternate in our emotions. We take turns with the mad, the sad, frustrated, resolved, or in for the long haul. That's one of my favorite things about our relationship, we make room for each other. We know we don't have to always agree on how to feel, and eventually we end up back on the same page. We just acknowledge the tough moments and move on.

The goal... the ONLY THING WE WANT is for Dad to be safe, healthy, and happy in a true sense. That is why we write this blog. We don't want to cause trouble. Honestly, we don't. I just don't want her to be able to tell all the lies, take money that we still believe was never rightfully hers and just live her best life perpetrating on my dad and whoever else she chooses in secret and in the dark.

So the story continues.

Dad would sneak us over to his new house when no one was home. Sad, huh? He had to sneak us over.

I took every opportunity when I was invited. I pretended to be excited for him because, truthfully, it was the nicest house he'd ever lived in. I wanted him to enjoy it. I wanted him to be proud of it.

He got to spend the holidays there, but he was frustrated that he couldn't host his family. One day he told me, "They won't let me."

I asked, "Who won't let you? Her or her son?"

His answer was simple: "Both."

That conversation stuck with me. I know how much it would have meant to him to have his family gathered in that house. It broke my heart and made me angry at the same time.

We did get a laugh out of one thing, though.

Dad sent us pictures from Christmas, and all the stockings lined up across the fireplace were for her children and grandchildren. Not that any of us expected to see our names hanging there, but we couldn't help but laugh at the symbolism of it all.

Sometimes all you can do is laugh at the absurdity of a situation that would hurt too much if you took it completely seriously.

Moments like that were difficult because they reminded us how much of Dad's life seemed to revolve around someone else's narrative.

And nowhere was that narrative more entertaining—or more unbelievable—than the never-ending supply of gift cards.

She is the most gift card receiving person I have EVER seen. People are just so generous to her (sarcasm in case you can't tell). When they moved into the house she said everyone at work pitched in and got her a basket full of house items and gift cards. On the surface, that might seem reasonable. But given her history, we weren't exactly buying it.

Dad was telling me that my uncle came into town and he and his wife wanted to eat at this specific restaurant. It was a local restaurant, not a chain and wouldn't you believe it, she just happened to have a $100 gift card to THAT restaurant! So amazing....

I realized the genius of the gift cards though. No one can tell her no if she has gift cards. The excuse of "we don't need to spend that" or "it's too expensive" doesn't exist because - well, she has a gift card!

Around Christmas time Dad and I spent the day together. He was going to go shopping with me because I had a job interview and just thought it would be a good day. We actually had a blast. We went to HomeGoods and Dad loved everything in there. He "oohed" and "awwed" over everything. He was saying how she went to that one boutique to shop for the house to look for stuff to decorate for Christmas and commented that it was just so expensive. I told him that it was so much easier to shop inexpensively at so many other places (he's not a shopper and she does everything so he really doesn't even know what stores he could go to). His comment was "well, she had that gift card." Despite that we still had a good day. We went to Hobby Lobby and he pushed every button on every dancing thing he could find. He giggled and laughed and I wanted to get a video and realized I left my phone in the car, but I would have loved to have kept that memory.

The gift cards still continue to this day, and they are never small gift cards they are usually in the $100 range. The one to the interior decorating store was for $300 (from the builder). So generous! If I get a $100 gift card it's usually for a big gift like birthday or something. Her "go to" story is that she is being rewarded at work for doing such an amazing job.

Again, she's pretty much run every aspect of Dad's life so he doesn't know to be suspicious that companies don't hand out THAT many gift cards, or that when most people get gift cards they pick up the standard ones you find at Walmart or United or something. He doesn't realize that most people don't drive to a specific boutique or restaurant just to purchase a gift card for someone especially not for those amounts.

He just believes her, and we are being mean for questioning her. The statement he uses the most now is that "she messed up one time" and that Justin and I act like we've never messed up or won't "forgive like good Christians." Before I go on a long rant about that ... I will just leave it here.

For real. It's just gift cards. It shouldn't be that big of a deal, but yet it continues the pattern. Her pattern.

What's the truth?

The fact is we may never know because we are kept at arm's length from truly finding out. Questions, questions, and more questions with no end in sight.

And maybe that's the hardest part. Not knowing.

Not knowing what's real. Not knowing what Dad is told when we're not around. Not knowing how much he believes and how much he simply chooses not to question.

So we file another story away in the growing pile of stories that don't quite make sense.

And we keep hoping that one day the truth will matter more than the narrative.