Someone is gonna get hurt

Looking back, there were warning signs before Dad ever moved into the house.

Dad has always been a construction guy. Over the years he built custom cabinets as side jobs, and he appreciated detailed woodworking and craftsmanship. So when he saw the fireplace mantel, he commented in his own way, that it really wasn't his style. It was one of those modern rustic mantels made from a rough slab of wood. Plenty of people love that look. Dad just preferred something with more detail and finish work.

The mantel wasn't really the point. The reaction was. Dad made what most homeowners would consider a normal comment about a house they believed was theirs. Instead, it felt like he was being reminded that this wasn't really his place to have an opinion. It only reinforced what we'd been saying all along. The house wasn't being built for Dad. It was being built for her son and his family, and Dad was simply being allowed to live there... for as long as everyone else was okay with it. Dad never saw it that way, but that exchange felt like exactly everything we'd been worried about.

The conversation didn't stay about the mantel.

Later that same day, Dad texted me asking if he could bring some of his stuff over to my house. When he came to drop it off, he stayed and I cooked lunch. While we were talking he was hesitant to tell me what happened, but eventually showed me the texts.

Somewhere in that conversation, her son basically told Dad that if he didn't like something about the house, he needed to keep it to himself or find somewhere else to live. He also, in so many words, told Dad that he needed to be more grateful, and appreciate everything that he was doing for my dad.

For a little while, we thought, "Maybe this is it."

Maybe Dad had finally decided this wasn't going to work.

We weren't trying to convince him to stay.

We wanted him out.

But then she stepped in. Dad told us she wanted him to give it a chance. She told him things would be different. That they could make it work.

So instead of leaving...

He moved in.

Then March rolled around.

Remember my uncle? The same uncle from the earlier post. The same visit that ended with her son getting in Justin's face.

Well... it happened again.

My uncle stopped by to visit Dad one afternoon. He hadn't seen the house yet. Like Dad, he'd spent years in construction, so I'm sure they were probably walking around talking construction, looking at everything that had been built, and just doing what construction guys do.

Honestly, that's what makes this whole thing so ridiculous to me.

Family should be able to stop by.

To visit.

To sit on the porch and drink coffee... or tea... or whatever.

It's what families should do.

According to both Dad and my uncle, her son pulled up while my uncle was there. The issue, once again, was that my uncle wasn't supposed to be on "his property."

This time, it escalated much further.

Before it was over, both of them had threatened to kill each other.

Then Dad simply said,

"Someone is going to get hurt."

That was enough.

Dad wanted out.

So Dad started making plans to move.

This time, he wasn't just talking about it. He was actually doing it. The plan was for him to move into my grandpa's house in Smyer. It wasn't some temporary arrangement. At that point, it was really the only place he had to go. We offered the rooms at our houses, but we all knew that it wasn't a very long term option.

There was still just one problem with moving Dad out. We still weren't allowed on the property.

Think about that for a minute.

Our dad was moving out, and his own kids weren't allowed to come help him. We offered more than once to get a trailer, gather a crew, and have him moved in a few hours. We'd have had everything loaded, unloaded, and done before lunch.

Dad asked her son several times for "permission." The answer was always no. So instead, she helped him pack. Dad would load up his truck with equipment, boxes, and whatever else he could fit, drive to Smyer, and we'd meet him there. Justin, me, and our families would unload whatever he'd brought that day.

Trip after trip.

One load at a time.

I'll never forget standing there looking at everything. It wasn't much. I don't know why, but that hit me like a ton of bricks.

This was my dad.

A man who had worked hard his entire life. He had built a life out on that property. Years of blood, sweat, and tears. And standing there in my grandpa's house, I realized just how little Dad had left.

How much she had stolen from him.

How much he had been reduced to.

After a lifetime of hard work, there was almost nothing left to show for it.

Just a few boxes.

Some equipment.

Whatever would fit in the back of his truck.

I just stood there looking at it.

It broke my heart.

For a little while, we let ourselves feel hopeful. Dad was out. For the first time in a long time, we could stop by whenever we wanted. We didn't have to sneak around anymore. We could sit and visit. Just spend time with Dad.

But if I'm being honest...

We also knew it probably wasn't going to be that easy. Nothing ever had been. We kept wondering if this was just temporary. Would she convince him to move back?

Or worse...

Would she just move into my grandpa's house with him?

Neither one of us really believed she was going to let him go that easily.

Sure enough...

She is still there. All the time. She wanted to move his clothes because, according to Dad, it made her feel "a part of things." Okay... Whatever that means.

She was constantly coming over. Sometimes we'd call Dad to see what he was doing.

"She's on her way."

Or...

"She's here."

It became almost impossible to find time with just Dad. She even stayed the weekend sometimes while my grandpa was at the lake. Dad would still go back to the other house to bathe who knows what else.

So technically...

They weren't living together anymore.

But they also weren't really living apart.

If that makes sense.

We had imagined what it would be like if Dad finally got away. We thought we'd have our dad back.

Not all the way, of course. We knew there was a lot to work through.

But we thought we'd at least get to spend time with him without wondering who was coming through the door next.

That never really happened.

Even after moving out, she is still part of every day.

And little by little, we realized that moving out of the house wasn't the same thing as moving on.