Today my Father ended his life. By choice. His terms. His time.
It’s been a surreal day. At 10.37am his wife called and put me on to Geoff. He told me it was time, that he couldn’t take the pain anymore. He was tired. He’d been battling the pain for 30 years, and while he still had things he wanted to do – he no longer could.
Geoff died as he lived – on his terms. Approved for voluntary assisted dying, he made the choice, decided the time and administered the medicine himself.
I wasn’t there, nor was I invited. I am Geoff’s biological daughter but did not grow up with him. I was adopted at birth.
I was fortunate to see Geoff in July for the first time in five years. His youngest daughter (my half-sister) asked me to officiate her wedding, bringing me face to face with Geoff again. We shared a brief interaction, but once the ceremony was done I stepped into the shadows.
We’ve had an on-off relationship since I first met him 32 years ago at the tender age of 20. I’ve often reflected on that time with curiosity how my sudden appearance impacted Geoff’s family. At the time I was self-absorbed, it was all about me and how I was feeling. I’d grown up knowing I was adopted and never gave it much thought. Until I turned 20.
I’d not looked for my Father, it was finding my Mother that gave me his name. My Mother only gave me three pieces of information – his name, his best friends name and where his best friend worked. Irony is I worked at the same organisation as his best friend.
Six months after meeting my Mother, and it going horribly wrong, I reached out to his best friend. Next thing I know I was in contact and Geoff worked in the same city and lived in the neighbouring suburb.
The thing about Geoff that has always meant so much to me is he has never denied or rejected my existence. I know too many stories of adoptees being rejected or blocked from any information about their birth parents. But Geoff welcomed my contact without hesitation and the next thing I know I am at his house meeting his beautiful wife and my three sisters and brother. And then the entire extended family. I don’t remember that day as it was so overwhelming for me.
Geoff and I had a relationship for many years in my early 20’s until life took me overseas and he moved up the Sunshine Coast. I had a relationship with my eldest sister Nicky in our early adult years. We used to go out and always connected. She also readily accepted me and we took time to get to know each other.
Life took us all in different directions, and my dysfunctional relationship with ‘family’ contributed to my unconscious distance.
After marrying my son’s Father we were in contact again. My brother and eldest sister met my sons, as too did Geoff briefly. Then more years of absence until the sudden urge for contact hit me again six years ago.
I’m not sure what has driven my urges to re-establish contact with Geoff, or to withdraw, but it’s always been like that. Meeting up again six years ago as a woman who’d walked through some storms and yet still yearned for familiarity and family, blood connection and siblings – I was different.
I’m glad I did. While things with Geoff were friendly, and always welcoming, this time I met my baby sister as an adult. Tahlia was under a year old when I first met her, now she was a young adult in her mid 20’s. I recognised her as soon as I saw her, and we connected immediately. It is weird to have such familiarity with a stranger that just happens to be blood related.
Being adopted is a strange thing. For me it comes with many questions, not many answers, a whole lot of uncertainty and anxiousness. I know there is a lot of grief, pain, negative self-talk and heaviness within me that I’ve not really scratched the surface of.
I’ve never had the conversation with Geoff or my Mother about it. It’s not something their generation really discuss. I know I also don’t believe I am worthy of an explanation. Yet being adopted has been a lifelong bag I’ve carried. Even in Geoff’s impending death I’ve struggled with my right to know or care. I’ve questioned if I should visit, or not. I’ve told myself it doesn’t matter if he called or didn’t want to see me before he died.
At the wedding in July, I gave Geoff a handwritten letter. It was my goodbye. I thanked him for giving me life, for always welcoming me and I apologised for not being consistent in my contact with him because of my dysfunctional relationship with family. I’ve never told him of my childhood, a strange guilt I carry for not having the happy childhood I’d assumed biological parents want for their babies when they give them up. We never had that conversation and now it is too late. Maybe I was never meant to?
Three weeks ago, on a very significant day for me, my phone rang and Geoff’s name came up. My first thought was he has passed, but no it was him on the other end. He was calling to invite my sons & I to visit – sooner rather than later he told me. He wanted to meet his Grandsons and create memories he could take with him when he passed.
The following week my eldest son and I visited Geoff and his wife. We had a few hours together. It was challenging, he was very unwell and very unfiltered in his thoughts. He told me I was a “miracle” and should never have been here. One night with my Mother was all it took, and that one night he always regretted. His comments on my Mother weren’t flattering.
I already knew I was the result of a one-night stand. My mother had told me they tried to make it work but it was impossible. I didn’t get the sense that was the truth – but I didn’t ask. Why did I not ask? Why did I not feel I had the right to know more about my conception? My birth?
Sadly, I ran out of time to take my youngest son to meet Geoff. I admit I procrastinated, worrying if Geoff would be unfiltered in his views on Thomas like my adoptive Dad is. I didn’t want Thomas to be exposed to that as I knew he wouldn’t understand (Autism creates a blissful bubble sometimes). Too much of his life has been judged by others and I didn’t want to risk that happening or burden a dying man if Thomas was to be unfiltered himself. He’s nearly 18 and speaks his mind freely – unlike Geoff he doesn’t have the cloak of death as his free pass!
I spoke to Geoff on Monday, with the intention of visiting him Tuesday and Thursday this week. He was very unwell and told me he was going camping for the final time and would be gone a week but we were welcome to visit him. He never made it, and neither did we.
The phone rang at 10.37 am. At 4pm my Father was taking his last breath. We spoke about him being free from pain, about my respect for his choice of how he departed. I thanked him for giving me life and always welcoming me. I thanked him for calling me. We talked about whether we would see each other again and I told him I believed we would. He cried, and yet last week he told me there were to be no tears. In his final hours my Father was vulnerable and his guard was down.
At 4pm, as his family gathered around him I lit a special candle, said some prayers, asked the angels to be with him as he transitioned, and I cried for the Father I knew and yet didn’t.
Much swirls within me. So many questions. So much sadness. Adoption is a confusing thing. It has formed my identity all my life, and yet I know better. I don’t know what to make of it all if I am honest. I feel such a deep sadness, my body tensed and hurt as soon as Geoff told me “Today is the day”. My heart hurts, the grief comes in waves, and yet there is also a freedom knowing he is at peace.
Geoff’s altar burns brightly still and will all night. Pink roses from Thomas, purple flowers from Nicholas, and spring-coloured flowers from me adorn his altar. I sat with them all at 4pm, then danced to “Fly Like an Eagle” in celebration of his peace at long last.
My heart is heavy, who knows what flows from this. All I know right now is today my Father died. On his terms, in his way, at his chosen time, with those he loved beside him.
Be free Dad. Be free. Thank you for gifting me my life.
