I don't know why I don't just expect to be hit hard every year. I still get somewhat shocked at the emotional toll this time of year has on me. After 29 years, I still feel like someone gut punched me as memories, feelings and flashbacks flood my mind.
I've come to forgive, to feel sympathy, empathy and sadness for my dad. I think of how he died. Alone and afraid.
He downed 10 times the amount of medication needed to kill him, and his heart stopped. Back then, I often wondered if he had a heart.
What I remember about this time of year is my aunt coming to our house to tell my mom, standing in the front yard under a big tree. I remember seeing my father in a suit, lying in a casket hard as a rock. I remember feeling so confused, angry and frustrated by him and at him and at the situation. I remember my mother placing her wedding ring in his suit coat pocket. I remember standing under another big tree by a hole in the ground. The pastor spoke, and the thud of the casket being lowered sounded like crashing thunder. I remember being angry that I had to miss school for this. School was my safe place. All of this felt like the earth had opened up, and I was spiraling downward out of control. It felt as though I had been buried with him.
I also remember afterwards. No one told me how sorry they were that my dad died. No one talked to me about it. No one talked about him. He had killed himself. He was menatlly ill. He was an addict. He was abusive. He was a thief. He was a spurn upon society that everyone seemed to want to forget and bury. If we didn't talk about it, it wouldn't be so bad, right?
Wrong.
I was his daughter, so what did that make me?
I was left with crazy emotions that literally began to eat me up from the inside out. I started to have migraines both abdominal and as headaches. I remember needing absolute silence and darkness as a 9 year old. I could hear any voice within the house, and it felt like knives were stabbing my head. I bit my fingernails in class so much that the blue carpet beneath my desk was covered in off white crescent shavings by the end of each day. I got sick a lot more with all kinds of childhood illnesses.
There are times when I wish my life had been different. Yet, I wouldn't know and seek Christ's love as I do to fill the void, to soothe the pain and give me strength. I wouldn't be adamant about loving people where they are, as they are and being open and honest with my children.
We say we are protecting our children by not talking about painful circumstances, when many times we are avoiding the situation out of fear. That leaves them with feelings that have not been voiced and a message that it is not okay to have intense feelings. Stuff them and put on a smile.
No. Name the feelings, and process ways to deal with them in a healthy manner as a family.
God has shown me since then, his redemptive grace and love. Nothing is in vain. He has shown me that trees and death are not to be feared, but embraced as he loved me so much he willingly paid for the sins of me and my father. Christ was not buried under a tree. He rose above it.
So, to my father, who I may never get to know, I love you. I forgive you. I miss you.
Always, your little girl.
I've come to forgive, to feel sympathy, empathy and sadness for my dad. I think of how he died. Alone and afraid.
He downed 10 times the amount of medication needed to kill him, and his heart stopped. Back then, I often wondered if he had a heart.
What I remember about this time of year is my aunt coming to our house to tell my mom, standing in the front yard under a big tree. I remember seeing my father in a suit, lying in a casket hard as a rock. I remember feeling so confused, angry and frustrated by him and at him and at the situation. I remember my mother placing her wedding ring in his suit coat pocket. I remember standing under another big tree by a hole in the ground. The pastor spoke, and the thud of the casket being lowered sounded like crashing thunder. I remember being angry that I had to miss school for this. School was my safe place. All of this felt like the earth had opened up, and I was spiraling downward out of control. It felt as though I had been buried with him.
I also remember afterwards. No one told me how sorry they were that my dad died. No one talked to me about it. No one talked about him. He had killed himself. He was menatlly ill. He was an addict. He was abusive. He was a thief. He was a spurn upon society that everyone seemed to want to forget and bury. If we didn't talk about it, it wouldn't be so bad, right?
Wrong.
I was his daughter, so what did that make me?
I was left with crazy emotions that literally began to eat me up from the inside out. I started to have migraines both abdominal and as headaches. I remember needing absolute silence and darkness as a 9 year old. I could hear any voice within the house, and it felt like knives were stabbing my head. I bit my fingernails in class so much that the blue carpet beneath my desk was covered in off white crescent shavings by the end of each day. I got sick a lot more with all kinds of childhood illnesses.
There are times when I wish my life had been different. Yet, I wouldn't know and seek Christ's love as I do to fill the void, to soothe the pain and give me strength. I wouldn't be adamant about loving people where they are, as they are and being open and honest with my children.
We say we are protecting our children by not talking about painful circumstances, when many times we are avoiding the situation out of fear. That leaves them with feelings that have not been voiced and a message that it is not okay to have intense feelings. Stuff them and put on a smile.
No. Name the feelings, and process ways to deal with them in a healthy manner as a family.
God has shown me since then, his redemptive grace and love. Nothing is in vain. He has shown me that trees and death are not to be feared, but embraced as he loved me so much he willingly paid for the sins of me and my father. Christ was not buried under a tree. He rose above it.
So, to my father, who I may never get to know, I love you. I forgive you. I miss you.
Always, your little girl.
