Chains That Bind and Break

Life has a way of changing directions on a dime... in the blink of an eye... in an instant. Life changed for me last Wednesday night. I got a call from my brother (actually it was a voice message b/c I was on the phone and didn't answer his call at that moment) and he said our dad was not doing well. In fact, the consensus was that he was expected to only live for a few more days at best and if I wanted to get up to see him, I better get to it. I sat for what seemed like a long time thinking about my dad and the fact that this was "it."  When I get news like this, I freeze. It's like I can't seem to function or get my thoughts together enough to get moving in the direction I need to be going. I know I need to do something, but my mind is unwilling to get in gear.

I went on to work on Thursday and my Uncle Bruce called me around 9:00. He told me the same thing as my brother... "Your dad is not doing well. I don't believe he is going to last long. I just wanted you to know in case you wanted to come see him." Ok, first of all, I love my Uncle Bruce and he loves me. He is my Dad's younger brother by 5 years. Secondly, if he called me, it's serious. I made the decision to finish out the day and leave for Asheville Friday morning. I had people tell me to "go on tonight," but I didn't adhere to that advise. Again, "freeze mode" seems to be my modus operandi for things like this. I can't help it. I just can't. In my mind, I had "so much to do" and I just couldn't get it all done before Friday morning. Truth, I was nervous. I didn't exactly know how to feel about my dad dying. My heart was full of mixed emotions.

Let me back up just a little bit with this story... You see, my dad was never part of my life, not really. My mom was 19 years old and pregnant when she married my 25 year old dad in July of 1962. I was born in November of 1962.  My parents were Party People. In fact, they met in a bar. My dad was a big drinker, brawler, womanizer. My dad was very good looking. I mean, very. My mother was a big drinker, brawler (she got into lots of fights and I later discovered she actually did some jail time); she was a take no shit from anyone kind of woman--and she didn't. She was beautiful. My parents loved each other, but their marriage was short lived, as was my mother's life. When I was 3 years old, my mother was killed in a terrible car accident about 2:00 in the morning coming down Beaucatcher Rd. (near the tunnel in Asheville) from a bar. She was only 22 years old. (about my mom post) There were three other people in the car and no one else was hurt at all. My dad was living in New Orleans when the accident happened so he was already "gone." Long story short, my grandparents (mother's side) got custody of me and raised me from then on. My grandparents and my dad met at the court house; he signed me over to them and that was that. So long Dad. You "signed me over?" That's it? All it takes to not be a dad is a signature on a piece of paper?? Those were a few of my thoughts as I got older. I spent my entire life hating that man. I felt he abandoned me. I thought he didn't love me or why else would he just up and leave me with my grandparents? I received a few phone calls when I was little, but it upset me so much that the phone calls soon stopped coming. It didn't help that my grandparents and family thought my dad was total scum and not worth the tears I cried for him. So I started to believe it and think the same thing.

I grew up, had a great childhood (or so I thought. I was an adult before I realized just how dysfunctional my family really was and the impact "all of that" had on me was quite startling. I don't know how I came through as well as I did except for the fact that God had His hand on me, no both hands, and the hands of a whole fleet of Angels taking care of me/looking out for my well being. I started working when I was 15 years old. I graduated from high school; I went to college (first in my family to graduate) and was about to get married at the age of 21. I was working at Ingles grocery store on Leicester Hwy one evening when my dad and his "at the time" girlfriend or wife, came into the store. (My dad was married five times, btw) They just happened to pick my line to check out. YEP! Lucky me! The second I saw him, I felt instant nausea. Crap! What was I going to do now? I couldn't run away. So, I rang him up and checked him out, but of course I couldn't just let him walk out the door. Heck, NO!  I knew he didn't recognize me. So with some courage and a voice I mustered up from somewhere down deep, I said, "You don't know who I am, do you?" He finally looked at me, really looked at me. You see, I look very much like my dad. It's kind of hard for him not to see himself when he sees me. Instead of just being the girl at the cash register taking his money, his eyes flashed recognition and I became his long lost daughter. Well, by that time, I was a mess. I was crying and walking away. He tried to put his arm around me, but I shrugged it off and the crying turned to sobs. I couldn't talk to him. I know he was trying to tell me something, but the years of hurt and anger and hate was all I could see. I heard nothing of what he said to me. I can't remember one single word.  I kept walking away because that is what I do. I run away when I'm faced with something I can't handle. He eventually left and that was the last time I saw my dad until I was 40 years old.

It was February, and I had been visiting my grandparents in Asheville. I was in my car about to get on I-40 East headed for Clemmons. I don't know what came over me, but it was instantaneous. I decided right then to try and contact my dad. For whatever reason, I was feeling a desperate need to connect. I got a phone book, looked his name up and found it. I called his number and lo and behold, he answered the phone. Wow! What do you say to a dad you haven't seen or spoken to in 20 years and the last time was a total disaster?  Well, I came up with something and I asked if I could come by and see him. "Yes," he said. I drove to Montana Ave, walked up to the front door and knocked; he opens the door and there is my dad. He is exactly as I remembered him. We hugged each other and yes, there were tears, but this time better tears, not such bitter tears.  I walked into his house and stayed for the next two hours. We talked. We cried some more. We came to terms so to speak. He told me things I never knew--things I needed to hear in order to put the past behind me or at least begin to make sense of everything. He told me he loved me and had never stopped loving me. When my mother died, his life was a mess. (truth be told, his entire life was pretty much a big mess) He told me I was better off with my grandparents all those years because he was in no shape to take care of a little girl. If he had "kept me," my life would have been very different. Who knows what would have happened to me? I shudder to think of the possibilities. I had to agree with him on this issue. I was better off with my grandparents, however in a little girl's mind, all I knew was that my daddy left me. I spent my life mourning a mother I never got the chance to know, missing her, missing MY family--my mother, my father and me. I fantasized about it. I created that family in my mind many times. I wanted it with my whole heart. I was not dealt that particular card for whatever reason. A great deal of good came out of that visit. I found my brothers. (see this post to read about "my brothers" and this one) I reconnected with my dad. Forgiveness began to work its way into my heart.

For the next 5 years, I tried like a maniac to forge a bond with my dad. I put great effort into communicating with him and also with my brothers. We did share two wonderful Thanksgivings together. One of them at our house and it is one of my best memories to date.  I did everything humanly possible to create a semblance of family for us, but it had been so broken and so detached for so long, that I became increasingly discouraged from the lack of effort on "their parts." I simply wore myself out trying. Hurt replaced enthusiasm. Heartbreak and disappointment replaced effort. It takes a lot for me to give up on something, I mean A LOT, but when I do, I'm done. I couldn't take the disappointment, the hurt, the pain of it all any more. They all knew how to reach me. If you want me, YOU find ME. I'm tired of chasing you. The dream I had of having a family once again seemed out of reach. The last four years, my dad has lived in a nursing facility. I have visited him there less than 10 times in four years. I lost the drive. I lost it. I loved him, I did, but I couldn't make myself go visit him. I couldn't do it. My dad lost the ability to speak about 5 years ago. Doctors aren't sure why. Perhaps some kind of stroke, but it made it very difficult to communicate with him and I know it was extremely frustrating for him as well. I suppose I used that as an excuse not to visit him. It was awkward. I had nothing really to say to him so I disappeared. The last time I saw my dad was in March with my brother, Ray. We took him a strawberry milkshake (his favorite) and we visited for awhile. We hugged, we loved and Ray and I left. Now fast forward to October 24th, 2014.

I arrived at the nursing home around 2:15 and I sat in my car for about 10-15 minutes just working up enough courage to go inside and face what was in there. My insides were like Mexican Jumping Beans. I had to take deep breaths. I had to shut down the panic that was rising. Finally, I just flat out talked to myself, "Ok. Get out of this car and get in there! It's time. Go!" So that is what I did.  I walked into his room. My aunt and uncle were there. It took me about 10 minutes of small talk to them to even walk over to my dad's bed and see him. I swear, I don't understand it. My body would NOT walk over to him. Once I did, I could deal and face the music. I spoke to him and his head turned toward me. He was mostly "out of it," but I believe he knew I was there. He nodded that he knew me. I held his hand. He squeezed mine-tight. I talked to him. I told him I loved him and I was here with him. I would be here till the end. I pulled up a chair next to his bed and sat down. Emotion flooded over me. I cried and cried. I cried for so much loss. So many wasted years. I cried because he never really knew me and never knew all that I had accomplished in spite of him. I had a drive that took me beyond my past; it took me beyond the dysfunction, the hurt and pain and loss. I did it without him. I broke through the chains that bind and strangle us. I broke the chains that could have held me prisoner. I made a conscious choice not to be any part of him or what his father passed on to him.  I wanted my dad to know I had made better choices. I cried because he didn't know his amazing grandchildren and what extraordinary individuals they are; he had no part in that-Zero. Oh, Dad, what you missed out on!! It was in those moments, sitting beside him, holding his hand, rubbing his arm, crying, that I let it all go. "I forgive you, Dad."  I will never forget, but I can and do forgive you.  My dad died at 7:26pm. I was with him as was my uncle and cousin. It was an awful death. I will never forget it.

My Uncle Bruce is another  example of "breaking the chains" and turning his life around to be something more and Sunday morning as we were sitting together on a couch in a room at the funeral home for a "private viewing," he told me that "Sometimes it's better to not have a father than to have one." He knows all too well and now I know.

Even now, I am torn up, but I've concluded that I have to work through this in my own way. I have to take time to process all of this... a lifetime of STUFF. I will find a way and I will one day make peace with all of it. It has already started.

Love,
D~