Missing Hallmark Moments

^{There is a Chinese proverb that says, In a broken nest there are few whole eggs.}

^{When I was 18 years old, I left home in my 1972 Pinto that my dad gave me when I got my driver’s license at 16 and a pillowcase full of personal belongings. (Later I was asked to return the Pinto, which didn’t surprise me. My punishment never fit my crimes.) As I was walking out the door that day, my father sarcastically said, “I hope your Christian friends take care of you.” To which I replied, “Fuck you!” I couldn’t even believe that came out of my mouth. I was terrified of my father--he resembled Tony Soprano to me, in more ways than one. My brother’s and I would duck going down the hall when we walked past him. He hated that, but would smack us upside the head and then say, “There, now you have something to duck about.” His silence as a kid (and as an adult) annihilated me. I felt sentenced to a life of wondering what I did to deserve such unkindness. It took me 45 years to realize I didn’t deserve it. But I did have to accept it. God knows (and my husband too) the Herculean effort it’s taken to live this truth.}

^{My dad lives in AZ. When he first moved out of state, he didn’t even let me know (his own daughter). Who does that? We have no real relationship. It’s always been that way. He’s my biological father in theory, but not in love. He’s not been the kind of father I wanted or needed. Oh, don’t get me wrong; even though he’s caused some epic damage in my soul, I still love my father. It is a simple and undemanding love. I’m not sure why, but I have always been able to see past my father’s faults. He is a hard, distant, proud, and unforgiving man. When I’ve been angrier over his behavior, I’ve stated that he had no backbone and was a coward. Which always surprised me because in my eyes, he was a strong and fearless person. Yet despite his inadequacies, I’ve seen kindness in my father’s eyes like Halley’s Comet; its glow was there but for a moment, then gone. If I knew that in 75 years it would return, I’d park a soccer chair out on my front lawn and wait for it to return. I lived for those radiant moments when my dad gave me a flicker of hope that we were going to be okay. I gave him every benefit of the doubt that he'd come to his senses, step up, and just be my dad; that life could be normal between us.}

^{That’s not going to happen. My dad isn’t going to show up at my door and tell me he’s sorry he missed out on the best years of my life (or my son’s life). He’s not going to ask me to hang out to have long friendly talks over ice tea (or a beer for him). I’ve given up; neither wishing nor waiting was helpful to my wellbeing-as those closest to me can attest. I had to let my dad go; and with him, all the fantasies that I was ever going to be a daddy’s girl. It’s kind of sad because I had some great father-daughter scenario that I would have loved to see happen. For whatever reasons that are beyond my comprehension and control, he’s chosen to extinguish our bond. Had my father died, I think it would have been easier than seeing him move on in life without me; without his consideration for how it would bankrupt me. He didn’t divorce my mother (although I wish he had), so I don’t have a father who bailed on our family. No, my dad stayed through the good and bad. He was a good provider and my brothers and I never wanted for anything growing up-except his unconditional love and acceptance.}

^{I’ve had to grieve my father over and over and over. I miss him and that makes no rational sense except that I was created by God to love my father. I’ve stopped apologizing for having moments of agony over this loss. Once in a while it racks me and I have to sit things out for a day or two. I’ve given myself permission now until the day I die (and when my father dies) to grieve when those emotions bubble up (like today on Father’s Day). It’s okay to attend to your heartache when someone you love dies. Our relationship has died. It is buried in a grave of regret (like telling my dad, ‘Fuck you’ at 18), buried in dreams that will never be fulfilled (like him not knowing my son or the kind family that I married into), buried in lies, buried in unspoken words of forgiveness that will never be stated out loud.  I forgive my dad. I also forgive myself. I’ve done everything in my power to speak my truth, to reconcile and make things right; it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t do it all by myself.}

^{I decided that if I was going to write about life (mine and others), in a blog or anywhere else, I was not going to give you the sanitized Christian version just so I appeared like someone I’m not (or accommodate anyone else’s sensibility about how I should believe, think, act, or behave). Life is messy, confusing, cluttered with unpleasant happenings. (It’s also glorious, mysterious, and astonishing, but that’s something I can write about on another day.) Anne Lamott encourages, “You can’t get to any of these truths by sitting in a field smiling beatifically, avoiding your anger and damage and grief. Your anger and damage and grief are the way to truth. We don’t have much truth to express unless we have gone into those rooms and closet and wood and abysses that we were told not to go in to. When we have gone in and looked around for a long while, just breathing and finally taking it in-then we will be able to speak in our own voice and to stay in the present moment.”}

^{I’m not the only daughter in the world who has emotional contusions from her father; who’s questioned her self-worth because their dad didn’t have the tools or skills to be a dad. I know there are men too who have wondered honestly if their father really loved them for who they really are. This side of Heaven, some questions will never be answered. However, no matter what our losses, we are never entirely by ourselves. Trust me, it’s often hard to wrap my mind around the thought: ‘God is always present, loving, and surprisingly, delights in me.’ Even so, I’ve known this to be true in my life in spite of things going horribly wrong in my family of origin relationships. Maybe you’ve found this to be true in your life as well? I’m thankful that God said he would never leave us or forsake us. The one verse that alleviates the sting the most, like Neosporin is Psalm 27:10, Though my father and mother forsake me, the LORD will receive me. Psalm 27:10.}

^{I can’t tell you how many times I’ve said that verse to myself throughout my adult life. But if I’m honest, I want something else other than a verse to hold onto. I wanted to hold my dad’s hand. I want what (seems like) everyone else has: I want to be standing in Hallmark like 103 million other people looking for a Father’s Day Card. Life just isn’t going to give me that. So today, I will pray (for my dad), meditate (for myself), and do some breathing and more letting go to get to a still place in my soul that can accept things, as they are this Father’s Day. I like how Robert Frost put it: In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.}

^{Life’s Mindful Moment: I was in AZ in May for three weeks for additional yoga training. I knew the possibility existed that I could run into my parents who live in the same town I was staying in. (Even though the odds were one in a million I had in fact experienced a couple of close encounters on previous visits to AZ. Well, not actual encounters, but sightings. It’s like the Universe keeps trying to tip me over on my own axis.) However, since these sightings had happened before, I mindfully decided that if I ever ran into them again, I was going to be nice. Sure enough, one afternoon as I was walking into Safeway and out comes my father pushing his groceries to his car (which was parked in the handicap spot). He looked right at me coming out of the store, then gave a small shake of his head and looked away, as if to say, “Oh shit.” I started to wave like a little kid. He didn’t even look at me. We had 20 feet between us and there was no getting around not passing each other. When I came along side of him I genuinely smiled and said, “Hi Dad.” Our eyes met. I think he grunted but clearly was uncomfortable. So I kept walking in to the grocery store. Once inside, my legs felt like Jell-O. That was my dad. He just ignored me again. But I was proud of myself for two things: first, I didn’t act like him. Second, I didn’t fall apart. I just acknowledged the feeling, the moment, and allowed my heart to come back to a normal beat per minute then finished my grocery shopping. I’m so glad that I have learned after so many years to simply live in the moment, but to no longer allow myself to stay stuck there.}