I haven’t spoken to my father in 13 years.
Long story short, he abandoned me...again. Once when I was 5, and again when I was 31.
Those of you who are in a similar position as I am with an absentee parent, you know exactly how easy it is to fill your heart with hate, anger, disappointment and bitterness towards someone who abandons you. Especially when that person is “supposed” to love you unconditionally. When you’re slapped in the face with that reality, it’s a jagged little pill to swallow.
After many years of trying to establish some kind of relationship with him, I made my last attempt in June of 2019. I drove to his house, unannounced, with my husband and daughter. I thought THIS would be the opportunity I was looking for. He could see the family I created and we could finally start again. I walked up to his door, rang the bell, and my heart began to beat rapidly as I heard him on the other side. Just as quickly as my excitement rose, it fell just as hard when he did not open the door.
See how much detail I can remember from trauma and heartache? It is etched in my memory forever.
Now, I didn’t know it at the time, but that was my last chance. He passed away, unexpectedly just 4 months later.
I am not one to wear my emotions on my sleeve. I am fabulous at pretending everything is ok. But, I was drowning quietly in my grief. Not the grief of losing my father, I was numb to that. My grief was that I didn’t have anything good to look back on. I couldn’t remember any details about him. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t piece together one single good memory of him. It seemed impossible to mourn someone that did not bring me joy while he was alive.
I went about my life, and my numbness. I was saddened by the fact that I could not mourn the loss of the man who helped bring me to life.
Then something amazing happened. I started to look through my old photo albums one day. Seeing myself as a child, not expecting anything to come of it. Then, I came across a picture of myself, maybe about 4 years old, sitting on the couch with my dad with both my arms wrapped tight around his arm.
Instantly, I was taken back to that little girl who loved her dad with all her heart. She hero worshipped him and thought he was the strongest and bravest man on the planet. Suddenly, a flood of fantastic memories of him came back to me. I could hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his hugs and see his beautiful blue eyes in my mind. I could hear his singing voice, that I adored.
All of this from ONE photograph.
This one photograph allowed me to mourn my father properly. I cried the entire day. Tears of sadness, tears of joy and most of all, relief. I was relieved because I realized that my father was a good man who did bad things. He was given back to me through this image. My memories were returned to me, and that never would have happened, had I not stumbled upon this photograph.
Trauma stains our souls in a way that makes it very difficult for other memories to endure on their own. Photographs act as a gateway to our memories. They allow us to go back to a happier time, when our mind is cluttered with the torment of the past.
Thank goodness I found this photo. In finding it, I found peace with my father’s memory. In essence, he was returned to me with this photograph.
Long story short, he abandoned me...again. Once when I was 5, and again when I was 31.
Those of you who are in a similar position as I am with an absentee parent, you know exactly how easy it is to fill your heart with hate, anger, disappointment and bitterness towards someone who abandons you. Especially when that person is “supposed” to love you unconditionally. When you’re slapped in the face with that reality, it’s a jagged little pill to swallow.
After many years of trying to establish some kind of relationship with him, I made my last attempt in June of 2019. I drove to his house, unannounced, with my husband and daughter. I thought THIS would be the opportunity I was looking for. He could see the family I created and we could finally start again. I walked up to his door, rang the bell, and my heart began to beat rapidly as I heard him on the other side. Just as quickly as my excitement rose, it fell just as hard when he did not open the door.
See how much detail I can remember from trauma and heartache? It is etched in my memory forever.
Now, I didn’t know it at the time, but that was my last chance. He passed away, unexpectedly just 4 months later.
I am not one to wear my emotions on my sleeve. I am fabulous at pretending everything is ok. But, I was drowning quietly in my grief. Not the grief of losing my father, I was numb to that. My grief was that I didn’t have anything good to look back on. I couldn’t remember any details about him. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t piece together one single good memory of him. It seemed impossible to mourn someone that did not bring me joy while he was alive.
I went about my life, and my numbness. I was saddened by the fact that I could not mourn the loss of the man who helped bring me to life.
Then something amazing happened. I started to look through my old photo albums one day. Seeing myself as a child, not expecting anything to come of it. Then, I came across a picture of myself, maybe about 4 years old, sitting on the couch with my dad with both my arms wrapped tight around his arm.
Instantly, I was taken back to that little girl who loved her dad with all her heart. She hero worshipped him and thought he was the strongest and bravest man on the planet. Suddenly, a flood of fantastic memories of him came back to me. I could hear his laughter, feel the warmth of his hugs and see his beautiful blue eyes in my mind. I could hear his singing voice, that I adored.
All of this from ONE photograph.
This one photograph allowed me to mourn my father properly. I cried the entire day. Tears of sadness, tears of joy and most of all, relief. I was relieved because I realized that my father was a good man who did bad things. He was given back to me through this image. My memories were returned to me, and that never would have happened, had I not stumbled upon this photograph.
Trauma stains our souls in a way that makes it very difficult for other memories to endure on their own. Photographs act as a gateway to our memories. They allow us to go back to a happier time, when our mind is cluttered with the torment of the past.
Thank goodness I found this photo. In finding it, I found peace with my father’s memory. In essence, he was returned to me with this photograph.
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