Fathers

A month or so ago, I wrote about mothers. Today I find myself wanting to write about fathers – my father.

My father was a kind man, a deep thinker. He would sit for hours in his home office gazing into space. He was a minister, and I imagine he was contemplating how to be present to his ill and suffering parishioners, what to say in next week’s sermon, and how to understand life and spirit.

I also imagine he was not contemplating how to raise his children, who they were, or how to really know them. Let me speak only for myself and not my siblings; I don’t imagine he was focused on me because I didn’t feel him present to me other than in a passing way. I don’t know much about how my four siblings experienced our father.

So, at the time he passed away, almost thirty years ago, I wasn’t sure what I felt. I was sad and worried about my mother but couldn’t feel deep loss because I never had a deep connection.

Yet, early on the day of his funeral, before anyone else arrived, I finally had moments of connection with him.

This is an excerpt from my memoir, Light in Bandaged Places: Healing in the Wake of Young Betrayal …

“…I drove over to the funeral parlor and pulled up a chair near his casket, where it rested in a dignified space in the darkened room. … I sat and waited. I wasn’t sure what I was waiting for, but in that moment, it became clear to me that he was just a man trying to do his best.

“I understand, Dad. I know you did the best you could. I know you loved me in your own way. Yes, you were mostly absent to me. Yes, you knew nothing about me, which hurt. I understand you were in pain, and that’s why you drank. I’ll never know what your demons were. I don’t hold your lack of involvement in my life against you. It makes me sad, but it’s okay. I just want you to know that. I hope you are at peace now.”

I sat a while longer in the silence in case he said anything back. I imagined hearing him say, “Yes, I loved you. All of you. And I’m sorry for my shortcomings. Thank you for understanding and for your forgiveness. I wish you only the best in life.”

My heart held peace, no anger or resentment. I had closure.”

Today, as I think about my father and other loved ones who have died, there is space now to ponder who they were - to me and the world - with a wider, clearer lens.  It is as though our in-real-life relationship no longer confines us; our relationship can grow now in ways it could not while they were alive. Their greater expansiveness extends to us, envelopes us, and they bring us into their wider realm, a realm of purer love. The various constrictions or difficulties we may have felt in our relationship now have the opportunity to be released, if we allow it. The pain of loss can morph into a balm of peace if we breathe, let go of the specific relationship we had, and invite a new one to move in.

I believe this is what happened with my father that day in the funeral parlor.

How do you hold the loss of loved ones with whom you had a difficult relationship?

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