Did you know you had good character traits that you passed onto me? You told me how smart I am and to embrace my intelligence. You taught me how to have a hobby, fishing, one I can do by myself (or with you). You gave me my first job by working alongside you, pulling a big hose to spray on houses that had bees. You taught me the value of a hot dog and a coke without unnecessary conversation. You showed me how to cut grass evenly so that the lines would be straight. You taught me how to drive and I've never been in an accident I caused.
You taught me to respect my elders by saying, "Mr. or Mrs.".
I understood the importance of becoming a respectable and responsible adult. I learned to be a person of my word. I even saw you cry.
There's no denying the abuse that you dealt to my body, mind and spirit changed me. It damaged me emotionally and confused me. One minute you were my Dad and my friend. The next minute I didn't recognize you and I feared you. Unfortunately, the latter was sealed into the depth of my soul. Being your daughter was no longer safe. I was no longer desired by you and that truth cut deeply.
How many times had we been on again, off again in our relationship? Too many to count. It was hard on me, not knowing what to do and what not to do. It seemed nothing I tried worked. It was hard as a child and as an adult. It's as though there were rules you placed upon our relationship but you never shared them. Your inability to honestly communicate caused trouble in my life. Trouble I'd like to keep to myself.
I am feeling a mixture of emotions. Glad you can't hurt me anymore. Sad I can't stop over for a Mug root beer and shoot the breeze. Knowing the abuse and harm you did to my little body causes me to feel downcast - I did nothing, at any time in my early years, to deserve such physical destruction. Even though you told me how smart I was, I've never felt confident in my abilities.
Yesterday, I was invited to witness a young man's confirmation of his Catholic faith. I'm still surprised when people want me to attend a special event in their lives. I'm not sure I'll ever feel worthy of their friendship or support. I think that's because I've lived life close to my chest - happy on the outside but angry and guarded on the inside.
I was told to wear what I was comfortable in. I wore my usual: jeans, Minions t-shirt, Judson University hoodie and black DC's. I was going to sit in the back by myself but my friend spotted me (darn!) and she and another friend invited me to join them down front. I stepped out of my comfort zone - the church was a full house. As I was walking toward my seat I saw my friend's Dad.
I think I met him for the first time in May 2014 at the Memorial Day Parade. As she introduced me, I prepared myself to reach out and shake his hand, make eye contact and hold a firm grip. That's something else you taught me. I wasn't sure he remembered who I was so as I was still standing and our eyes met, he stood up and I said, "Hi Mr. (name and we shook hands). I'm not sure you remember me but my name is Amy and I'm a friend of (her name)."
You know what happened, Dad? He smiled, released our handshake and then took his right hand and placed it on the back of my head then jostled my hair. I almost started to cry. I have a fear of certain men, especially men whose exterior looks tough. Her Dad gave me some gifts that I'm sure he's not aware of:
- God used him to show me that not all men strike girls when they reach out their hand.
- God used him to show me that men can express tenderness to their daughter's friends.
- God showed me that there's a little bit of you still here on the earth because that's exactly what you'd do to me often, especially when you were proud of me.
There's a thousand things I could say about that awful day I received the phone call about your death and the awful day after. But I've already written those in past blogs. Nothing I say today can take away the heartache I feel having been robbed of being able to say goodbye to you before you died.
You are gone.
I am here.
The truth will come out.
The truth will set me free (John 8:32).
I hope you are living in Heaven.
I'd like to see you as God created you to be.
No alcoholism.
No abuse.
Your loving daughter,
Amy
This is the song my Dad gave to us as an expression of his heart. It was on a cassette.
