Here goes nothing…

I have all these thoughts in my head and feelings in my heart and I feel like I can’t move on until I release them.  Like if I can get it all down here for the whole world it’s no longer inside of me threatening my sanity.

I buried my daddy on Tuesday.  Some of you who have known me since I was just a little girl may think I’m crazy for saying that because you know that my daddy has been gone for over 8 years now.  And you are correct but I’m not talking about that one.  I’m talking about the other one.  I’m speaking of the “real” one.  I never like using that term to describe my biological father.  What makes a father “real” anyway? 

Let me start with a little history.  I’m sure many of you know this story.  Maybe it is one of your own.   My mom and dad were only married for a year or so.  I have no memory of them together at all.  Sometimes the thought of them together even seemed weird to me.  When I was 4 years old I met the man I would call my daddy.  My mom married him and he raised me for 18 years until he died of cancer at the young age of 39.  Those years were not perfect by any means.  He had many faults, none of which I really recall now, and at times I hated him.  But the fact remains he was always there.  Every childhood memory I have eventually comes back to him.   

But back to the other one.  He is the one this is about.  My dad and I had a strange relationship.  He was what they call a deadbeat dad.  Never paid child support or helped financially.  I did have the every other weekend visit but I would always end up at my Mimi’s on Friday evening watching him walk out the door to go who knows where and do who knows what.  I remember asking my Mimi where he was going but can’t recall ever getting an answer. 

As a little girl I always thought my daddy was so funny and sweet and we had so much fun when he was around.  I couldn’t understand what else could mean that much more to him.  I remember crying myself to sleep in the middle bedroom thinking he must not love me.  There I was 8 years old trying to figure out what I did wrong.  Why didn’t he love me? Maybe I wasn’t a good enough kid and didn’t deserve it.  It seems absurd now because I know better but I really did think like that.   

Those feelings didn’t last long.  When I became a teenager I decided I hated him anyway and I didn’t care if he stayed there or not when I visited.  I had much better things to do anyway.  But yet I still cried and through fits of rage into those pillows at night when a train came through to muffle the noise.   Of course by this time I had figured out what he was doing when he would disappear for days.  You see my dad was an alcoholic.  As he consumed bottle after bottle, the disease consumed his entire life and part of mine.   

Some where along the way I grew up and by the grace of God, the love of my Mimi and the most understanding mother in the world I continued to stay in contact with my dad.  Around the time my step daddy died I began living my life on God’s terms instead of my own.  This is when He set my heart on mending the broken relationship with my dad.  God opened my eyes to the love I had still for him.  The love I knew he didn’t deserve but I still had to give thanks to God.   

I went through a time of sorrow.  When I felt so sorry for him for missing my life.  Proms, boyfriends, basketball, graduation, walking me down the aisle on my wedding day; the birth of his granddaughters, the list goes on and on.  But there was no point in dwelling on the past.  I had to forgive him.  How could I not? Look at how undeserving we are and what Jesus did for us… How could I not forgive my dad for the things he didn’t do for me?  It took me a long time but I did.  The minute I let that go the peace I had was incredible and God began to use me in ways I didn’t think possible.   

Unfortunately even though I had undergone this amazing transformation in my life, my dad had not.  He was still an alcoholic.  I brought the girls around him as much as I could so they could know him.  And he was so great with them when he was sober.  He and Kelsey have spent hours having tea parties.  And he has helped Allison put together so many puzzles.   My dad has broken my heart time and time again and I don’t even think he knew it when he did.  But the fact is that no matter how many times he hurt my heart he still was the beat of my heart. 

During his last days he was so pitiful but kept hanging on.   I had never actually told him that I had forgiven him for not being there when I was growing up.  Talking was not easy for us.  He knew I loved him.  I had told him that many times.  But I felt he needed to hear the words “It’s ok daddy.  I know you love me and I forgive you and you can go on home now”.  So I told him that on Saturday and then he died on Sunday.   I don’t know for sure that he even heard me but I hope he did.   

My day to day life will not change at all with the loss of my dad.  So I assumed the grieving would not be too hard.  I was wrong.    I’ve struggled so much with letting him go.  Maybe I’m struggling with letting go of the fact that I will never have that closeness that I’ve always wanted with him.   

I’m comforted knowing that my dad is in heaven.  He had accepted Jesus as his savior and our God is merciful.  He even takes deadbeat daddies in heaven.  How wonderful is that?   

I don’t want you to think my daddy was a bad man.  He was a good man.  The sweetest person you would ever meet.  And probably the smartest too.  But this disease really does destroy lives.  It took my dads from him and him from me.  Please I beg you if you are reading this and you think you may have a problem with alcohol…. Get help before it’s too late.   Don’t let it destroy your life or the lives of the people you love. ….

  Whew…. I feel better now.