A Father's Love- Part 1

 

A Father’s Love-

 

I visited a friend today and sat and drank coffee and had conversation, and as
is par for he and I, we visited a number of topics and I found myself dealing with a flurry of emotions as we did. I have been so blessed by him and his children in my life, and I thank God everyday for them because they don’t even know how much light and love they shine into darkness at times for me. He has been the picture of God’s love in a human being, his very spirit radiates such goodness that I find myself in awe at times, and I was reminded today that his genuine friendship heals something in me when the seas of life get wild and out of control. I don’t have to wear masks or hide my truths, I am allowed to simply be who I am, in all of my glory and in my gloom, it matters not, they love me regardless.

 

I spoke about my passion to him today, my writing, and I heard myself talking about my father who is passed, a man who also loved to write and before I could capture them, tears welled up in my eyes and I couldn’t speak for a moment. As true friends do, we sat silently at the table for a minute; he understood that I didn’t want or need any sympathy and I didn’t need him to tell me not to cry or feel what I felt; I needed exactly what he offered; silent love and support from inside, there was no need to speak it.

 

My father and I share a love of water and written word, and as I understand it, our very natures seem to be closely intertwined…I’m proud of the man my father was to those around him and the love and lasting impact he left with them; but I still have days when the emptiness hits me like a truck full of lead; that place where he was supposed to be in my life and I find myself wishing he would have fought to keep his place intact in my life; this is not ever to say that the man I call Dad was not good enough or that he didn’t love me, because I know and have always known that he loves me very much, even when I’m not easy to love, he has never allowed me to get too far from him emotionally and I have appreciated that in him a million times over. But as a girl, and now a grown woman, I always felt the space where my father should have been.

As I watched my friend and his little girl today, I realized how much pain dwells inside of me, how much sadness exists because I never felt that kind of protection and nurturing as a little girl. I sat there watching them today; so thankful for him and for the way he loves his children because as I watched her be comforted and her tears kissed away; it was so clear to me that as she grows into a young woman in this world, she will look for the same qualities in a partner, that she will have high standards for a man, because she is being raised by such a quality Man. He is setting the bar high for the next man who enters into her world, and one day she will understand it all so well and be grateful.

There is a picture in my minds eye that comes back to me over and over again where I see my father and I sitting on a beach watching a beautiful sunset, sharing poetry or stories we have written, I imagine him giving me advice and offering guidance with my own writing, I imagine him sitting close enough to me that I can lay my head on his shoulder and feel sheltered from the brutal storms of life while I gather the strength to go back out and keep fighting the good fight; and the truth is, it hurts like hell because I wont ever do that, I will never get that; at least not here in this place.

 

 

 

A voice inside me tells me that he would have “gotten” me, he would have understood me because he is me, and I am him in so many ways that truly matter to me. I never felt like I “fit” anywhere, I didn’t and don’t feel understood by my parents; I don’t blame them for that, but I recognize it and have to accept that it just is what it is, they love me as they are able to, with the tools that they have. It is no longer their job to tend to the child in me, it is my job to nurture her and make sure she is alright now; it’s my job to heal that little girl where she is hurting and make her whole. This is not about blame, it’s about awareness. I have open wounds that have never healed, just slightly scabbed over and then experiences come along and scratch them off sometimes, leaving open sores that bleed and hurt. In all honesty, I’m not sure I know how to make them better.

(to be continued..)

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