Another 21 years has passed and illness prompted me to once again reach out of my safety zone and search for the people, or person who could give me insight into who this man was that is half of who I am, this man who passed on his genes to me. Initially it was merely for medical background, for some clarity about his illness (es) and how they might be or could, affect me. What came out of it was so much more than that, and through this experience the EXIT sign was boldly lit up and the door was swung wide open for me; the question then was, will I go through it, or will I stand in the doorway stuck and unmoving?
Sitting in my mother's home that morning I mentioned it to her that I wanted to seek out his wife and possibly the two daughters that he left behind, to gain some knowledge for my medical background. Without missing a beat she went right to her computer and began searching for people with the same last name and we wrote them down on a piece of paper; all six of them.
Fear once again pulled at me; what if I found one or all of them, what if my intrusion all these years later opened up wounds and caused pain to people that didn't deserve it? What if... what if. I let that day pass into night and I never attempted to make the calls, although I stared at the names on the paper for a time, praying about what and how. The next morning on my way to work I began dialing the numbers one by one. I didn't go from top to bottom for some reason, I picked a name to start with that just jumped out and said "start here!", and I got an answering machine so I hung up. I mean, honestly, how do you leave a message for someone in a situation like this? I decided then to go to the top of the list and work my way down, number after number was a recording, "the number you have dialed is no longer in service, if you feel you have reached this message in error..."bla bla bla. I had called them all, and only one other one was not a disconnected number but an elderly woman who wished me well but said that had no knowledge of the person I was looking for, so I went back to the first number I called and decided to try it again, determined that I would somehow find the right words to get this person to call me back so I could explain myself just in case they knew anything and could be of help to me, I just couldn't give up until I knew for sure one way or another. One ring, two rings, third ring and then the sound of the answering machine message began, but was suddenly interrupted... My heart was racing as I heard the woman’s voice say "hello" on the other end, I was tripping over my words trying to say the right things, trying to explain but feeling so unsure of how to do it or where to begin. So I just did the only thing I knew to do and introduced myself. “I know how odd this call is and I realize that you don't know who I am, but I am looking for someone named Bill and I also know he is deceased but...." I heard her breath catch in her throat when I said his name, and it hit me like a ton of lead, that I had found someone important. Not once did she try to turn me away, but instead spiritually reached out her hand to me and offered me in to her space, to her memories, to a man and the life they shared together, and in doing so, has begun this journey of awareness with me. She has shared with me who he was to her, to the people around him, how he affected others lives with his charm and his magnetic aura, and to the gifts he gave her just by being who he was and being a part of her life. Twenty one years later she still refers to him as her best friend, and Love, and together I know that we will embark on an incredible journey together as she paints the picture of who my father was, and the mark he left on the world around him; which brings me back to that crossroad.
I, of course, called my mom after work that day and gushed all the exciting news that I had at that point, and she wished me well and said she couldn't wait to hear more, but again, there was no offering of any of her own memories or any of the good that he may have left in her life and on her spirit, so I just accepted once more that he had really just hurt her so much that she really didn't have anything to give me in that way. I wasn't angry at her, it never crossed my mind right then to be angry, I just felt bad in some way for her.
I made those phone calls that day and put my heart on the line, I am the one who took the risks and exposed a very raw unhealed part of my being to a stranger in hopes that I would find solace, understanding and a sense of completion finally. After that first conversation with his wife, I was joyfully overwhelmed and wrote well into the night about all that I was feeling and shared it with the handful of close and trusted people in my life, my mother being one of them. So many things made sense in my world all of a sudden, so many aspects of my own personality parallel to his, and in those things I found connection, comfort and beautiful peace.
Then came an email from my mom in response to what I had written, gushing with warm memories of him and who he was to her so long ago, and how he was still so ingrained in her heart. It was like a dam had burst open in me emotionally, but it was not good emotion, it was rage and resentment that was hot as fire and daring to consume all in its way; red hot, raw rage like I had not felt towards this woman in years. I didn't speak to her about it, I didn't even respond to the email, I reached out to my safety nets and unloaded the tears and the anger, so that I didn't have to release it on her, where it really did belong. Where was all this information all my life? Did her memory just fail her for 40 years of my existence where any good of him was concerned; or was it just easier to allow me to believe he was mean and cold so that she could feel justified in keeping him and I apart? I was mad as hell! How many times over the years had I needed to hear something from her, something positive, something that would make me feel like this man was not horrible, but perhaps just a mere imperfect human being who, like herself, was just young and misguided, but instead I got a 5 minute story about his desire to travel and then years more of silence until someone else came forth telling of a man that was beautiful and loved and cherished by many, and miraculously then there was all this warm fuzzy recollection of him and the part he played in her life! Which, please don't get me wrong, was wonderful to read from her, but then begs even further, if he was all of this to you WHY IN THE HELL WOULD YOU KEEP ME AWAY FROM HIM, DENY ME THE ABILITY TO KNOW HIM AND BE TOUCHED BY HIS PRESENCE?
Why would you not want his daughter to know that about him as well, why, why why?!
~sometimes the only way out is through the exit~
I swallowed again, and never spoke of it to her, never revealed the anguish, anger, resentment that I was feeling, because I did not want to hurt her, my Mom, this woman who is so important and cherished in my life; self sacrifice. It was easier to hurt myself and keep it down than it was to make her own the burden of it. Well, I thought that was easier, but as often happens, what I think I have a handle on, is more so that which has a handle on me. My emotions raced day after day, sleep was eluding me again, my desire to move, to breathe, all of it was being challenged, I felt like I was spinning like a top with all that was playing out in my life emotionally, spiritually and physically, and this was just the icing on the cake, so to speak.
Then I became aware that she had gone behind my back and contacted this woman; without one time asking me how I felt about her being involved in that way, without any regard for the fact that maybe she just didn't have the right at this point to be that involved in it, without once thinking that I deserved to be asked how I felt about it, because once again, my voice and my feelings were disregarded in order to serve her own.
I have my theories about why it happened, and why she did it, but even after I calmed down enough to ask her, in an attempt to open the dialogue between us so that we could meet in the middle and try to hear each other out and understand where we both stood, she lashed out in angry defense and refused a civil conversation. So we collided head on. She recoiled and refused to offer any kind of compromise, and I surged forward with a heart full of venom whose only vision was to give back at least some of the pain she had spoon fed me for 40 years where this issue was concerned. Rage like that doesn't seek prisoners, it seeks destruction.
I am not happy, nor am I proud of the way it all came out, but I will not back down from my position. This is mine to have now, and if I choose to share this with anyone else, that is MY prerogative, MY right and my choice to make. I was robbed of this man in my life, I was denied of all that we could have shared and the ways that I could have grown by having him in my world, but I have him now, I have someone who shares him with me through her eyes, someone who has shared him with me through his written words left behind; and I've learned that in some of the very core aspects of my own personality he is very present and has never truly left me; but I don't have to let anyone else in to that journey. For every action there is an equal reaction, repercussions and consequences that we pay for the choices we make. I have to live with the fact that I cannot physically speak to my father, I cannot hug him, laugh with him, ask his advice about my writing or sit by the ocean with him talking about life and my dreams, at least not in the everyday "normal" way; but I believe and feel that he is very present today, and perhaps in so many ways has been for 40 years, and I do not have to let anyone else in, I do not have to share this anymore than I want to, and no one has the right to intrude or place themselves into it without first asking me how I feel about it. No one ever asked me then, but you damn well will ask me now.
©2013.NOVEMBERGOLD.All Rights Reserved.
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