I drove to Knoxville while the sun was still trying to peak over the horizon, listening to Ray LaMontagne and Scott Avett. The hour’s drive passes easy when there’s good music. I looked down at my list trying to figure out how to do the ten things I had scribbled down before time to truck back and pick up the girls from school. I went to my doctor’s appointment first and walked out feeling like a real grown up who practices what she’s always preached about wellness and health. Then, I found a nearby coffee shop and sipped on a strong cup of french press while I worked on an upcoming deadline. The words came as fast as I could type them and then like they often do, they turned on me. Out of left field, I was twelve years old again and needing to be tethered and protected, like a little girl caught out in a rain storm. The peeling brick walls closed in on me.
It would have seemed awkward to ugly cry in front of a handful of hipster 20 year olds studying Herodotus, so I fumbled around like a woman late for something, trying to gather up my belongings before the first tear fell. I walked fast and blurry eyed to the car and looked down at my list, trying to steel myself against the weight of old wounds. Trader Joe’s, Barnes and Noble, Anthropologie, Belk, and Costco—I can do this. I don’t remember much about the drive but twenty minutes later I was kneeling by my daddy’s tombstone in Mount Olive Cemetery, brushing away pine needles and leaves like I always do so that Daddy would be clearly visible.
He died the year before I graduated from medical school. He made me laugh and cry more than anyone I’ve ever known. I miss him still. Now, I’m left with the story he wrote on my heart and a longing for the story that was never his to tell.
I stretched out on the grass and listened to George Jones and let fatherlessness have its say.
Then, I walked among bare March trees, looking for hope in tight fisted buds.
It was the Mount of Olives where Jesus was betrayed but it was also the mount where He was transfigured.
He was writing the one story that mattered for us all—fighting off demons, sweating drops of blood, and headed to a Cross so as to mark us forever as ones redeemed by His Grace. To make us His sons and daughters.
Before I left the windy graveyard, I prayed the prayer Jesus taught us to pray. The prayer He prays with us and for us not just to His father but to ours as well.
Our Father, who art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day our daily bread
And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us
Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil
For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory
Forever and ever
Amen
I made the sign of the cross over my heart and walked to back to the car, more sure than ever before that I am his beloved daughter and an heir of His redemption—my tattered pages exchanged for the greatest story ever told.
“I looked my demons in the eyes, laid bare my chest and said do your best to destroy me
You see I’ve been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kinda bore me
There’s a lot of things that can kill a man, a lot of ways to die
Yes, and some already dead that walked beside me
There’s a lot of things I don’t understand, why so many people lie
It’s the hurt I hide that fuels the fire inside me
Will I always feel this way, so empty, so estranged?”
****************************
Fatherlessness has been a real life wound for me, but also a weapon that the evil one uses over and over to destroy me. Would you be willing to share yours and let us pray for each other, for faith that He will hide us in His wounds and heal us? And that we will by faith accept the Great exchange of his life for our death, his beauty for our ashes, and his wholeness for our broken pieces.
Blessed Lent to you and lots of love.
My wounds are doubt and fear. The devil uses them in me because he is lazy. I learned this only a few years ago, but he will take the easiest route possible to destroy your peace, and if placing tiny thoughts of doubt or fear before you is all that it takes to get you to stop, be overly cautious, to choose inaction over action because ‘what if I do it wrong?’ then he has won. But I know now that the victory is not his. I know that Christ is my strength and my guide. I know that sometimes I will fall or fail. I choose to live my life the best that I can even when I’m at my worst because living is what Jesus died for me to do. If I give in to fear then I am dying, not living. I choose life and I choose Him.
Thank you for sharing, Cristy.
Praying for you and sending love and hugs.
xoxo
Cristy, as I read your comment, I was fist pumping and shouting, yea! Go forth and kick the devil’s booty! He has NO hold on us unless we allow it! Being your cheerleader… 😀
This really touched me today. My dad was killed in August of this past year and I’ve been struggling a lot lately.
Thank-you.
Sending you love and prayers, Rose.
You have a heavenly Father who loves you and will comfort you in this grief.
xoxo
I know exactly how you feel. Really.
Hope is such a fragile thing I have come to understand. My father has always found a way to dampen it. While my father lives, he has chosen to not be a father or grandfather anymore. God has taken off the rose colored glasses. I can’t imagine a relationship with my father anymore. I have let my relationship with my father guide my hope and direction for years. Now there is only the true hope from our true father. I’m really mourning now and this post is what helped me know what the mourning has been about. Thank you!
Praying for you now, Ruth.
THank you for sharing and for your words of love and comfort.
‘ Fatherlessness has been a real life wound for me.’ Wow that sentence really got me. Perfectly written post. Thank you.
Love and prayers, Anita.
xoxo
Sweet Edie ~ You make me laugh and you make me cry. Your words always seem to speak to my heart. No coincidence. We are sisters who proclaim that we are not Fatherless.
I am 52 years old, a mother of one daughter and two sons that I would walk through fire for. (Also a wife and grandmother of one sweet girl and another on the way.) I still ponder the complexity of child/parent relationships. The mother/daughter, father/daughter like the mother/son, father/son relationships are each unique. How can we love people so much and hurt them? I know some are hurt by neglect and even abuse but most of us are hurt unintentionally because as humans we are so broken and we cannot give when we do not know how or what or when to give. Jesus shows us to love, right here right now. Its so simple but sometimes we are going to fail. So we land on the truth; Jesus is still here. He is the only one who can fulfill us and our children…
My short story: My parents were divorced when I was 8. My mother was, and sadly still is, an emotionally dysfunctional woman. My dad always lived far away being in the Air Force. I always had an “ache” in my heart for daddy. Even today it is the one memory that can bring me to tears. We have a good adult relationship that has grown strong over the years. I have reconciled the past and know in my heart that he always loved me. But of course it was never enough. Hmmm. He is going through radiation and chemo right now for mouth cancer. This has been an uncertain place for me to walk. My dad is a “functional” alcoholic. He is very stubborn and independent and he lives alone in Hawaii. Please pray for him and that he will come to know Jesus. Pray for my brother and I as we try to love him from California.
My sisters, I pray you and I will continue to meet Jesus, our treasure, in our valleys and may we rejoice with him there and again on our mountaintops.
I just love you, Julie!
Thank you for love and encouragement, dear sister.
I’m so glad you shared your story.
Praying for you, too.
xoxo
Thanks for sharing…praying for you. Heard an excellent talk on grief this morning in my church lifegroup by a licensed therapist and the idea of worldly vs Godley sorrow. She also reminded us that there is a sea of love and a sea of sorrow in the Kingdom and that we are humans on a spiritual journey so this sorrow, even with healing, is in us and with us but His love and light are greater. You would have loved the talk. She ended by saying grief is a voluntary act that we must surrender to and grief isn’t just experienced in the face of death. It is over lost identities, new seasons, rejection, failed dreams/expectations, loss of friendships, etc..It struck me that while I have a mother that did/does her best, I often feel motherless and dismissed. Never truly heard, accepted, and loved in a Godly way. But when I meditate on Jesus, I know that I have a greater advocate! Still hard to accept, but I have hope…Mandy
Good stuff, Mandy.
Thank you for sharing.
Yes, we have an advocate with the Father!
Beautiful (as always). George Jones always reminds me of my Daddy. Your writing is always so inspiring. You have a gift. Have a blessed day.
Much love, Leigh.
Thank you.
xoxo
Edie, I too have experienced the wound of fatherlessness for most of my life. I grew up with an alcoholic father who was a really nice guy, he was just unavailable emotionally. After my parents divorced when I was 13, I lost more of him. I completely lost him to cancer 10 years ago, 100 days after his diagnosis. Through God’s grace and mercy, I am finding peace. I have been given a heart for young girls and teaching them about their Heavenly Father and His true heart for them. Praying they avoid the pain and mess I made of my own life because I needed a father’s love. Thank you for these words.
Bless you, Diane. Sending you love and prayers for comfort and peace.
xoxo
“Fatherlessness” (in an emotional sense) has probably been the biggest wound of my life, and I’ve had many. but something about not having a father that protected, guided, encouraged, and loved is enormous. It’s been a struggle to see God clearly, as our notions of God come from our relationship with our earthly father. It’s been a huge loss, and I cling to the thought that the Lord says he will be a Father to the fatherless. Bless you, Edie.
Well, this post certainly brought many tears from the depths of my heart. I grew up with an alcoholic father who was completely absent emotionally. By the grace of God, my dad has been sober for 31 years, but yet the wounds still haunt me in many ways. At least now I am aware of how they sabotage and trick me into believing lies, but sometimes I don’t catch it and I end up in a heap, crying. I am grateful that I now have a relationship with my dad that is very good and continually growing. I didn’t really have a dad until I was in my early 30’s and I am soon to be 48. When I came to a saving faith in Christ at 32 I thought all those wounds would melt away, and many wounds have vanished into thin air. However, some still remain. I wonder why. I don’t like them, but I can trust that they serve a purpose. I feel your pain, Edie. Thanks for sharing and perhaps it is a blessing to know you are not alone. I know it is a comfort to me.
Hi Edie, I happened to visit my father’s gravesite a few days ago spontaneously, too. He died when I was 26. I’m not even sure what prompted me; maybe because we’ve had such a long, cold winter and the past few days have been so spring-like and this time of year gives us renewed hope. Hope that we can understand ‘why’. It never really gets any easier, though. All the hurt seems to find it’s ugly self back. I can’t imagine a life without The Father’s love. Thank you, again for your beautiful words. You are blessed with such a gift. ~and blessed Lent to you and yours~
Dr edie this brought me 2 tears. I lost my dad 4 yrs ago after a 3 yr battle with lung cancer and then 10 months ago i buried my husband and my girls daddy. It was no doubt the hardest thing ive ever had to do. So now I have big shoes to fill. My girls were 10 and 4. Ive had to fully trust on GOD to carry me thru this wilderness and to give me the guidance that I need. I worry about my girls but I know that my heavenly father will take care of them and will comfort them in the ways that I cant. Thank u so much for this post.
My parents divorced when I was very young and I grew up without ever feeling/knowing a true father daughter relationship. I am 38 now with four kids and a great husband. I ponder how I might be different had I been cherished and loved by my dad? I have asked myself repeatedly if I ” should” be doing something to try and heal or nurture the relationship with my dad before it is too late. But weird as it sounds- I feel a peace about it as it is. Nothing will replace the loss for me of a childhood without a daddy. But trying to establish that now just feels awkward and unnatural. It sure is a complicated emotional mess though to watch my husband and kids and feel happy that they have the relationship yet it stirs up very bittersweet feelings in me at times.
The Lord bless you and keep you. The Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you; The Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace, dear Edie.
I lost my father in 1991 when I was 27. I feel your heart! Hugs
I, too, lost my Daddy in 2009 to the ugly C word. We will always be our earthly father’s daughter and we can choose the memories that hold us hostage or we can choose to remember the smiles and laughter and the crazy goodness of life…and sometimes it becomes a muddled watery mess of all those memories tangled up. I sit outside a lot through all kinds of weather. My Dad loved to be outside and I guess I’m that much like him. He gardened. I garden. I have a handful of his personal items that I take out of a blue box and hold in my hands to feel him close because sometimes my heart is bruised up to the point I might explode if I don’t. I let the tears escape from the sweet memory of him. Then, I always smile again. I often long to see the East Tennessee mountains because that’s where my memory of him began. That’s where he is laid and his grave tended by our huge and precious family when we can’t drive up 81. “I trust you, Jesus” is my comfort and those little words get me through. Proverbs 3:5-6. “Trust in The Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding…” Thank you, Lord, that I don’t have to figure it all out. I only have to trust. I can do that. I do wish, however, that R.I.P. meant Return If Possible. That just sounds better to me. Thank you for sharing your heart with us, Edie.
How dare you go on such a trip and not call me to pour you’re heart out on your way home. I am in awe of your ability to write so openly about your pain. Edie you always have and continue to make me want to be a better person. I Love you dearly Sister and your Daddy loved you girls so, I could always see it (even as a child). I was kindly jealous. I hope you at least pulled over and “danced one off” in his honor.
Always,
Jamie
it is so good to have friends who have known you forever…who know your story and aren’t afraid to help you carry it sometimes.
I have a few Jamie Knoxvilles in my life…they are rare treasures.
Edie, this spoke to my heart today. I apologize for this long post. I lost my dad in 2008 and it feels like yesterday that I wrote these words…
I’m not sure how long I will feel the grief over losing my dad, maybe for the rest of my life, and that’s ok, it hasn’t overwhelmed or consumed me, but loss is loss – and this is one that can’t be replaced. I don’t know if this is true for all women, but for me – I distinctly feel like when daddy died, I wasn’t a little girl anymore. We are always our mother’s daughter’s, but we are daddy’s little girls. Even though I’m grown with children of my own – there have been so many moments over the years that I felt very small in the universe – small and vulnerable, but as long as my daddy was around, I was safe. Now I still feel small and vulnerable, but he’s gone, and I don’t feel that same safety. My husband yes, protects me, but he has only known the woman I am, my daddy held me the day I was born, and that little girl that was still there just a few weeks ago, I don’t know where she’s gone, but it’s like, she left, when daddy died. This is something in my soul that I can’t explain. There’s something unique about a father and his daughter, and once it’s gone, it’s gone – you can only hold onto the beauty of the memory, and hopefully, it is a beautiful one. Sadly for some, it’s not. For me, there are many, but some of the most precious were the quiet afternoons when I came home from school and we hung out in the back yard, either on the hammock, in the pool or just sitting around the patio before he went to work. I also loved the Tuesday nights when I’d bake all night and he’d come home from work to taste and critique my work. These were alone moments – which were important to me in having to share him with a big family, I remember him holding my hand when we left Greece and we said goodbye to my Yaya, knowing it would be the last time we saw her alive…and I treasure the memory of dancing with him at my wedding, when he just sighed over and over in my ear, and I knew in my heart he was wondering where the time had gone. I had the honour of putting his first grandson in his arms. Through all these memories, I was still his little girl, and during one of the alone moments I had with him in his final days, he woke from his sleep, grabbed my hand and whispered – “Mimi (his pet name for me), my baby girl”…
And so, the grieving continues, and it is still punctuated by life. When people ask me how I’m doing, I really don’t know. Mostly I’m ok. I’m still at rest in Jesus, I’m still at peace, I know that He Is. But I’m grieving, and there’s no rhyme or reason to it, it just is. There is a hurt that is healing, more everyday, and I know this. The love of God, the company of family and friends and the peace of salvation – His grace truly is sufficient.
In the years since, the moments of grief are less and further apart, but after reading your post, I actually find blessing in having lost him, the pain bringing the awareness of identifying with Him, another reminder of my Heavenly Father’s presence in my life in another remarkable way. So thank you, and bless you.
Edie, It is a emptiness that time will not fill. Who Could possibly fill those shoes? But I choose to keep evil away with the thought that I have my own Guardian Angel 3-24-77. I was 19, he was 39. I have learned to look up and smile back at him! He was a piano fan with his favorite song being Sentimental Journey. Thanks for sharing tears and smiles 🙂
ya know,Daddy’s are way to important to us grown -up girls, that never had them when we were growing up. Mine was never in my life except when mamma told us to “be quite, don’t bother daddy.” Then at age 12 they divorced to only remarry 9 months later and divorce again 3 months later. Then he married, divorced, and is remarried to her. Yep 4 marriages-2 women. Slow learner. He’s a hard worker, great provider to his wife and adopted son. Only his biological daughters and grandchildren never see him. At 50 one would think I’d be over this. It hurts everyday. I thank God for a wonderful husband that loves ME and 2 wonderful daughters that have a wonderful daddy that absolutely adores them. Edie, he LOVED you. Remember that. I don’t think mine really cares, and that hurts. Fatherlessness. That fits. But I have a GREAT momma!
sooo beautifully, vulnerably, written, edie. lovely.
and so sorry for this loss, my friend. xo
The feeling of being “too much (too emotional)” or being “not enough” is how I spent my first 30 years- always trying to be everything to everyone and never measuring up. Now in my mid 30’s, after a car accident 3 years ago that has left me with a brain injury and daily struggles to do the mundane things of life, I struggle with feeling “broken” too. I’m working very hard to find beauty in the broken (in which your writing has been a blessing on this journey). And anytime I feel like I’m ahead of it, the enemy uses someone to dig out those insecurities… and so I begin again the hard work of uncovering beauty in the broken…
Praying for you all today 🙂
This is beautiful post. Thank you for sharing your words with us! While I don’t share your sadness over losing a parent (at almost 40 I still have both of mine), I struggle with financial irresponsibility. Things have gotten much better, but I still allow myself to be taken off-course, which always causes a problem. I need to be strong – and to forgive myself, I know – and rely on Jesus to help me. I know that a comment on a blog isn’t the best place to tell an entire story, so I’ll leave it at that. But, I will certainly add you to my prayer list and would welcome prayers for me.
my goodness. my goodness. i feel like i was right there beside you as you packed up & headed out…and then again as you dusted off that headstone.
so powerful. i’m going back to read again…
i’m sorta speechless..
love you, friend.
xoxo
I wish I could talk and write so freely about my grief, but it feels like the words just don’t exist for the searing pain of my loss, even after 23 years. I appreciate that you share your words of grief and hope, Eddie, and every comment shared above. It helps me to see that I am not alone.
So glad you are here, friend.
Much love to you.
xoxo
{Kathy} Wounds of fatherlessness are very real to me. It is a struggle that sneaks up on you, that pushes you to do things you would never normally do….such a tool of the enemy. I appreciate the need you have to mourn. I, too, have had to mourn. I’m still in mourning. As I watch my children have what I didn’t have, it’s still jealous little scar that wants attention, affirmation.
Thank you for your transparency and reflections this day.
Not really fatherlessness here, but certainly a kind of parentlessness. My mother has had some demons/mental health issues that have kept us mostly apart for half my life. My father has very bad Parkinsons which makes real communication nearly impossible. SInce he lives with my mother, it feels like I lost him a long time ago already. Now my youngest sister shows the same signs of mental illness. When does it end? I don’t know.
But I do know that God hasn’t left me in a lurch. He placed this amazing loving couple (same age as my parents!!!) on my street. These neighbors almost make up for the lack of parents for me & grandparents that my kids have.
So much heartache, Cathy.
Love to you and yours.
Praying for you, for strength and peace.
xoxo
Wow! Just beautiful, brought me to tears, just what I needed today…missing my Dad (gone 9 yrs.) and my Mom (gone almost 2 yrs.) and trying to journal with daily gratitude for those small things in my life. I read your blog every day and ,even though you don’t know me, feel you are a friend in many ways…you inspire me to cook more, read more, pray more, and enjoy my passion for decorating my home. Thank you….xo
Balm to my soul, Karen.
Thank you so much.
Sending you lots of love and praying for your peace.
xoxo
Edie, my sorrow is about the great sense of shame and worthlessness I often feel. The devil often tells me how worthless I am and how I don’t deserve to live even one more day. Thank God Jesus helps me to fight back against such lies. This was such a powerful message that you wrote today that I had to comment. Bless you for the hope you give to me and to others.
Bless you, Kat, for sharing. So thankful you see the lies for what they are.
Praying for you.
All my love,
edie
“Life wound” is so absurdly accurate. These wounds are so awful, with their relentless, lasting reach and their ability make you randomly burst into tears over coffee (in my case – Chinese). They don’t just heal and become a vague memory. You don’t cover them with a band-aid, take a tylenol, and see them gone. You never really recover from them. You may face your day and go through life and look a whole lot like everyone else, but in reality, the lens through which you view past, present, and future has been irrevocably changed. There is no return to “normal.”
I tried to explain this to a co-worker once, and because we are nurses, and because I happened to be be caring for a patient with a recent (traumatic) amputation, I looked to him for an analogy. That man would eventually walk again, he would go about his day, do his work, engage his friends and family – he may even run a marathon or hike a mountain. But he would never do it the same as he had before. He would never do it the same as most other people. When he thought about walks in his past, he would no longer see them the same. They would never be “just a walk.” And he would never again take “just a walk.” That man’s wound would never really heal. It would never go away. It would always be with him, staring at him, reminding him, his constant companion. No matter how well he dealt with it, no matter how well he recovered, no matter how well adjusted he seemed to others. He would never be the same. He was wounded for life. A life wound.
For me, motherlessness has been a life wound. It has affected every facet of my existence. My own mother left when I was only 4 years old. I am now 35. I have fewer than 10 memories of my mother, most of them less than pleasant. She has been in and out over the last 31 years. She very nearly did not come to my wedding. She once told me she was going to kill herself and it was my fault. My father and older brother believe she tried to suffocate me when I was only 9 weeks old. Sometimes, I think I was born motherless. The only reminder that I was not is my belly button (you can laugh here…)
But, oh, how I long for a mother. A mom. Mommy. Mama. To be able to use that name, to bestow it and all its affection and love upon someone…but, no. I have no mother. I am motherless. The only reminder – once upon a time – that I had a mother is the small indentation in my own belly. We were connected. Once.
I have always regarded mothers and daughters with curiosity and longing. What is that relationship like? It does not matter at what age I observe the two women. Young mother and baby. Two elderly women. I wonder – how does that feel? For nearly all my life, I thought I would one day know when I became a mother, and then my longing for that relationship would would be fulfilled. But, alas, that is not to be either. One year ago this month, my husband and I found out we wound never have children. And I do mean never. There is no miracle baby waiting for us, no “try-for-years-hey-look-we-had-a-baby-at-45” child in our future. I have not had a mother, I will not be a mother. I am motherless in every sense of the word. And most days, that wound is devastating.
And then I am reminded of another devastating life wound, borne by the only child God ever promised to me: His only Son. Whose life wound gave me life. Made me see the past, present, and future through wholly different eyes. Who paid the price for the sin of my anger over my motherlessness. Who reminds me, that because of Him, I am not Fatherless. Not in this life or the next. He is a Father to the motherless, and even though He slay me, yet will I hope in Him (Job 13:15).
P.S. That Ray LaMontagne song is fantastic. I clearly remember hearing it for the first time, and stopping to listen again to, “You see I’ve been to hell and back so many times I must admit you kinda bore me.” (Do you know his new album comes out in May?)
Kelle,
So hearing you and thankful for your sharing and for your trust in the only One true Healer.
I will pray for your everyday in Lent and I know some of my friends here will join me, that God will send nurturing women to you, and that He would equip you to nurture and love other women who are motherless. Our suffering is always preparing us for the unique ways He will use us to comfort and bless those around us.
You have blessed me today in how you’ve so graciously opened your heart with us.
And you are so right, He is the Father to the motherless.
He is what our hearts are longing for.
Sending you much love today and big hug from TN.
Your sisters stand with you, firm in His grace and forgiveness.
xoxo,
edie
I’m finding this a day late, but oh it was on my heart. My father dies when I was almost 10. I didn’t know him well as he worked away from home most of the time. My mother remarried 3 years later and he became my dad. I held him as he died in 2005 just as I had held him when my brother passed in 1989. Why do all the men in my life leave me? It has been a question I have asked all my life.
Now my husband suffers from atrial fib and cannot have the procedure he needs because of a bleeding factor. Twice now, his heart has stopped for a few seconds and he feels the world waning. Am I to lose this man as well?
Edie ~ Just now read your post. My heart goes out to you, but at the same time I rejoice with you that you have a Papa God who can and does comfort you in your time of need. He sees every tear that drops, not one is missed. He loves us beyond measure. Thanks for sharing, Beth
Hey sweet Edie
My dad died in June of 2011. I was daddy’s girl till I hit my teens and he just didn’t know how to relate much during those years then I grew up and got married and we still didn’t figure out our relationship very well.. I was 50 the year he died. All those years wasted really…when I discovered a large mass growing on his Parroded artery I knew he didn’t have long. Terribly invasive cancer that it was it took him quickly. My mom made it her mission to make sure he knew our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ and he did say the believers prayer and ask Jesus to be his savior. I was the last of us kids to sit with him that morning he died. God gave me such peace so I could tell daddy to just go with Jesus we would see him later and we would take care of mom. The nurse called me 20 minutes later to say he was gone. Gone from here but safe in the arms of Jesus! Mom died five months ago. I am now both fatherless and motherless. I miss them but there is no sorrow in that. I know my Redeemer and His plans for me and I will see them both again. That is a peace like no other. Praying for you sweet girl. Jesus loves us this I know!!
Oh how your post affected me. I grew up in an alcoholic home. I spent a lot of my childhood either alone wondering when my parents would get home from the bar or hiding in my room to escape the fights and the slurred words and all the ugly that alcoholism is. My parents never physically hurt me. When they were sober they were normal which made the times they were not so much worse. I grew up so broken, knowing I was a failure, I could not compete with the booze. Isn’t it funny how it is all about us. When I was forty, my mother died from having destroyed her liver and it was then that I had to finally give up the hope that she would choose me over the bottle. We never outgrow that need to be cherished. I had always had a love/hate relationship with my dad. He could be so loud and angry when he drank and I was afraid of that anger. When my mom died my dad pretty much stopped drinking. He told me it was because he just could not recover like he had when he was younger. Whatever the reason, we began to build a relationship. A friendship between adults. I learned to love my Daddy again, or I guess to acknowledge the love I had always had for him. I learned that their drinking had not been about me. They had problems and that was their solution. I was simply collateral damage I guess. It the years following my Dad became my best friend, and we forgave each other all the wasted years. We shared a love of reading and family and when he became unable to drive I would pick him up once a week and we would go on day long drives around the country roads and places he had grown up and we would talk and talk. I had with him what I was not able to have with my Mom. A time of redemption, forgiveness, love and family. I stood by my Dad’s hospital bed and watched him struggle and although I did not know it was his last breath, I watched him take it. It was then and in the year since I have learned how much of a Daddy’s girl I had become even in my advanced years. We never get over needing our Daddy. I am trying to climb out of a year of depression, anxiety and such sadness I can hardly leave my home. I know this is not what my Daddy wanted for me and so when I am beating up on myself I add failure to grieve for him properly to my list. I find comfort in reading your post and have some hope that I might come out of this and live the way my Dad would want me to live. Thank you for that hope today.
Gave up reading blogs for Lent…except Sundays…and gotta run here, but loved this Ray LaMontagne song and beautiful post. My mom and dad are getting older and we moved 9 hours away from them to TN two years ago, and miss them so much, though you remind me I am so grateful to have them in my life.
Oh Edie,
My daddy has been gone 9 years in Feb. A devastating diagnosis of lung cancer came only a short year and a half earlier. Since I worked at the Cancer center and was a radiation therapist at the time, I felt so confident in the oncologist and treatment that would save my daddy. Through the tears and the prayers, I realized that none of us are exempt from this evil disease.
My sweet dad went to be with Jesus on Feb. 5, 2005. Only a few hours after I left him sitting on the back porch solving all the problems of the world.
The hurt is still so deep and raw. I guess it always will be. My dad truly was my hero.
I am sorry for your loss Edie. I will pray for you. I know our fathers have molded us into the people we are today and I know he is walking with Jesus today.
Love you sweet friend,
Deidra
So touched by what you shared, Edie. Exposing your sorrow and loss helps us expose ours. It still surprises me sometimes — how when you least expect it, you get “caught” tearful and almost uncontrollably sad like an actual quick rising wave of emotion just washed over you. Ten years ago my ever-so-genuinely-sweet-and-kind mama left this world to be with Jesus. Five months later my father died. Still hard to believe most days. Every now and again God brings people into my life or across my path that remind me of her sweet soul and true kindness due to her love of Jesus. Just so thankful for those thoughtful moments from Him. It’s like He’s saying, “I’m here. I know how much you miss her. I won’t leave you or forsake you — especially in your loss.” Thank you for sharing and bearing your soul with so many. Bless you as you read all these notes. Praying for your heart not to be overwhelmed or overburdened. May His grace go before, along side and over you 🙂
So sad to read about so many broken hearts. I have been there too. (my story is at sweetlybrokengirl.blogspot.com) And healing is a life long journey. But walking that journey with Jesus makes all the difference in the world. I am so looking forward to when God makes all things right and all of us whole again. God bless!