A man called "Daddy"

I have written twice about my Father since I began this website, but I have never really opened up about his death and I feel that the time has come to clear some things up and let some things go. It has taken me a while to write this, not just in terms of time, but also in terms of emotions. It is also very honest and shows my human side. This is probably going to be the most honest that I have ever been, but I am ready to open up and move beyond this in my life.

"A merry heart makes a cheerful countenance, But by sorrow of the heart the spirit is broken." - Proverbs 15:13

This verse says so much about being conflicted ...

"Do not have two differing weights in your bag—one heavy, one light. Do not have two differing measures in your house—one large, one small. You must have accurate and honest weights and measures, so that you may live long in the land the LORD your God is giving you." - Deuteronomy 25:13-15

When Daddy died, I didn’t really know how to react. There had been so many problems with our relationship, and I had experienced so many different emotions toward him. I knew that I was sorry that he had died and that we had never developed the kind of relationship that we should have, but I wasn’t necessarily flooded with regret. I really didn’t know what to feel. There was a sincere sadness inside my heart upon seeing the empty shell of my Father lying there that first night at the funeral home: our first time seeing his body. Within me arose the wish that we could go back and make up for lost time. However, I emotionally realized and fully accepted the fact that he was gone and that a chapter of my life had ended.

My Brothers, on the other hand, were inconsolable and comforted each other with hugs and tears. I stood there, staring at the casket and the man lying in it, alone. He was my Father, too, and yet everyone in the room at that moment noticed the gulf that had formed between the two of them and me. I did not have any intentions of validating my manner of grief with them. It was mine alone, and I would have to deal with it. While they comforted each other, I would let them have their moment.

My lack of deep, profound grief was a two-sided story, though. First of all, I had no doubt in my mind as to where Daddy was going when he died. I knew that his heart was right with God and that he was headed for Heaven. I knew this simply because he had grieved so much over our Mother and wanted so badly to see her again. The people that knew my Father from Church had not seen the side of him that we had; the part of him that was buried with Mama. I also knew that if God could forgive me for the things that I have done, God could certainly forgive my Father. If nothing else, Daddy was sincere in his belief in God.

Secondly, Daddy and I had never met on common emotional ground. We didn’t get along for many years and the words “I love you” were never spoken. We just didn’t see eye to eye, and after my very rocky childhood relationship with him, we never really got to know each other. At best, we had become friends before he died. As Daddy got older, I figured that he didn’t know how to meet me in the middle so that we could truly have a Father and Son relationship. I think that we both eventually developed an acceptance of each other. It was enough for the both of us.

In what had been as nothing more than a moment in time when my Brothers acted as if I could not have possibly felt what they were feeling, were volumes of my life laid out for everyone in the room to see that night. That singular incident said more to those people than I would ever be able to express. I was excluded on most of the proceedings surrounding his death, my assistance or input not having been solicited. However, I did not permit myself to simply collapse beneath them, much as I had so many times when I was young. I will also not allow myself to be overtaken by resentment. God is giving me the opportunity to forgive and move on, and that is what I am doing as I write this.

The truth is that no one could have possibly felt what I was feeling. My grief was not based on how much time he and I had spent together, but on how much time we had spent apart. I stood there having to deal with and pray over 40 years of emotion, and having to find forgiveness ... not just for Daddy, but for myself.

"Then Peter came to Him and said, “Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? Up to seven times?” Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you, up to seven times, but up to seventy times seven." - Matthew 18:21-22

"A foolish son is a grief to his father, And bitterness to her who bore him." - Proverbs 17:25

Before I left that night, with one last look at Daddy lying there in his suit, I realized just how far I had come and the degree of growth that I had experienced in simply being there to close out this chapter of my life. No one will ever fully understand what the volume of my emotions and experiences have done to make me who I am. Within my spirit ... my soul ... was age and maturity despite what anyone may have thought that night. I felt as if I had lived two lifetimes as I walked away from that casket.

Through my trials of growing up with him came more emotion, love, hate, joy, anger, and words than could be felt by anyone that had ever been around him. We were like fire and gasoline most of the time. He was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the hardest person to get along with that I had ever known, and yet, the easiest person to feel a kinship with ... inside our hearts, we were so much alike. I had hated and loved him, all at the same time, most of my life. I had been angry with him to the point of wanting to hit him, and to grab him and say “I love you” in the same moment.

Although I don't have many of his possessions, God in His wonderful way of showing us things, decided to leave me with traits and mannerisms that helped to make Daddy who he was. When I look in the mirror, I see him staring back at me as I look at my frame and manner of standing. And when I speak, I hear his voice. However, as I sit here opening up and releasing this part of my life, the tears in my eyes are mine.

Actually, I am glad to have this opportunity to get this out of my system. Sometimes, Even as Christians, we have to truly break down the walls of hurt so that God can get in there fix it. God will never force us to let Him in ... it is our choice. The Lord has had so many "messes" within me to clean up, but the Lord is always there to repair the damage. And He has.

For many years, I have struggled to grow as a person beneath the weight of my memories of a man called "Daddy". I can honestly say, at 42, that I love him. I can't wait to get to Heaven to see him so I can tell him face to face.

This writing is the best thing that I have ever done for myself ... and for him.

"For out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you, with many tears, not that you should be grieved, but that you might know the love which I have so abundantly for you." - 2 Corinthians 2:4

I am finally a man.