My Father is rich in houses and lands.
He holdeth the wealth of the world in his hands!
The words to this old hymn bring bittersweet memories. There was a season when this song triggered thoughts of both my Heavenly Father and my Daddy. He was born into poverty in Oxford, Pennsylvania in 1931. The fifth of thirteen children! Could you imagine??? And nine of them were boys. I heard many stories of their fighting and mischief- from stealing each other’s clothes to stealing someone’s car. At one point my Grandmother tied at least two of them to a tree for some peace and quiet. As a Mother of just four boys with the same DNA, I can totally imagine!
Like many before my Dad, a childhood of poverty created a lifetime of motivation to be financially successful. “Everything I touch turns to gold” he once said. It was true. He knew very well how to generate passive income for himself AND he knew how to be frugal with it. That combination generated more wealth than he ever thought possible. He was rich with many rental properties- houses that normal people would burn to the ground- he fixed them up and provided affordable housing.
The wealth of my Dad was often unknown to many. He drove an old truck and wore old pants covered in various shades of dirt, oil and paint. (He was always creating something.) But when it was time to go out the door, every hair was in place, shirts were pressed and his Cadillac was waxed. Only he didn’t have many places to go except for church on Sunday and vacation over the winter. He had mastered financial success but struggled to maintain relationships. His weakness in this area remains mysterious and I’m only left with clues that lead to more questions. He excelled at getting along with people in the short term but long term was another story. Why did the same man who craved personal attention, affection and admiration also have a habit of sabotaging relationships? Was he testing the loyalty he so desperately wanted?
A few years ago I picked up a book called “The Body Keeps The Score” by Bessel Van Der Kolk, M.D. I anticipated that it would be a simple read connecting emotions to organs of the body and the health challenges they created. Was I ever wrong! The pages provided more insight into relationship struggles than I bargained for.
“The need for attachment never lessens. Most human beings simply cannot tolerate being disengaged from others for any length of time. People who cannot connect through work, friendships or family usually find other ways of bonding, as through illnesses, lawsuits or family feuds. Anything is preferable to than godforsaken sense of irrelevance and alienation.”
Baking soda and vinegar- two ordinary substances, but put them together and the reaction will produce a minor explosion. Never are they content to coexist side by side in peace. Even if the baking soda is content to live in it’s box beneath the kitchen sink, if vinegar is poured inside- it will bubble over with a reaction.
Such interactions can be seen in full display anytime a family gathers- the conversations are predictable and you know how you’re going to feel when it is over. It doesn’t matter if you want to be the baking soda alone by yourself, that vinegar is looking for you! Fortunately we have more control over our reactions IF we see people for who they are and why they are that way. Just look at all the families in the Bible- not the Sunday School versions where everyone smiled and had halos over their heads- the real ones that battled the same struggles we have today.
People appear to be boring at first glance (like an old box of Arm & Hammer), but just wait to see how they interact with others after they have been verbally poked. It makes you wonder about their past. Were they raised by a critical mother? Did they learn to tell jokes for attention? Do they just want to see everyone smile because they can’t handle any more pain? There are endless ways to connect with people but many get stuck on a few talking points that limit their circle of influence. They miss out on healthy relationships because they never learned to connect to people in a positive way.
Tragically I’ve left relationships because the other person predominantly only knew only how to connect with me (and others) through manipulation, control or fighting. Is tragic too strong of a word? It is if you had a fallout with a neighbor or your accountant. But I had to make the difficult decision to part ways with my Dad.
It has been 15 years now and it still feels like a part of me is missing. Despite knowing his history of broken relationships, I never thought that ours would become permanently severed. I was Daddy’s little girl and he loved me. Our relationship was far from perfect but I knew he was proud to have another chance to have a daughter at his age- he was nearly 50 years old when I was born
Children grow up quicky and my Dad practically hand picked my husband for me. I think my Dad saw the younger version of himself in Jeremy- from a big family, loved to work with his hands, not afraid to speak up and they even looked a little similar when looking at old photos. My Dad choked up the morning he walked me down the isle in 2003 but I knew he was very happy for us.
In October 2005 our lives forever changed in the middle of the night as a drunk driver crashed into our house (that we were renting from my Dad) just inches from where we slept. Two people died in our yard that night and the driver remains in prison. We immediately left to temporarily live with Jeremy’s sister Melissa and this was definitely a trigger for my Dad. He quickly went from having his daughter a mile down the road to 30 minutes away and he didn’t like the loss of control.
Within weeks my Dad put down cash to purchase a new rental property for us to live in. The house was formally a group home for mentally and physically handicapped people, so it needed quite a bit of work before we could move in. My Dad’s plan was to have us pay discounted rent, pay to fix it up as we wanted it and when he died the house would be ours. He was 74 years old at the time, so this sounded like a much better option than paying a 20 year mortgage elsewhere.
But if it could go wrong it did go wrong. Despite the thousands of dollars we spent at Home Depot to renovate bathrooms and floors, we never worked fast enough or good enough. My Dad demanded permission for the silliest things like trimming trees and he got really angry when we insisted that he not bury the old bathroom materials in the back yard.
We had opinions about other things too, like the church we attended and how we raised our son- it all made my Dad very angry. He was losing control and he didn’t like it. When I informed him that I had zero tolerance for him verbally bashing my husband in the presence of my young son, he lost his temper. Soon the constable was at my door and we were going to court. My Dad was suing us for cutting down apple trees, unpaid rent (when we had paid every dime) and we were to leave the property. We were going to be homeless again!
After court both my Mom and younger brother were forbidden from talking to me. And just like that Jeremy and I were on our own. “I must be cursed.” I remember telling my husband. “God must hate me. I mean, how could He love me if my own Father doesn’t?” My mind entered into an abyss and I didn’t want to be alive.
I planted many lies in my brain with my own words. I planted it, watered it and nurtured it. It grew and I went on to tell myself that everyone hated me. This was a complete shift for me. I was the little girl who walked into a room and just KNEW that everyone loved me and wanted me to talk to them. Those days were gone, all because of one lie that I allowed to take root. Can you imagine how that impacted ALL other relationships- especially my marriage!?
Our second round of homelessness lasted 6 months until we found another run down house in nearby Lancaster County to move into in December of 2007. The housing market was a hot mess and the economy was unstable during that time- you could say my mental and emotional state was very similar. The only thing keeping me going was an unplanned baby growing inside of me. He was born the following spring – Jason (his name means Healer) I yearned to heal from my many losses but didn’t begin to know how.
Years later we watched “Joseph” live on stage at Sight & Sound Theater. As the rest of the audience gave a standing ovation, I was looking for tissues to wipe my tears. His story of betrayal, isolation and restoration…I really identified with him. He was abruptly torn from all that he knew and found himself in an entirely new set of surroundings at a young age.
Trauma and pain can carve a canyon in your soul- giving you a greater capacity to feel IF you don’t numb yourself out. Numbing out by abusing alcohol , food or electronics- that will just dig that hole deeper. To rise to the surface again you have to fill in the empty spaces with new soil – good or bad – both will take you to the top. You can identify as a victim or you can choose to identify as a survivor.
One of the first things that identifies us is our birthdays. As I’ve been learning more about Jewish culture I learned we all have a Hebrew birthday according to that calendar. To find you own go Chabad.org
Once you find your Hebrew Birthday you’ll see that there is a corresponding Torah portion. Each week the same portion of scripture has been read in Synagogues across the world for thousands of years.
My Torah portion is Genesis 41-44. Guess who the main character is in that story? JOSEPH! I was told that the Torah portion studied during the week of your birth could be extremely meaningful in providing direction for your life – WOW!
I wrote this in my journal in 2018 after reconnecting with my brother…”I know why Joseph wept. His little brother had become a man while he was gone. He missed Benjamin’s childhood, birthdays, wedding and the birth of his children. Getting your family back when you have mentally buried them is like experiencing a car accident in reverse. In the end you are safe and unharmed but your body still gets violently tossed. Uncertainty fills your bones and you tense every muscle expecting the worst.”
You could argue that Joseph brought his troubles on himself by boasting about his dreams and flaunting his favorite son status. Does it take two to tango? Maybe. Sometimes we spend a lot of energy trying to figure out what we did wrong to end up at the bottom of a pit. But I learned that at times we are just collateral damage in someone else’s war against themselves. (Joseph’s brothers obviously battled insecurities in their Father’s love for them and Joseph took the brunt of that.) It doesn’t change the pain. But sometimes there’s nothing you could have done differently to change the course of circumstances.
There are many things that I could have done differently when interacting with my Dad. But looking back I wonder if it would have changed the final outcome much or just the timeline of events?
To say that I have missed my Daddy in my life is an understatement. The loss and rejection hurts daily. I feel his absence during both the highs and lows of life. His absence cuts deep when he isn’t there to see how much my sons are just like him – especially Darren, my fourth child. Those are two of the same people just 83 years apart. Darren has the exact same goofy smile, clears his throat at the same octave as my Dad before prayer. He has the same short fuse and loves roosters – just like the Grandfather he never met.
One of the last things my Dad told me is that he would call the police if I ever came on any of his properties again. “You’re going to find out how hard life is.” were his final words. Never again could I go home to my parents and brother. I yearned to return to the stone farmhouse and 7 acres I grew up on.
I prayed to be invisible. I knew it was impossible but that’s what I wanted.
I just wanted to sit at my parent’s kitchen table unseen as they ate dinner. How amazing it would be to stand in the doorway of the barn as the Barn Swallows sang and my Mom fed the cats. I wanted to turn the glass knobs that opened each bedroom door and just for a moment feel like I belonged somewhere.
I didn’t know what to do with all the rejection. A few people tried to understand but many would rather look the other way when the tears came for a visit. I viewed their lack of empathy as more rejection and my ability to have any self confidence and self worth dwindled. Why was I even born?
In 2011, after years of health struggles with allergies and digestive issues I walked into the office of a Naturopathic Doctor. After months of muscle testing and supplements my allergies improved but my digestion had not to his surprise. He asked if I was tense or had experienced stress. When I said “yes” he referred me to a Cranial Sacral Therapist named Dawn who worked in his office.
I was in my happy place laying down on that comfy massage table for an entire hour and even drifted off to dreamland for a bit. Dawn asked how I felt after her hands had relaxed my entire body- and of course I felt amazing.
Her next question surprised me.
“Did you see anything?” she asked.
“Actually I did as I fell asleep.”
She pressed further, asking what exactly I saw. It seemed pointless to tell her but I responded anyway.
“I was at my parent’s house and I saw the concrete hitching post by the driveway. In great detail I could see the rooster statue below the clothesline that was stained with blood where I touched it after getting hurt. In my parent’s kitchen I watched myself put my little fingers in the cast iron mouth of the Little Black Sambo bottle opener. In the dining room I saw the plaster of Paris praying hands mounted on red velvet in gold oval frames.”
I continued to chatter with a smile on my face- happy to return to a piece of my childhood that I hadn’t set foot on in 4 years, even if it was only in my dreams for a few minutes.
Without warning she put her hand on my shoulder and told me that everything I saw was what I needed to let go of.
“WHAT!?”
“How do you know that?”
This woman had never met me before and she only knew my basic info I had filled out on the intake forms.
It was then that she showed me the essential oils she had used on me- Release and Cedarwood.
“I don’t use these with all of my clients, especially my Amish ones because I don’t think they can handle an emotional release.” Dawn told me.
“What’s an emotional release?” I asked holding back tears.
“Just let it go.” she told me as she handed me a box of tissues. “Don’t fight it. For the next 24 hours just allow yourself to cry.”
I was a complete wreck when I got home. But I took her advice and bawled like a baby for an entire day Not only did the tears come easy but for the next several days my digestive system seemed to wake up and I was able to have bowel movements like a normal person- something that had become very difficult for me way back in 2007, the same year my Dad disowned me. My digestive healing was temporary but it was a clue to my true battle and clearly it wasn’t physical but more emotional and spiritual. Like my Dad said, I was “finding out how hard life was.” I never thought that would include how my body functioned.
Over the years I continued to entertain the idea of becoming invisible and roaming my parent’s property unseen for a moment of relief from my estrangement. There were times that my Dad had become ill or injured and it occurred to me that I could disguise myself as a visiting nurse to tend to him. But reality set in as I remembered that my Dad was sharp and would notice me despite his age.
In 2020, when it became normal for everyone to wear face masks for all occasions, I thought that this might be my last chance to see my Father. But little was known about Corona Virus and I certainly didn’t want to be responsible for bringing sickness to a man who was now 89 years old.
Knowing he was away, I went to my parent’s house one morning to leave gifts on the porch for my Mother. To my surprise she opened the door and invited me in- it was the first time in 14 years!
“Do you want to come in and see your Father?” she asked. He had come home from rehab just the night before, much earlier than anticipated.
His fall down the steps had triggered a brain bleed and that caused his mind to be stuck in the 1970s, based on the conversations my Mother had attempted to have with him. Since they were married in 1978 and I was born in 1980 he struggled to know who my Mother was and I thought there was a good chance that I would be a complete stranger to him. There was only one way to find out.
When I turned the corner into the Living Room his eyes met mine and he had no idea who I was. I had prayed for such an opportunity. I had prayed to be invisible so I could hold my Daddy one last time and here I was sitting by his bed side- a perfect stranger.
I first took his hand in mine and began to wiggle his right thumb. As a child in church I would play with this scarred thumb. The joint could not be bent due to an injury many decades ago.
“What happened to your thumb?” I asked.
“Why can’t you bend it? What did you get it caught in?”
He told me the story in great detail then looked up at me and asked how I knew about that. “You must be old!” was his conclusion. “Who are you?” he asked. “You must be family.”
I then removed my jacket and held my arm up to his.
“Why is my arm so skinny? Where did that come from? Why does it look like yours?” I asked him.
My Mom and I gently sat him up and put his feet on the floor. I took off my boots and put my feet next to his.
“Look at our feet! They are the same skinny feet with curled up toes. Why do they look so similar?”
I could tell my Dad was trying very hard to find meaning in what I was showing him and who I was, but he couldn’t figure it out.
“My birthday is December 5th, just like Davy’s.”
Davy was his first son who he tragically lost in 1959 at age two. “December the Fifth, December the Fifth”. He kept repeating the date in an attempt to recall the significance as Mom and I walked him to the bathroom- but it was no use.
I took advantage of my Dad’s time in the bathroom to take it all in. I couldn’t find the box of tissues fast enough to quickly let some tears out before he returned. Just as God had compassion on Joseph and allowed him to see his family again (invisible to his own brothers at first) I too had been given the gift of a final non-confrontational reunion and farewell. My Dad had forgotten me but my God had not. Despite the lies that I had convinced myself of, I still had a Father in Heaven who loved me.
One visit led to three. Together we looked at the old red photo album that visually told the story of he and my Mom building the stone house that had been our home. If you’ve ever been to my parent’s house, you know that everyone that walks in the door has to look at it. After a few pages he stopped me and asked that I get him out of there because he wanted to go home.
“You are home.” I told him. But he was looking for a house from many decades ago.
“They think I’m crazy!” he whispered.
“YOU ARE CRAZY!” I told him. My Mom and I laughed and I told him to pay attention to the pictures we were looking at.
In an attempt to test his memory I asked him about his salvation.
“When did you get saved? When did you ask Jesus to come into your heart?”
He remembered it like it was yesterday. A woman name Doris had helped lead him to the Lord in 1969.
“When did you get baptized?”
He didn’t understand the question, so I asked when he went down in the water.
After some brief thought he angrily answered that he didn’t leave the water on. It wasn’t his fault! The cops were after him and I had to help him escape.
Prior to becoming a Christian he had many run ins with the police. It was sad to see that his fears of people wanting to come after him still lingered inside of him. All of his insecurities came to the surface as he struggled there on that couch for the last few months of his life. It was a lesson to me to continue to deal with my own insecurities else they will continue to haunt me.
One the third visit I told my Dad that I forgave him and that I loved him and I kissed his head. Ironically this was the exact same spot in the house where he knelt at the couch with me as I asked Jesus to come into my heart as a four year old girl. Once again this corner of the living room had become a place of forgiveness.
Despite the many clues he never knew he was talking to his daughter and I’m ok with that. He thought I might be Diane, my older half sister or my Mom but his memory of me had faded. Our final moments together were peaceful and I will always treasure our bittersweet time in his final months of life.
On Tuesday, July 6, 2021 my Mom called me in the morning to say that the hospice nurse thought that his time left on earth could be hours or days. I had decided that I would still go to my eye doctor appointment before heading over. When I left the appointment to pick up chicken feed before dropping it off at home, I quietly sang “Softly and Tenderly” in the car, thinking I would sing it to my Dad for my last visit with him. I never got the chance to. As soon as I put the car in park at the feed store my Mom called to say that he was gone.
Calling for you and for me
See on the portals He’s waiting and watching
Watching for you and for me
Ye who are weary come home
Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling
Calling, “O sinner come home”
I still drove over to my parent’s house as planned, only now I would need to start calling it my Mom’s house. It felt strange. I walked in the door and cried with my brother. I just sat with my Dad who was lifeless in the Living Room and looked at him in the quietness of the moment. My brother Matthew and I took a final look at his tattooed arm and took a picture. I don’t know why but it just made sense to us both at the time. It was a piece of my Dad that we just wanted to remember I guess.
In the days that followed I remember wanting to feel the pain that was before me. There were so many times that my developed numbness to the whole situation over the years wouldn’t allow me to cry or scream or be angry. The tears flowed freely in those first few days and I could feel the healing of it all. Despite my sadness I felt so much relief.
To my surprise I experienced physical healing too. In the four days that followed by Dad’s death my digestive system was in full swing despite the heatwave and not drinking enough water that week. All the oils, supplements, appointments and coffee enemas didn’t bring restoration to my body like the closing chapter that took place in my life that week. For decades my sense of smell has been near non existent but I’ll never forget a few days later I walked in my house and smelled a jar of pickles my son was opening in the next room.
I texted a group of close friends…
“I feel like I have a piece of my heart back…” It was in those days and weeks that I loved on my husband like never before. “I guess apart of me felt like a bad daughter for loving my husband too much. (My Dad had made it clear that he wanted me to divorce him prior to taking us to court.) First borns especially want to please their parents and my loyalty felt torn.”
Because I didn’t numb my pain in those days, my pleasure wasn’t numbed either and I felt so alive! I felt carefree like I hadn’t in many years. I informed my husband that I could now get a tattoo! I didn’t even want a tattoo, but now that my Dad had passed I could get one because it was something he had always forbade me to do since he regretted getting his. So, not wanting to make a permanent commitment but still wanting to have some fun, I opted for a temporary Butterfly tattoo from InkBox. (This is totally out of character for me)
Though exiled from home, yet still may I sing:
All glory to God, I’m a child of the King!
I wish I could report that my journey of processing and healing has come to a complete close, but it hasn’t. Will it ever? No, I think it will reach new stages and hurt in different ways and that’s ok. I’ve learned to harness my pain and it has given me a greater capacity to feel the plight of others. It has given birth to relationships that I never thought possible and events I created called Confessions of a Queen. I find rest in knowing that I am a Child of the King- NO MATTER what happens in the world around me, He will still love and care for me.
~Dawn~
beautifully written, dawn. your words are powerful. my heart cries in your sadness and rejoices in your healing. you are beautiful!
Thank you Jocye!