My Dad

I am really glad that I can talk to my friends on Myspace whom I wouldn't normally be able to speak with.
I was looking through some of the things that I have written (still working on my novel of course) and I found this partial chapter about my dad. It is still in progress because it made me cry when I wrote it a little over a year ago. The saddest thing EVER happened to me when I returned hom this June for my reunion.
My sister and I have not been close for years-the subject of which many know and I will not cover that today. But I really got the unique opportunity to see the graceful young lady she has become and I couldn't be more proud of her journey and progress.
We were all sitting around the dinner table, celebrating my mother's 56th or oh no-is it 58th? Ack! Anyways, and somehow we started talking about my Dad. Shauna has always felt that Dad loved me more than her-but she's wrong. Dad loves himself the most. And it took that trip home to really realize that.
As Shauna was talking about her struggles with him, she burst into tears, real tears of sorrow and regret. What kind of father would leave his two children behind to be tortured and abused? What kind of father would sit back and allow his babies to grow up without him? When I saw her crying, I realized in that moment, how much I love Shauna and am so glad that she's my sister. Dad really missed out on being a part of her life. Of course, he missed out on being a part of my life, but I got to know him for 9 years and she only got to know him for 4. 4 years. Three she probably doesn't even remember. That means, there was one year when Dad was the guy she hugged and called "Daddy." That was the ONE year when her life was complete.
And when she cried in June, I realized that this whole time, she has been haunted by a memory that will not let her rest. Her vision of her father for that one year met the reality of the person he truly is-and they are not the same. The part of our hearts that wants to believe the best in people probably made her think that Dad was simply a guy trying to save himself in some strange twisted sort of way. Perhaps she even thought that he considered his leaving as a sort of "gift" so that his absence might lessen her anger. But Dad was selfish. Perhaps had he stayed around a bit longer, he would have been the Dad Shauna wanted him to be.
I realized that I really wished, for just a moment, that Shauna could have seen the man I saw when I looked at him and truly, wished that he could see the people in us that he left behind.
Her tears merely reflected her broken heart and my failure to see that she has been hurting all this time. This part of my book (below) is part of the last day my dad was really in my life. I have forgiven him for being selfish, for being a poor father, and for not believing in himself. But I don't think I can forgive the fact that he was not in Shauna's life. She deserved better than that. She is a beautiful young lady, and he should be so proud of her.
Anyways, here's the excerpt. Perhaps you can see the qualities in him as I do. Perhaps it is just the part of me that would believe he's truly a good person.


The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Elliot
1.
A man does not always choose what his guardian angel intends."- Thomas Aquinas
1.



I woke up that morning with a start. Dad had not woken me up like he usually had. Something was wrong when our Saturday morning routine was disturbed. I rubbed my eyes, and settled back down into my blankets convinced that he had slept in or there was some other good reason that he was not leaving. Sleep had almost found me once again when I heard the slam of the screen door below, a few mumbled words, and the chinking sound of something being loaded onto the truck. I was out of my bed in a flash, grabbed my big pink bunny slippers, and plodded down the stairs as quickly as possible. Maybe if I told him to wait, he'd give me a few minutes to get dressed and then we could go.
For a few moments, I considered the fact that they had fought again, and Dad was going to quietly slip away to stew about it in peace. I strained to remember if there had been any noise coming from downstairs last night, but I couldn't remember hearing any. Something was strange about the morning, something not quite right.
I padded to the edge of the porch and watched as Dad stared at the back of his truck. He was muttering under his breath and appeared to be looking for something, taking no notice of me watching him. Still not completely awake, it took me a moment to realize with a sinking feeling that he was loading several things into the back of his truck. At first, I was sure that he was going into the woods, but then I noticed that he was loading other things as well. As soon as I saw an old blue suitcase go into the truck, I realized what he was going to do.
At first, I was hopeful; I ran out to the truck and asked him if he needed any help. I was more than ready to leave that place and never come back-ever. Of course he was going to take us, his angels, with him. He stopped, surprised to see me, and almost seemed to pretend I wasn't there. "Dad?"
He continued to load his stuff into the truck and finally leaned down, gave me a hug and said, "I'm sorry punkin, I can't take any more of this ... any more of her."
"I know." was all I could manage. With that hug came the realization that he was not going to take me with him. Was he going to pack up his big green truck and leave without me, taking my whole world with him? My beloved doggie Sammie was sitting anxiously in the front seat as if he couldn't wait for whatever adventure lay ahead. He was going to take the dog but not me?
"Why can't I go with you?" I begged.
"Where I am going, I can't take you with me."
"Please Daddy. I don't care about money." He continued to load things into the truck. The sound of the tailgate closing, the crunch of footsteps on gravel ....
He walked away and into the house and I dared my tears not to come. I had hoped against hope that perhaps by the time he had loaded everything up he would change his mind; he would come back inside the house and I would wake up from this dream. Maybe he wasn't really leaving. But a few minutes passed by, and he returned carrying his lunch box under one arm. Without a word, he put it on the front seat, like he always did when he was leaving for work. But this time, I knew he wasn't going to come back. I didn't care about the tears anymore. I let them come, let them slide down my cheeks in torrents until my breaths turned to sobs.
He got the truck started, after a few failed attempts, and I could not stop sobbing. He was going to leave, and he wasn't even going to say goodbye. When he made another trip into the house, engine still running, front driver side door open, I hopped up into the cab-resolute that if he only let me go with him, everything would be all right.
Moments later, he reemerged with something, and I slunk down low in the seat so that he might not see me. But he found me right away, perhaps because he already knew what I was thinking.
He lifted me, sobbing, still in my nightgown and pink bunny slippers, from the truck. For the first time, I noticed that he had tears in his eyes. This was it. He leaned over and rustled my hair and said in a high-pitched sad voice that I had never heard before, "I have to go. I am going to take Sam with me. I wanted to say goodbye to your sister but ..." he looked sadly toward the house, then back at me again. "You take real good care of your sister for me, until I can see you both again. Be strong for me." And then he hugged me tightly, more tightly than ever. The hug was so tight it hurt, but I couldn't let him go. I just didn't want to end that hug, as if ending that hug meant losing something great and wonderful forever-as if it meant somehow that I was losing my whole family in just one day. He hopped into his truck, pet Sam who was bouncing up and down with excitement, and shut the truck door. I was so choked up with emotion, I was unable to muster up words or scream at him to stay before he began driving slowly away.
"Wait!" But my words were lost against the roar of the truck and the sound it made on the gravel.
"Don't go, Daddy! Please don't go!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. "Please, come back! COME BACKKKKK." But it was too late. I watched as his truck disappeared up the driveway and out of sight.


The strangest thing about Dad leaving was the absence of his presence in the house. I never saw him much, but it was as if the whole house felt cold and empty the moment he was no longer there. Just knowing that he was there had always been a comfort to me; without his presence I knew that there would be no one there to protect me. I would have to rely completely on my faith in God and hope that He was looking out for me. That first day was the hardest day I'd ever had to experience. Seconds passed like an eternity as I sat at the table in the kitchen waiting for him to change his mind and come back. I could just make out the end of the driveway through the kitchen window and I remember watching, waiting for the cloud of dust and the roar of his truck. Minutes passed in agony as I waited, sitting there at the kitchen table, feeling all alone. No one was up; the ticking of the clock was a constant reminder of the emptiness that had filled the room in Dad's absence. My hope that he would come back slowly faded into a panic that erupted into another rush of tears that fell from my cheeks and onto the table. Why would Daddy leave when I needed him most? What I needed most was for him to wrap his arms around me and tell me that everything was going to be all right; he was my protection from Her. He made everything all right. Without him around, who was going to protect me? Shauna was loved by everyone, but I knew that I would have no one to save me from Her wrath. Suddenly a weariness washed over me and I felt weak. My energy was gone.

I think Mom knew he was leaving. It was the strangest day of my life, and yet the house was oddly quiet. It was the first time I really wanted someone to be up early. I didn't want to wait until her usual noon waking routine or her morning cigarette and coffee. Worse, I wanted everything just to go back to the way it had been before. Even if Daddy was miserable, he was still there.
After what felt like an eternity of waiting, as hope began to slide slowly away, my head began to play games with me. Perhaps, I told myself, he would start to drive past the woods and would change his mind; he would make it to the end of our Melling road and would come back; he just had to. How could he leave us, his angels, behind? If he didn't come back at the end of the day, surely it would only be a couple of days until he returned for us, just a couple of days …