One Year Ago Today...Again

(This was written Thursday night)

It's the middle of the morning when the phone rings at work. It's my sister Tracy. "Amy, I have something to tell you. Are you sitting down?" I knew it was serious and this time I knew it was someone in our family. I prayed it wasn't one of my nieces or nephews. She continued. "Dad died this morning." I froze.

It was the second death in 9 days. We had just buried Cathy, my mom had just returned home (6 hours north of us) and now the man who hadn't returned my calls or spoken to me in three and a half years was gone. I hung up the phone, called my friend Sue who worked downstairs then burst into tears.

I remember every detail of the 24 hours after his death. In fact, I remember more than that. Annie started making phone calls for me including the first one to Carol. Carol had a cancellation. Annie and Donald drove me to Wheaton so I could be with her. I received a call from Tracy just before we left warning me that Dad was going to be immediately cremated. Our only time with him would be the following morning for an hour. An hour. Can you believe that?

I remember how he looked laying in the wooden box on a sheet of plastic. There was a white sheet covering him up to his chest. One side of his face was turning different shades of purple. Sue, Annie and Donald were with me, Dale with Tina and Bill with Tracy. When we first saw him, we each had different reactions. As some time passed each of us spent one on one time with him.

In that season of my recovery the memories of him sexually abusing me were still pretty new. Carol and I had been talking about it for a few weeks intensely. Tracy's wedding was being planned. Sadly, looking back, it was a relief that he died when he did. For selfish reasons I wouldn't have to feel bad about him not attending Tracy's wedding because of the fear I felt just at the thought of seeing him.

When it was my turn to go say good-bye, I found myself looking at my Dad through God's eyes. I bent down and told him how much I loved him, all the while stroking his hair. I touched his face with my fingers, tracing his forehead, cheeks, chin, mustache and lips then returned to stroking his hair. I continued by thanking him for all the things he taught me: how to fish, how to fix things, telling me how smart I am. I told him I knew he had done the best he could. I told him I forgave him for all the ways he hurt me. And then I told him this: "Dad, I'm going to continue working through these abuse issues. I'm going to get mad at you and I'm going to continue recovering from what you did to me. I just want you to know that." When I was finished, I continued crying as I kissed him on the lips and felt his mustache for the very last time.

It was very hard to leave him there that day. I still wish I could have had more time with him while he was alive but he didn't want time with me. Truth be told, my dad lived a very isolated and lonely life and that's the way he died...

I grieve the loss of a man I looked up to as a little girl and still love today. I grieve the loss of emotional support when he and I shared those days. My Dad believed in us, believed we could do great things with our lives. He loved all of his grandchildren and I know he loved his daughters more than he was capable of expressing.

My Dad collected eagle statues and plates...a symbol of strength. He raised me up. Not perfectly. But as best he could. The strength I had to have as a child has served me well as an adult.

I will always love him because he was my Dad.