In Your Language

Friday, April 18, 2014

Dear Father (In Memoriam)

December 8, 1984 - April 18, 2013

Hi Dad,
This is the picture from the day we met at JFK Airport. You, against gentle advisement, forgot to kneel down so as to not scare me with your height. I proceeded to cry at your sheer size and strangeness. You were larger than life. At  that moment, I put my life in your hands. I decided that you were the face of God. And that wasn't fair. You had many great qualities but I had inappropriately put too much pressure on you to be perfect. It wasn't your responsibility to make my pain from my childhood trauma go away. I silently begged you to be delicate with me because my life had already been so hard for just a 4.5 year old girl.

In that span, between our meeting and your Earthly departure, we shared many moments. There were also many misunderstandings and things left unsaid. Too much time had passed between us. I'm glad I didn't reunite with you because, like with my bio family, there is no patch for missed time. Nothing would make things right without the intervention of God. So perhaps we will finish this business in Heaven together.

May 19, 2013 5:47am
Nearly a month after you passed out of this life, my son Gabriel entered it. We don't have a picture like this together. You didn't know me in my first moments. Sadly, I don't think my biological father did either. This is one huge reminder that you weren't supposed to wave a wand to make things better. In some respects, you were just supposed to be there with me while the earth traveled around the sun. Someone had to hold my chronological age minus 4.5 years worth of memories- to tell me who I am this side of Heaven. Someone, some man on this earth was supposed to be able to account for who I am. And to your best ability- you did just that.

Here is my husband holding your grandson. It's not his responsibility to fix my scars either. He has loved me in my most unlovely moments and has sweetened the precious moment of Gabriel's birth (on my own birthday no less) that we will share to eternity. I am in good hands between Robert and the Lord Above. I regret that you didn't get to meet them, Dad. I look forward to Heavenly introductions.

I have learned how different we are. You and I both had baggage. But your baggage was hard to bear because you locked it up inside of you. Whereas, I am continually learning how to free myself of my own load. Knowing how much harder pain is to bear alone and by keeping it in, I have so much tenderness toward you. I see you more as a suffering person than my parent/teacher. I wish you had a less tormented life.

All of this sadness begs me to think that my adoption has not disadvantaged me but made me more resilient to life's upheavals. I work hard to preserve our good memories, Dad. You had enough to endure, I'll do my best to tell people about you in the most attractive light. I never wanted to add to your pain. At least that pain has evaporated into eternal forgetfulness and unending nirvana.

Above all else Dad- rest in peace.

Your Daughter

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