Plot Twists and Healing

Who doesn’t love when a movie or book has a plot twist? You know those moments when you’re convinced you know the ending and then discover you had it all wrong. Yeah, I had one of those on Easter just a few days ago. It was unexpected, transformational, and I know it’s been a long time since I’ve been on my blog, but this was too good not to share. I’ve been married for nearly 24 years, I’ve known my mother-in-law for over 30 years, and this small moment in conversation shifted my heart’s trajectory from sadness to healing in a matter of moments. I promise if you stick with me through this very vulnerable sharing and  it will be worth the read.

Many of you may have read my blog, “I Didn’t Get a Hallmark Ending,” about the last words my dad spoke to me before he passed away in June 2018. For much of my life since becoming a teenager, I walked around with two little fists around my heart protecting me from any danger that might cause it to shatter. Even in my blogs here, I recognize now I shared from a guarded position due to the fear of being judged or seen inaccurately.  I am eager to shift that narrative so perhaps you too can find hope to rise again. The events leading up to my dad’s death were painful, isolating, confusing, and relieving. His last words brought me relief because I felt free of the misplaced guilt people had projected toward me for not seeing him the last year of his life. 

On June 1st, 2018 my dad spoke three words to me, “God… damn… you!” He was lying on his bed with a morphine drip waiting to die. He had called out my name early in the morning to his nurses  and then I got the call to come see him. I had been prepared for this over the years during the long times of silence from my dad. I would often look up his name in obituaries to see if he was still alive. We had what I recently discovered was a one-sided relationship. As long as topics related to things he was comfortable discussing, things were good. Safe topics included beer, work, beer, his latest fling, the bar, playing 9 ball, and beer. There were also topics that had no place in our relationship: my faith, my fears, my hopes, and those I loved. Looking back, that type of relationship is simply abandonment– a topic I hope to address in future blogs.

The months leading up to his death included an awkward conversation with his vascular surgeon asking me why it took my dad so long to see him. My reply was, “Tell me why it took him 20 years to invite me to his apartment? The only place he felt comfortable was the bar and if I was going to see him, that’s where we would meet. I know as much about my father as you do. You’re not responsible for his failing health.” That day in the doctor’s office my dad was given 4-6 months to live. The next 20 months with my dad became too much for me to bear. I had 4 kids, a life separate from my dad, and yet he somehow wove himself into every feeling and decision I had about myself. The imbalance of attachment was glaringly painful.

My mental health declined, my life began to shatter, and my dad was often the one holding the hammer that caused the impact on my delicate heart. The final hit was one year before his death when his venomous words were displayed on my cell phone screen. I had heard these words before from him often when I would make a simple request to see him. His words of hatred, anger, and shame I could no longer ignore at the bar with my dad. He told me to leave him the hell alone, so I did. I blocked him, wrote a heart breaking song, and watched as my life spiraled even more out of control. I allowed my talents and strengths to be squandered, spent a year and half hurting my children and husband with my own awful choices, and found the attempted comfort from others to be dismissive and judgmental toward a relationship no one but me and my husband really saw for what it was- destructive. I was without hope. I lost my faith in God. I was broken and with only a mustard seed of faith, I hoped somehow my life could be redeemed.

At the end of May 2018, my father fell and broke his hip. He didn’t want to see me before surgery. We knew any surgery could result in a massive heart attack, massive stroke, or both. He ended up having a massive stroke and I received the first call that my dad was dying 2 days after his surgery. This time there would be no rebound in his health and he still didn’t want to see me. Despite the multiple times of separation from him, I always left space in my heart for him to change his mind and want to see me. I approached his bed with my husband also nearby, held my father’s hand and let him know I loved him. I shared that I was sad that he struggled so much in this life, but I held on to the hope that he would find peace in the next part of his journey. 

Tears streamed down my cheeks and I stood to leave knowing I gave all I could to a man who refused my love. As I got to the doorway, that’s when his words hit my ears, “God… damn… you.” I laughed knowing I was right to give myself distance from him, nothing had changed, and I was glad I didn’t waste anymore time on a man who only hurt me. All I could do was pray I could heal and get better for my family. I was in therapy, on Lexapro, hurt, scared, and deeply wounded. I needed to believe there was hope to rise again. That’s when I began writing my journey of hope in this blog, but recently I realized there are other people on this journey with me who might also offer me a glimpse of it on occasion.

This time a plot twist came from my mother-in-law, Karen. Over the years when I have been the most distant, she never judged me. When I made awful mistakes, she offered me compassion. On Easter, as I told my story and my father’s last words, she spoke so clearly and specifically to my pain, I knew she really understood what I was feeling. She shared about her own father and his very similar end to his life. She shared about his emotional distance and his inability to look her in the eyes. Then she said something profoundly life changing, “Your dad’s words weren’t to damn you, they were out of frustration because he anticipated your hatred and instead you gave him forgiveness and love.” Not only did she share healing words for me but she also explained why she understood me in ways many never could. She became a face of hope for me.

Easter, a plot twist in itself, is a message of hope to the broken, lost, beaten and destroyed. How profound it was to discover the real message of the Gospel. Like my father, I have been sitting by waiting for someone in this world to look at all the damning things I’ve done and yell or hate me for them. That when I stand and look at all I’ve done, all of the ways I have failed God, His words back to me are forgiveness and love. A message that tells me no matter how far I have been separated from him, His love and life are enough for me to be forgiven. All I wanted from my dad was an ounce of his love, a fragment of what I really needed. I would have done anything for that. How much more does it mean to me that while I was in complete and utter darkness, Jesus made a way for me to find hope. To come out of the ashes of a life I destroyed, and give me the courage to find hope to rise again.