Not sure why...

...but I'm feeling very reflective these days. I was looking back over some of my recent posts, and I've definitely been very back-focused lately.

Normally, I aim to be funny, or smart-assy or--at the very least--moderately interesting, on my blog. But tonight, I feel like sharing. So here it goes (big, theatrical breath in; getting ready for what's to follow):

Those of you who actually know who I am, know that my father passed away a couple of years ago after a "stage 4 stomach cancer" diagnosis. When he got the news in October, he was told that he had "3 to 6" months to live." Six weeks later, he was dead.

Most women my age who I know have "daddy issues," no matter how kick ass their dad tried (or tries) to be. It just comes with the territory, I suppose. Women who were raised in the hippy-dippy 70s by dads who were raised in the ultra-conservative 50s: It was just a weird mix, and more often than not, it didn't work out so well. No one's fault, really. That's just the way that it was/is.

Well, sometime between when my dad was diagnosed, and when he died, I wrote him a letter to express what I was feeling. (I know. I'm lame. But I've just always been more comfortable with expressing myself with the written, rather than the spoken, word.) What follows is the text of that letter. Why am I sharing this, you ask? Because I never had the nuts to give it to him. He died not knowing how I felt; and, as a result, he died with me not knowing how HE felt. Please don't let this happen to you. It's one of the biggest regrets of my life.

Daddy,

I wish you knew how many times over the years I have sat down to write you a letter--and done so--but never sent it to you. Usually, I would do this when I was angry or upset with you. It was my way of getting whatever it was off my chest, but then I would never have the guts to send the finished letter your way. Sometimes, these letters would come out of sheer confusion and frustration about our relationship--trying to figure out (on paper) what you meant to me and guessing what it was I meant to you. Although they were cathartic, these letters never got me any closer to the truth about my feelings toward you. They were only a temporary fix, and since they were so one-sided, I was usually left with more questions than answers. I feel the time has come to finally write and give you the letter that I never sent over all these years.
The main thing I always wondered about you is why you would do some of the things you did or say some of the things you’d say to me. There have been many times that I’ve hung up the phone after speaking with you, sobbing because I was so hurt by what you said or how you said it. There were several times when I stormed out of your house, offended and confused by your behavior or your words. These specific conversations and incidents are not important now. But these events did happen more frequently than I think either of us would like to admit, and I was always left wondering “why.” What had I done to make you behave so carelessly? Did you not realize that you were hurting me? Didn’t you care? Why must you make it so difficult to get close to you and to like you? I must have asked myself these questions a million times over. It was frustrating and maddening. There was so much I didn’t know about you, and you seemed unwilling to share yourself with me. A funny thing that both sides of my family have in common is our reluctance to share our feelings and talk about stuff that truly matters. It is awkward and uncomfortable for us when we make an attempt, and it’s also scary to “put yourself out there” like that because you never know what the other person’s reaction might be. So, instead, we tend to clam up and keep everything--good and bad--buried inside. Now is not the time for that.
In April 2002, I went to a retreat where I did a lot of “inner work” and meditation. It was an amazing experience, and the timing was perfect, given that my divorce was recently final and I was dealing with mom’s illness. In other words, I was in a very emotionally fragile state, and I needed to spend some time working through some stuff. Anyway, on the final afternoon of our sessions, we were doing deep breathing and led meditation work, and I had a real breakthrough, realizing several very important things about people and situations in my life. One of the things that shot through the blue was about you:
I realized, for the first time, how truly young you were when you lost both of your parents. I suddenly understood on some level how terrifying and lonely that must have been for you. How that “parental rock” that most of us are lucky enough to have well into adulthood had disappeared for you at an early and impressionable age, and that it scarred you deeply because you loved and respected them both so much. It became crystal clear to me that--whether you knew it or not--the reason that you’d always pushed me away and had such a tough outer shell around you is that you didn’t want me to get too close lest I someday be hurt by losing you as much as you were when you lost them. I understood that you’re not a bad person, but that bad circumstances had closed off a big part of you, making you rough around the edges and difficult to read. I also finally understood that the way you are has nothing to do with me or with how much you do (or don’t) love me. At 33 years of age, I felt for the first time like I truly knew who you were and could read your heart. What a gift this realization was to me. It allowed me to begin to let go of a lot of the hurt I’d held on to and been so angry about over the years. And most importantly, it allowed me to forgive you for wrongs both real and imagined. I looked at you with clear eyes and wiped the scorecard clean. And I loved you more than I ever had. When I think of you now, I have peace in my heart where once there was a great deal of pain. All I feel now is love.
Our time together on this earth is coming to an end. We know this. And in an odd way, this knowledge is a gift as well. It gives us the unique opportunity to say the things we need to say before we can no longer be together. I want and need your wisdom and your love. I need you to open up to me and tell me that you love me and that you’re proud of me. I need you to tell me about the times when I was little, before my own memory kicks in. What did you love about me? What charmed you? Please. Tell me about you. About me. About how you loved mom, and about the good times you had before the bad times began. I hunger for this knowledge more than you can imagine.
My memories of you are precious, and I can’t help but see you every time I look at my pointy nose, my wide feet, my bigger-than-average ears, and my wide smile. Every time I am stubborn or hardheaded about something, I know that’s the “James” coming out in me. But I also have you to thank for my devilish sense of humor; the joy I feel when I cook for others; my profound love of music and animals; my intensity. Daddy, you have given me far more than you will ever know. Please know that, no matter what, you will always live in my mind and heart, and I will forever be your daughter.

All of my love...