The silent man

Three weeks have passed since my father left this earth. My heart still aches at the thought that I won't see him again. 

As it were, my dad did not talk to me for 6 years, stubborn with pride, about a young woman who had a voice and was no longer his little girl. He was drunk and told me how proud he was of me for opening up my restaurant; but that quickly turned to blame. He always blamed me for my brothers decision to not move to Texas when he was 12 and evidently did not forgive me. He ranted and raved about how I had ruined my brothers life because I wanted him to stay in California. 

I was 33 years old; a wife and a mother of 3. This was my 3rd business and I was a home owner! I looked my dad in the eyes, and for the first time in my life, told this man I deeply loved, "Dad, why don't you take a look in the mirror and take responsibility as a parent! I was 14  years old and didn't want my brother to move to Texas. What kind of sister would I be if I wanted him to go? It had nothing to do with you! It had to do with the fact that Eric asked me how I would feel if he moved and I said I would be sad. That's it! Why don't you take responsibility for the fact that you left us in California for a woman and a job and it messed us up!" 

My father, with those deep blue eyes, and fierce intensity, rolled his eyes and said the last words I would ever hear him say, "F@*# off Teresa!" He stood up and walked to the front door of my restaurant. I just sat there at the table in shock! 

He left and I never heard from him again. He stopped sending Christmas and birthday cards to my kids and never returned my phone calls. His wife sent me an email that essentially said, "I am over it" which expressed her discontent of my standing up to my dad. 

After 2 years of silence, The Lord told me to write him a letter, as if he were on his death bed. I did. It was 2009. I still sent him Christmas gifts and cards, but no response. In 2011, when my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I called him to tell him and talk to him about it. He never called me back. Then his mother, my grandmother died in April of that year. I called him to tell him I was sorry and wished I was there; nothing. When my mom died in September of that year, I called again to tell him, but he never returned my call.  (I discovered at my dads funeral that he was contemplating coming, but was afraid he would say the wrong thing to me and my sister and make it worse, so didn't come)  I wish he would have called and asked me if I wanted him to come. I would have said yes! But instead, we sat through a joke of a ceremony, listening to an arrogant pastor and having to deal with our inconsiderate step family. I called him in December to tell him that my oldest was playing in the California State game, but still no response. 

My heart grieved my father and I longed to have relationship with him, if even for the sake of my own kids. The new year, 2013, rolled in and still no word from my father. Just silence. It had now been 6 years since I talked to him. Sometimes I would be so angry at his prideful heart and other times I would cry at the loss of my father. 

I called him in May of 2013 to let him know Elijah would be graduating on June 6, 2014 and how much it would mean to me if he came. He never responded. 

At this point, I realized my kids were grown up, and they had no memories with their grandfather. They barely knew him and endearingly referred to him as "Papa Texas", this man somewhere out there who was their own. 

I grieved all the broken promises and all the plans he made but never followed through on. 

September 2013, my husband and I fasted for breakthrough. I realized that I hadn't prayed for my dad in a while. The pain of rejection and abandonment kept me from engaging anything that had to do with him. I started praying for him. For restored relationship, for his salvation and healing. I opened my heart to him again, with the hope that something might break and we could redeem the time lost. 

He died the last week of my fast. I stopped fasting and grieved. I am still grieving. Words cannot express the longing I had for this man to love me, to hold me, to cherish me! 

I guess in some ways I have been grieving the loss of my father since 2009. His silence was like death to me. 

I wrote a poem in my sorrow... About my father, this silent man, that I loved.

I had hoped to be held by your arms

Kissed by your lips

Captivated by your voice

One more time

But your pride kept you from me

I had hoped to see your face

In the crowd of fans

Cheering my boys 

As they played 

But your pride kept you from them

I had hoped you would be the man

Who loved my daughter

Spoiled her with gifts

And encouraged her in dreams

But your pride kept you from her

I had hoped you would be there for me

When death came to mom

When sorrow gripped my heart

I needed your chest to cry on

But pride kept you from me

I had hoped you would celebrate life

Embrace your weaknesses

Seek out healing

Grow in love and humility

But pride kept you from that

I had hoped that you would live long

Have your family around you

As we sang Christmas songs

And leave this earth 

With a trail of legacy behind you

But pride kept you from that

And as I grieve, the loss of my father

The loss of relationship 

And love and family

I am angry and sad

But I have learned from you

And will not repeat

I will embrace your lesson

And remember the sweet 

I will hold onto the last kiss

Delight in the songs we sang

Cherish the words you spoke 

Value the gifts you gave

I will tell stories to my kids

Of a man they barely knew

Of his challenge to rise above

The pain that made you blue

I will put pictures on my walls

I will etch memories in my heart

And I will be the legacy 

You desired from the start

And I will NOT let pride 

keep me from you. 

Goodbye daddy... I hope to see you again!

Healing Rain

The clouds loom low today. Hovering over the ground in a dark embrace. I am in the midst of those clouds. I can smell them, see them, feel them all around me. It feels heavy and my steps are slow and weighted.

She is gone, my mother. Her body left here on this broken world, her soul and spirit embraced by the Savior of this world. I can no longer hear her voice or touch her face. I no longer have the hope of relationship I longed for.

There are so many questions sunanswered, so many words unspoken. There is suspense still hanging in the air, still wonder as to why. I feel like I just got into a good book and the best part of the book was ripped out, so I never know how the story ends. And so the weight of the clouds looms in uncertainty.

My mother was the joint in many of the relationships I had. Two seperate bones, with different purposes and functions, yet somehow she was able to join them together. I wonder what kind of pain will saturate the bones around my moms life... what kind of friction will occur without her seperating joint. I makes my heart hurt. I can not even put into words all the things that are consuming my mind. It is too much, too hard, too confusing, too painful.

I wonder what I am grieving more... the loss of my mom, as I know I wll see her again; or the loss of the hope I had? What am I grieving more... the loss of her flesh or the loss of memories that were not made and will not be made with me and my kids; Is it the reality that my step siblings will get the best of my dad and me, my sister and brother will once again be put off? Am I grieving because I feel like an orphan? No mother, my father has not spoken to me in 4 years and my step dad, although I know he loves me, has 3 biological children who beckon him to come without including Cari, Eric and I...

I am twisted and turned upside down... It seems I should be able to get back to life as normal... but it is not happening... I did not really talk to my mom the last year before she got sick, I always had the hope that our relationship would be restored and we would be close... that hope is gone. So many questions, so many holes....

I feel the clouds press down upon me... It is dark and gloomy and I am trying to break free. I am trying to establish a new legacy, a new way, a new family tradition... There is hope in that, but there will always be holes left in the place where my mom was supposed to be....

Perhaps the clouds will bring rain, to wash me clean from this grief and hurt. Perhaps the rain will wash away the stains of abandonment and anger and leave me clean and new. Perhaps the rain will leave the scent of new growth and new life.

I am hoping that is what the clouds bring...I am hoping I will be washed clean from hurt and anger and doubt and saddness.

Healing Rain fall on me...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=31D2g7t5Bjs

Believing

July 21, 2011


I am turning 37 in 2 days. I have seen a lot in those 37 years, hurt, loved, felt abandoned and rejected, loss…I have overcome a great deal to stand on solid ground and I have been wrong about a great many things. Mostly I have loved my Lord, who has walked me through this process of life. I am at a stage in my life, where life sucks. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be that person who looks at life with fogged glasses, yet in my attempts to clean those life glasses, I only seem to scratch them and mess up their alignment. So my eyes have a hard time beholding the beauty that is around me. Help me Lord Jesus, help me.

Yesterday was a hard day with my mom. In the past when I spoke those words, it was because she and I butted heads, or she did not meet my expectation, or I did not meet hers. In the past, I would tell my mom I was upset and she would tell me I was over exaggerating or that there was a miscommunication. Yesterday was a hard day with my mom, because for the first time in this process it seems she is dying. I have been told that she was for months, and I have not believed anyone. Not because I am in denial, but because I believe God is going to heal her. I believe my God can heal her. Becky shared a quote with me from John Wimber where he said that he would go to the hospital and pray for people and believe God would heal them, and they would die. But he kept on praying. And sometimes people would live, but no matter what the outcome, he was going to keep on praying. I am a warrior. I pray and fight and fast and pray some more. I have seen God move and defend and protect and heal and give. Recently, I have noticed that I am not a warrior; I am a broken, sad, grieving girl who feels like God forgot about me.

So I travel down my life road, wondering how I am going to make it. My mom’s body is deteriorating right before my eyes. Her face and eyes are yellow, her ankle and stomach are swollen. She moves slow and sleeps a lot. The hospice chaplain came to talk and pray with my mom. He was there about an hour and then left. When he left, my mom began to sob uncontrollably. I said, maybe he shouldn’t come anymore mom. She held me tight and said, “No, it is okay Teresa, he helped me today. He helped me to understand what is going on with me emotionally.” I took a deep breath to brace myself for what she was going to say next. “I am grieving,” she said and started to cry again. “I am grieving the loss of my family. I am going to leave them and I am grieving that. I don’t want to. I am not scared or angry with God, but I had this feeling I could not figure out, and it is grief. I am grieving the fact that I won’t be here for my family and my husband and my kids and grandkids.” I hugged her with a fierce embrace and a weight came upon me. I cried with her and felt exhausted. She asked me to come with her into her room and sit with her, and so I did.

About 5 minutes went by and she opened her dresser drawer. She handed me a pouch and asked me to open it. The pouch was pink satin and had a snap and zipper on it. I unzipped the pouch and pulled out a pearl necklace. It was beautiful. My mom took my hands and put the pearls in my palm. She said, “You are my pearl. You were like a piece of sand, rough and irritating at times, but God turned you into a beautiful pearl. Look at the luster and beauty that came from a little rough piece of sand. It is shining and smooth and beautiful, just like you. I want you to have them to wear or for Carah to wear when she gets married.” Tears welled up in my eyes… I want you to be there for Carah’s wedding I thought. I want you to be there. Grief weighed upon me at that moment. But there was more. Inside the pouch was a gold ring with a small diamond in it. It was the ring I bought for my mom for Christmas the first year I started working. I was 17 when I gave it to her. She said, “I want you to give this to Carah when she is 16, so she has something from me that came from you. I want it to be passed down so that she can remember me.” At this point, I was sobbing. I have only been an adult for 20 years. I had kids young so they could be around their grandparents and experience life with them. I expected my mom to live into her 80’s and even 90’s, giving me 30 or more years with her. I was expecting my mom to die when she had white hair and lots of wrinkles. That I can understand and process, this I cannot.

People tell me all the time, when I tell them that I believe God will heal my mom, “well what if He doesn’t?” I respond quickly with, “It is not my job to know if He is or is not. It is my job to believe, and so that is what I am going to do. Whether my mom dies in 2 months or 20 years, I have to believe that God will heal my mom, and that is all I have.” Some people think that I am in denial. The reality is that I am in faith. I believe God can, I believe He will. I have tried hard not to grieve. By grieving I feel like I am not walking in faith. I have tried to be strong and hopeful and positive. My mom handed me a beautifully decorated box with tea cups on it, when I put the pearls away. Inside was a tea cozy for a tea pot, her tea lid holder and a spoon from Holland. I pulled out a box that had a dazzling bracelet in there that sparkled with brilliance. My mom assured me of its monetary value and the value of the pearls. I continued to open neatly wrapped treasures in this box and unwrapped a baby dress that was mine when I was an infant. And finally, I came to the most valuable thing of all… a sewing pattern. It was the pattern my mom used to make me a doll when I was 5. She did not have much money, had me, my brother and was pregnant with my sister. I have the doll, still to this day. She sits in my baby doll cradle that has my name carved in it that sits in the corner of my room. I opened it up and saw the directions and all the pieces neatly cut out. She said, “I thought, maybe you would want it, so you can make a doll for Carah that matches.” Grief!

I was crying and told my mom thank you. She pulled me close and prayed over me. She asked the Lord to bless me and my kids, to give me life and prosperity. To help me overcome my hurts and to bring restoration to the relationships that are broken in my life with my father and brother. She asked the Lord to protect my family and blessed me in my writing. She prayed for my marriage and for my health. She blessed me.

It felt as if she was passing a torch to me. I did not want to take it. By taking that torch, I was taking on the responsibility of matriarch. I did not want to touch it. I want her to keep it. I want my mom to hold on to it. She is the matriarch in this family! I just lost my Nana, 5 years ago on my mom’s side and my grandma on my father’s side just passed away 2 months ago. I DON’T WANT IT!!! She hugged me and told me that it was going to be okay, this life is only temporary, and she reminded me. We are just strangers passing through. She called my daughter into her room and prayed over her. She prayed for her gifts and her purity. She prayed for her husband and her children that she will have one day. I was sobbing… Carah was overwhelmed and was trying not to cry. My mom gave her a box too. Inside was the tea cup that she had that matched one she gave me. She gave my sister and me tea cups that were different and she had the matching ones at her house. She told Carah that she can have it and do tea with me and think about her. Carah hugged her tightly and told her thank you and that she loved her. Carah came over to me and hugged me and said, “Are you okay mama?” I knew she was more concerned about me than she was about herself. I felt like a bad mom… I didn’t want her to worry about me. I wanted her to be in the moment with her Nana. But my daughter has seen me emotionally deteriorate this last year and has a deep concern for me. I told her I was and that she needed to focus on what Nana was saying. My mom continued to bless her and took Carah’s face in her too feeble hands and pulled her close to her and kissed her. Carah started to cry and told my mom she loved her. We packed her tea cup up and went into the living room. We sat down on the couch and my mom sat down on her chair and we all fell asleep.

It was emotionally overwhelming. I know that I am not the only person who is going through this. I know that there are a lot of people that have fought cancer, been around cancer, and lost someone they love to cancer. I know that my siblings and dad are experiencing their own grief. I know that death is a part of this life we live in… But I feel so abandoned by God right now. I do not hear Him, I cannot feel Him and I wonder if He is going to answer our prayers. I still pray, I still worship Him and I will always love Him, but I feel so far from His presence. I don’t know if I should grieve or not. It is upon me and I am fighting it.

 I believe my mom is going to be healed!