SLOW DANCING IN A BURNING HOUSE

This blog took a while to finish. Not because of the length, but because there are layers to this pain that have yet to be called forward for a reckoning. There were moments when the magnitude of the emotions became so pungent that I had to step away to sit with them for a while; to allow them to spill, even if not on these pages. The next stage of my healing journey is forgiveness, this moment is just for the telling.

The backdrop of my early childhood memories are the picturesque beaches and lush landscapes in Freeport, Bahamas, running free and enfolded in love, always love. I was always a daddy’s girl and, in some ways, I still am. There are no memories of him scolding me, and even those with that undertone resonate more as moments when I felt bad for disappointing him more so than recollections of being disciplined. Mom was always more serious, one of the attributes I gained from her. In retrospect, I guess they balanced each other out.

Daddy was a musician, which required a lot of travel. Maybe my memories of our interactions are tainted by the fact that he was gone more often than not. I suppose Mom grew tired of that, but I am not sure how much it actually contributed to the ending of the marriage. There was no conversation, that I recall, regarding what was happening. One day Daddy just disappeared, physically and emotionally. Understanding now the impact their divorce has had in inadvertently shaping my relationships, I am surprised that I do not remember more about that period. Mom always says that I was never a child, that I was nicknamed Little Woman because I displayed no interest in typical adolescent things. Sometimes I wonder if I subconsciously emancipated myself from the idea of being a child because of the trauma suffered from their divorce.

Fast forward to me at nine years-old and moving to Miami to join my mother. She had relocated ahead of us to prepare for our arrival. I remember clearly that it was a Friday evening when Daddy resurfaced through a phone call. Apparently, Mom already knew that he was remarried and living in Fort Lauderdale, less than an hour away, with siblings I would not meet until I was an adult. Again, there was no explanation or apologies for his absence but nine-year-old me did not care. I was just elated that he was back and promising to visit me the following day. Saturday came and went without a visit or a phone call, and that established the framework of the relationship I would have with my dad until today.

His next appearance was another phone call, over nine years later, after I had already graduated high school. This time he was living in Rochester, New York and had moved on to another relationship. The distance made it easier for him to resist making empty promises about seeing me, but the established pattern of extended lapses between our communications continued.

The hurt my dad inflicted extended beyond me, and though I know my siblings and I share similar stories, this account is mine alone. One of his biggest failures was his inability to separate his children from his relationship with my mom. Even while in other relationships, every conversation with him eventually shifted to recollections of their time together and his regrets. Rationalizations about it being too painful for him to be around us and not be with her. It was always about him and his pain. His regrets never extended to his children and our pain.

There is just something about a woman’s relationship with her dad that summons kindness and understanding in situations where that level of grace should simply not dwell. Every time he resurfaced; I welcomed him without question because I believed ­— needed to believe ­— him when he assured me that he would not disappear again. I choked on the pain and excuses and embraced my dad for the little girl inside that still craved his love. Eventually, I understood that he would not change but that still did not stop me for basking in the love and attention during the periods I had him.

Recently, I have written about being in a season of self-discovery. In this process, I am beginning to reconcile how my relationship or lack thereof with my dad has impacted how I relate to men. Looking back, I recognize his shadow in just about every one of my romantic relationships; making me more accepting of toxic behaviors and sometimes creating unwarranted distrust and insecurities. I am sitting with my actions, honestly, and working on forgiving myself for what I did not know. I will make peace with the past to ensure that this cycle does not manifest in my sons.

I liken the dysfunctional relationship with my dad to slow dancing in a burning house. I can feel and see everything falling apart around us. The pain is agonizing, but I continue holding on tight. Not only am I holding on because of my need for the embrace, but also in hopes that we will escape together and rebuild. I am holding on because I love him. I am holding on because I do not want to leave him in that pain alone. As an adult, I have had multiple conversations with him about his behavior and impacts not only to me, but to his grandsons as well. He always expresses understanding and a commitment to change that, unfortunately never comes to fruition. My last communication with him was September 16, 2020. The text simply said “call you later”.

It took me a long time to understand that not everything in life is meant to be a beautiful story. Not everyone we love deeply, including parents, will know how to love us in return. I have accepted that he has loved me the best way he knows how. Maybe the instinctive desire I have to fiercely love and protect my children did not come naturally for him. Maybe he is also haunted by the damage he has caused, but is unable to move past his own shame and regret. I have expressed that I will no longer carry us. A relationship requires active participation on both sides and I have accepted that my involvement may mean loving him from a distance. I am no longer trying to understand. I have given myself permission to let him go. The scars run deep but the journey for me now is towards forgiveness and healing.  

“Through my tears I found God in myself and loved her fiercely.” - Ntozake Shane