This weeks post was written by my friend and Papyrus card designer extraordinaire, Siouxzie. Sooz’s story here reminds me of the story of Esther in the Bible. Just as the story of Esther never mentions the word God but you can sense God working throughout the whole narrative, Sooz exercised self-leadership in every choice and conversation during the time she describes. Yet she calls it hope. On tiptoe.
People often ask me if I have seen or spoken to my dad lately.
It feels weird to say that I haven’t spoken with my dad in two years.
I don’t usually tell people how bad it really was with my dad for a long time. Most people know my dad to be this laughing and outgoing father and husband who publicly raved about his wife and kids. To say that I want no contact with him sounds, well, kind of awful.
It feels weird to recognize that I am estranged from him. We occupy the same geography more or less, and yet our lives no longer intersect.
It feels weird to realize that I no longer really have a dad.
It feels weird that my daughters only have three grandparents, even though all four are living.
It feels weird that someone who I once respected is now toxic to me.
Most of the time I am so busy with life that I don’t dwell too much on the fact that my dad abandoned our family and the majority of the people that comprised his world.
I had no idea that this is how my life would go. I had no idea that my brief conversation that Thursday morning would be my last in person interaction with him.
Despite the fact that my dad is very much alive and lives only a couple of miles from me, the end of our relationship was as abrupt as if he had died suddenly.
I’ve thought through if I would have said anything differently, or tried to say one more ‘I love you’ or any other final statement.
But my last words to him were that I loved him, I just couldn’t trust him.
The shortest and most concise version is this: my dad chose not to be honest with us about living a second life.
In fact, he went to great lengths to be disingenuous and manipulative with those closest to him.
I do not pretend to understand the angst and buried pain my dad presumably experienced trying to wrestle with his identity, with living two opposing existences, or with lying so much for so long. I can only imagine the internal war that has been waging inside of him for years, and it grieves me to think that he had to resort to deception and betrayal to find some outlet for his battles. I do think that in the two years since we confronted my dad in love, he could have chosen to demonstrate integrity by owning his failings and the wounds he inflicted. He hasn’t.
I’ve wrestled a lot with the boundaries I’ve chosen to have with my dad. My decision to cease contact with him didn’t come lightly, and it only reflects what is best for my family, not necessarily anyone else.
Sometimes the best way to love someone has nothing to do with saying the words “I love you.” Sometimes the best way to love is to say, “I love you too much to continue being in this relationship in its current state of dishonesty and inauthenticity.”
And so that is how I personally can best love my dad right now – by refusing to be in a pretend relationship.
I know it is the best choice for my immediate family. I’ve had to work through worrying about whether other people will understand or bless our decision to be estranged from him. Factors that have helped me feel confident and whole, and allowed me to disregard others’ opinions, include: weekly counseling sessions, good friends, a family who has rallied together, a god who can take my anger and grief, a tender husband, and joyful daughters.
We don’t really get to choose how the story of our life goes. This is not the plot I would’ve desired or expected, but it is the one I am living. I can only hope that as time passes, these experiences will grow me into a deeper and more empathetic person, parent, wife, and friend.
For some reason I always remember this sermon my dad preached a few years ago, when he was still a pastor, long before any of this happened. He said that faith was hope standing on tiptoe, as if you are peeking over a fence at something in the distance. You can see it, but it isn’t quite in your grasp. So for now, I have hope standing on tiptoe. I have faith that someday my dad will find some peace. And rest. And authenticity.
Isn’t that what we all long for?
Susannah Eloyse Prinz is an artist and illustrator living in Oakland, California. Married to Matt for 8 years, she is also a mommy to two feisty daughters. She loves naps, treats and diet coke and hates bananas and when people call her sue. She writes about life at http://www.goodbuthard.blogspot.com/.