For the first time in about a week, I didn't feel sad when I woke up. I laid in bed and pondered that for a while, praying intermittently. Feeling a familiar bathroom urge, I got up. Knowing that it required a little reading, I grabbed my book, EAT PRAY LOVE.
Chapter 28. "It is this happiness, I suppose (which is really a few months old by now), that gets me to thinking upon my return to Rome that I need to do something about David. That maybe it's time for us to end our story forever." Time to end our story forever. I continued reading. "Last spring David had offered this crazy solution to our woes...we could spend our lives together -- in misery, but happy to not be apart." Being apart. How I hate the being apart. Maybe that's why I clung so hard emotionally. Being apart has been terrifying for me for as long as I can remember.
My dad use to work out of town in a place called Nashville when I was, ummmm had to be 3 or 4 years old. I know now that it was Nashville North Carolina, not Nashville Tennessee, though it felt like the latter. Waiting for him to come home was e-x-c-r-u-c-i-a-t-i-n-g. I remember the anguish of my little heart who missed her daddy and couldn't wait to hear his big voice. Somehow, I equated him being home with peace and all things being right again. "Alice Lee!" I heard. It's him!!!!! I rushed towards him and jumped into his arms. That's the day he gave me my new tennis shoes. I swear I walked in those shoes for the rest of the day and would have slept in em had my mom not taken them off.
Before I met my guy, I felt that same anguish. Unknown to anyone, I would whisper to God nightly to please send me someone. I had read somewhere that women tend to choose men like their fathers. In fact, while writing this blog, I did my infamous Google search on the subject. I scrolled down until there it was--tah daaah!--an article in CNN Living entitled "Why you're likely to marry your parent." Comfort in familiarity, I read. That sounds about right. For you see, my prayer went something like this. "God, I realize that I can't help being attracted to men like my father. Despite everything I've done to educate myself otherwise, I keep picking unavailable men. I don't trust myself. So, would you please pick for me? An available man this time...who prefers me. Who ain't gettin over nobody. Who WANTS to be in a relationship. Who ain't heavin and hoeing about the costs. But most of all, who has character. Somebody I can respect who WANTS to be with me....Amen."
Let's see, dad died December 29, 1996 (or was it 1997). I get confused because he died the end of one year and we had the funeral on January 1st of the next year. I miss my dad more than words can say. It doesn't hurt as much or as often, but oh how I miss him. Maybe that is why I was so fascinated with my guy. He was just like my dad! Honest! So similar until it was almost scary. A man's man. Self-determined, forthcoming, highly opinionated and yeah, a bad ass of sorts...lol. Underneath all that gruffness though, it hurt him if there was a need and he couldn't help. He pondered and felt things deeply which made it difficult for him to release hurts. He didn't need alot. Just knowing that his family was okay was enough for him. He LOVED working. Good, hard, physical work didn't scare him at all. Very protective, faithful, consistent, true. When my dad walked in, everything wrong got right - quick - cause my dad won't having no mess. He and my dad were twin souls, I tell ya. Maybe that's why I was so drawn to him that I couldn't walk away, even when he infuriated me.
When I'd see my guy with his children, I saw how my life would have been had my dad been available. Sadly, he spent most of his life struggling with alcohol and fighting his demons. When I met my guy's daughter and saw them interact, I saw me. The giving, secure, compassionate woman I could have been had my dad been emotionally accessible. I guess subconsciously something inside of me needed a do-over. A righting old wrongs, the article called it.
Now that it's been a month since my breakup and some of that emotional smoke has cleared, I ponder. My agenda for my relationship was someone to do things with and go places with. As it progressed into a relationship, my desire was for it to be healthy. I told my guy that I wanted us both to have a good experience regardless of the outcome. Could it be that the past nine months haven't been about that at all?
Grief has so many nuances. Mourning a loss is so intense at first but ultimately, according to Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, one comes to a place of acceptance. A counselor friend of mine would call it that point when you say, "I hate that you died, but I will live on." Conversely, there is something called complicated grief. It's when grief is severe or prolonged. For me, my dad was the first death that hit so close. It was so unbelievable that even after the funeral, I would feel this overwhelming need to run down anybody who reminded me of him. I recall such an incidence where an old man who wore his hat and clothes just like my dad walked into a room where I was sitting. I lost it. I cried uncontrollably and even asked this elderly man if I could hug him. He was very kind to me as I explained that my father had died and he reminded me of him. Though I don't have those impulses anymore, it's still hard. Since his death, our family has not been the same. It wasn't until he was gone that I realized he was the glue that held us all together. When he died, everything fell apart.
God, once again, you heard not only my prayer but the unresolved pain in my heart. You sent me my guy and I thank you. With his help, you've gently brought me to this profound moment. A moment of enlightenment and clarity. There is one thing still to do. I have to go back and bury my father. So here we stand, You and I. You're holding my hand as I bend down and kiss my dad for the last time. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We stand together as I watch him being lowered into the ground. Goodbye. Rest in peace, William McKinley Randolph. Your kneebaby is okay now.
