a birthday present
by diana soulaé

My father’s letter had been sitting on my desk for six weeks, unanswered.
His news was disturbing—colon and liver cancer. He was 70; I was one week away from my 50th birthday. Though we had written, twenty years had passed since we had seen each other.

Twenty years had transformed my life. I no longer thought of myself as a victim—no longer thought of him as a villain. Just the opposite. I considered him one of my greatest spiritual allies. By omission and commission, he had schooled me well in the uses and abuses of power. Our relationship had been traumatic, at times, horrifying, yet largely because of my father, I am now a powerful woman—a warrior for life.

What did I want to do about his news? I wanted a chance to stand face-to-face, unafraid, no longer a victim, honoring who I have become, and honoring him for the part he played in my journey.

I reflected on all the times I had forgiven my father, returning after absences of weeks, months, sometimes years, naively expecting that because I had changed, he would be different. I no longer lied to myself about who he was and no longer needed for him to be different. I had one compelling purpose for this trip: to honor myself and to honor him.

Our reunion is a kaleidoscope of emotions. The unreasoning force of my love for him. His smooth skin, clear eyes and thick black hair with only a few grays—astonishing for an alcoholic with cancer. His wife, my age, adoring, bright, so obviously happy that we are all together, sitting close, an arm around his shoulders.

He appears redeemed by her love. But not entirely. “Why are you wearing a tent?” he asks me sarcastically, then turns away, not expecting an answer. I do not tell him that I am wearing a back brace under the “tent.” Some things change; some do not. It does not matter.

Later, he is resting, lying across his bed, while his wife and I sit nearby. Without prelude or warning she asks, “So, why haven’t you talked to your father in twenty years? I’ll bet it was just some little thing, right?”

Stunned, my eyes fly to my father. His face is uncharacteristically open and undefended. Gazing directly into my eyes, he is unflinching, utterly vulnerable, as if to say, “I am in your hands now. Do with me what you will.” The innocence and surrender in his eyes pierce my heart. I cannot look away—do not want to.

I have not come here to hurt you, I think, to destroy you in front of this woman who adores you. How easy it would be to make myself a victim again, and that is NOT what I am here to do.

Still locked onto his eyes, I tell a different truth, “It was very hard for all of us when my mother died. We weren’t in touch for several years. Then the more time went by, the harder it was, until now.”

This is the moment I have come for.

I am free—after 50 years, thank God, free at last. It is the most magnificent birthday present I could ever imagine.

 

Diana Soulaé is an international speaker and local best-selling author of Miriam’s Promise, a guide to overcoming abuse.
[ 254-6761; soulae.com ]