Journey of Healing-
May 2020
I had my first therapy appointment ever, today. I went into it hopeful and even excited at the idea of getting some closure or healing or something, anything to make me feel better. I am tired of having a wall up so that I don’t get hurt. I don’t want to push people away or be angry or sad for no reason that I can think of. This was going to help me. Therapy is going to be my saving grace. I have so much to talk about. So many things. But I had to start at the beginning. My first tragic experience.
My father went to prison when I was six months old. The first memories of him that I have are driving through the gates of the prison and being in a huge room where I played with toys, specifically the See and Say toy.
There was another man in my life as a small child who I have very fond memories of. Billy lived across the street. He loved my mom and wanted to be with her and he loved us. We loved him too. Spending time with him was what spending time with your father was supposed to be like. He took us to Chuck E Cheese and came to family Christmases. He embraced us and loved us so much. I have watched a family christmas video of when I was four. In this video my mom’s extended family was celebrating Christmas with us, and Billy. You could hear me talking to someone and the camera turned to me talking to this tall slinky man who bent down to be eye level with me and listened to me as I told him about how Santa Clause had gone up through the closet and back to the North Pole. He then laughed and hugged me tightly. His voice is not one I remember but I love watching this video because I can hear his voice and I miss it. I miss what it's like to have a real father.
When my dad was being released from prison he called Billy and told him he was to never see us or our mother again. I can only assume Billy’s heart was broken. The last memory I have of Billy was outside at a cemetery looking at his casket and wondering why he was in there. Billy killed himself. When my brothers and I lost him we lost the only father we ever truly had.
As I am telling the therapist this I immediately began crying. I couldn’t stop. This had never happened to me before. I usually don’t cry when I talk about my childhood. I just say it and distance myself from what I am saying. It helps me not feel anything. This time was different. This time I was overcome with grief, sadness, anger. I deserved to have a father who loved me. I deserved to have a father who embraced me and told me he loved me. Once Billy was gone I no longer had that. In the 3 years Billy was in my life he showed me more love than my own father has done in the last 31 years of my life. Why? Why didn’t I get to be loved? Why did Billy have to leave. I feel so much grief for the life I could’ve had. The life I deserved to have. One with love and a father who not only told me he loved me and was proud of me but showed it. Why didn’t I get that? My life could’ve been so different. I grieve for the little girl who desperately wanted a father to love her. She deserved so much more.
It wasn’t until this therapy session that I realized how different my life could’ve been had Billy stayed. I cried for hours after the session was over. I was overcome with such sadness and hurt. I didn’t realize until that day how much I was holding in about this whole situation.