Confession I

As I've been going around researching prayer, I'm starting to see alot of reasons why humans have a NEED to pray. The first reason I saw is that we may actually have a spiritual need. Other reasons are for comfort, guidance, and for forgiveness. Now for years I never had a need to pray, at least not one that I recognized. I thought I could handle absolutely everything on my own. Any problem I caused, I could certainly solve since I so adeptly help others solve their problems. I've dealt with some pretty challenging situations in my life, and because of those triumphant wins I figured I could just take everything as it came. That was until the bottom fell out of my world before I had a chance to make amends. So why am I being consumed with the overwhelming desire to know God and know how to pray now? I toiled with the idea of posting something so deeply personal, but because holding it in has had absolutely no effect..... here's to giving out a try. Confession number One:

For most of my life I've had what so many people around the world seem to have: daddy issues. That's putting it lightly. I won't air out all the nitty gritty specifics here because a) it's not the time, place, nor occasion b) because my dad's not here to defend or explain himself and c) because once someone vanishes from the planet forever, the list of grievances you have with them seems to vanish just as suddenly... leaving behind a handful of memories that highlight only the good. People always say that, and of course I never believed them. And why would I? Indifference and disconnection is so much easier than forgiveness sometimes.

So suffice it to say that my dad and I had a very difficult, painful, tumultuous, and grudgeful history. He was a constant reminder of why I should give having children a long, hard thought before I attempted it since you can so irrevocably devastate another human's life simply by giving that very life. At the age of 12 I bravely decided that it was easier to forget he was around at all then it was to deal with the emotional ups and downs of being his daughter. The way that I can so easily dismiss people today still hurts and is a testament to how dark the period was when that coping mechanism was developed. Of course completely ignoring him until I was 18 didn't make him go away and alot more hurt during that time led to quite a bit of therapy, a couple of anti-depressants, and a few broken-hearted boyfriends who tried to love me but didn't know how. My dad didn't seem to know the pain he caused and more often than not went around acting like nothing was wrong... which turned the hurt into anger and hatred over the years. So exhausting was this relationship and the wake of tattered relationships between my dad and my mom and sister, that there was a time we actually thought he had died and all I felt was relief. That's not even the confession yet. And that's the thing. I never in my life wanted him to die, but on that night it was something I could accept. That was a long time ago.

Fast forward to the last couple of years. Without us ever having a conversation to hash out all the blows of the past, my dad just started changing on his own. He just started trying to be a better father to me. And there were times when I loved it so much because I needed that from him, but there were other times when I hated him for not trying sooner, for not trying enough, and for assuming all he had to do was say a few nice words and think all was forgiven. Unfortunately, my inability to let go and to forgive him won out more often than not. This was the spot we were in on the night he died in April.

I was coming off of a two week stint where I didn't return a single phone call of his because I was mad at him for the millionth time. He had disappointed me in some [trivial] way (trivial now, at least) and I just couldn't be bothered to call him. And here's where it gets extra painful. He was only calling to tell me about a trip he was on and trying to find out what souvenir I wanted and what books I'd like if he went to a flea market. AND I DIDN'T FUCKING ANSWER THE PHONE. As I type, I can barely breathe it hurts so much. I heard from a voicemail he left that he was sick and I blew it off. I wasn't quite over the stupid issue I had with him yet. I'd deal with him the next week, I decided. And then he was dead. When I got the news I started screaming at the top of my lungs in my car. No pain he had ever caused came within an inch of that moment that dealt the most shockingly, mind-blowing pain I've ever felt in my whole life. Not all of it combined. And now six months later, I'm still dealing with a mountain of grief that I can't even fully access yet because I can't get over the guilt I feel. My dad died alone in a bathroom in a motel room of heart failure without having heard his bitch daughter's voice in over two weeks. It is so hard to type these words but I have to let it out. They're the truth. My dad was trying his best to make things right, but he just wasn't doing it fast enough for my busy schedule and now he's gone. I'm still here, sorrier than anyone could ever possibly be.

There are only three beings in the universe that can offer me forgiveness for this. One of them is dead. One of them is me, and based on previous experience I know that forgiveness from Kim is damn near impossible to come by. The third, and my only hope, is God. So when I pray tonight, I will beg Him with everything in me to forgive me. And if he does, then I'll ask him to help me forgive myself. And then I'll ask him to help me deal with the loneliness left in knowing that the world is so much emptier now that the man that gave me life has lost his.

This is but one of the terrible things I've done. Trust me, I'm starting small.