Turning Point

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon and my family and I had just gotten back from shopping. I remember it being warm and sunny, really a beautiful day for the Pacific Northwest, where rain was called liquid sunshine. We were sitting at the table eating lunch when the phone rang. Being the one closest to the phone I answered it.

It was my brother and instantly I felt a chill creep down my spine. My brother never calls me on the phone, I remember thinking. I said, "Hello ... how are you?" There was only silence, momentary nothingness. I said, "Chris, are you there?", and again the silence until he said, "Sharon, dad's died."

The only thing I remember next is the phone crashing out of my hand onto the table in front of me. Tears instantly filled my eyes and it felt like my heart was stopping. I couldn't breath, the shock and horror was so strong. I remember my 4 year old son taking me by the hand and leading me to the couch in the living room. Miraculously a few minutes later a cool wash cloth appeared on my forehead, again it was my son taking care of me. At this point he didn't even know what had happened, just that I was hurting and he wanted to make me better. I can only assume that Howard picked up the phone and started talking to my brother, trying to find out what had happened. Details ... information ... "who cares," my soul screamed silently ... "my father's dead!"

Even now, trying to write this the pain comes back. I wonder constantly, "will the tears ever stop?" I know now that this day was a turning point for me in my life. The very foundation of my world was just about rocked off it's axis and I was left spinning out of control somewhere. In the confusion of getting me home, to California, all I asked of Howard was that someone other than my mom meet my plane. I just knew that I wouldn't be able to see her in the terminal and remain calm. Like I was even remotely calm to begin with. I flew home with our 14 month old daughter, leaving Howard to drive down the next day with our 4 year old son and 2½ year old daughter. By the time I got on the plane I was numb, I think working off of auto-pilot or something. I remember not really ever being able to stop crying and that the stewardesses were concerned about me. When the plane landed and I came down the hallway the first person I saw was my mother.

I remember silently uttering my dismay ... my heart cracking open again at the sight of my mother, alone after all those years, 29 years I think. Then there was this strange thing that happened, they ... mom and my brother and his wife seemed like nothing had happened. Not a tear to be seen, not a sigh to be heard, not a sad face in the group! I remember now my outrage! My total disbelief, that standing before me are my closest family and they were not at all affected by my father's passing. This just pointed out to me my wisdom in wanting to be met by someone else, what I failed to see at the time is that they had the whole day to "cope" with the news. While I on the other hand, I had to race around making arrangements, packing and then getting to the plane. I had never slowed down long enough for any ability to "cope", or any calmness to settle over me. I was still in crisis and they were in acceptance I think. All I know is that it hurt at the time, the thought that they could "look" so normal when I felt like the whole bottom had dropped out of my world with that one single phone call.

There were times in that busy first week, that I felt disloyal to Howard. Over and over I thought to myself, "What will I do now? I have lost my rudder, who will guide me?" Immediately following those thoughts would come the guilt, Howard should be my rock ... my rudder ... my world, and here I was forgetting about him. I think that my dad dying like that took me by surprise, and I had no skill to prepare me to go from being the independent young wife and mother, to the grieving daughter. At his memorial service, someone wise and serene told me that time heals all wounds, but I knew she was wrong.

That wise and serene person was my grandmother. I took a moment to stop and think about what she was saying. Time, how could time ever hope to heal the hurt in my heart? I just knew that it was going to take more than simply time. How could time heal the empty hollowness that his dying had left in me? How could time give back the years my children were going to miss, the youngest one to never remember him at all? How could time mend my mother's broken heart? Time. So simple. Time, the great healer. I don't think so.

This was my turning point. The time in my life when I think I made the biggest changes in who I was. After all, if I could survive this, I could survive anything ... right? Now that I have been in therapy, I can see that what happened to me as a result of the trauma my father's dying caused. My way of dealing with the pain was to split away. The same way I have come to find out I did the night of my abuse. Splitting. Leaving. Separating. Zoning out, what ever you would call it is a really wonderful coping mechanism. It really helps a person to hide away the pain, or simply to hide from the pain the present brings to you.

I am now aware of at least two times in the healing from my father's death where I very graphically split. The first was while I was on playground duty at my son's preschool. The teacher called the kids in and then came out 20 minutes later to see why I had not come in with the kids. Why? Because I didn't even know that the kids were gone and had been gone for 20 minutes. The teacher found me staring off into space, so totally lost in thought that I was not aware of my surroundings. The only trouble was there was no thought, I was simply lost. Lost in my mind somewhere safe, where there was no pain. The second time it happened I was home with all three kids and I remember putting them down for a nap. I just have no knowledge of the next 4 hours, except to say that I know I was not asleep. I know I was staring at the TV. I just don't know really for how long. My son finally came out of his room and asked if it was okay to get up. They normally would have gotten up at 3-4pm and here it was almost 6pm. I have no idea where the time went. All I do know is that my eyes were open, I was not asleep. That one scared me, I had never lost a block of time like that before when anything could have happened to my children. Not knowing where to turn for help, but finally realizing I needed it very badly I found a group of women and a bible study. These ladies met weekly and in them I found the help I needed. I was able to re-affirm my faith and get the grounding that I needed to be able to overcome this life experience.

More to the point, I soon found that my wise grandmother really was that wise, that time really can heal all wounds. You just have to open the door for that healing. I think there's a reason that in past times, widows wore black for a year and grey for 6 months to show their grieving. It took me just about that long to be able to think of my dad with out the tears. After a year I was able to remember the funny things and laugh again. There is still to this day a hollow spot in my heart and an ache for what my children missed in not knowing him, but life does go on. And to quote the words of my favorite song, the heart does go on and on also.

As I started writing this, I had no idea of how it would fit in to the healing from my childhood abuse, there was just a compulsion to write it ... get it down in words ... wander around in my mind awhile, and then meander through these pages. About half way through is when I put it together, the pain ... the splitting ... the method I chose then and in the past to make the terrible shocks something I could deal with. Whether it's running and hiding, or simply leaving, my way of coping has made it's appearance many times in my life. As I travel deeper into my past, on this journey to my future, I find more and more occasions of my simply separating from the present, and leaving time to heal or cope with whatever twist and turns my life seems to take.

To borrow from scripture, "for every thing there is a season, and a time for every purpose, unto heaven". The reason for this is now clear to me. The purpose was to show me again how I cope, and maybe to remember my father with love and not the sadness. Also to bring me to awareness of the love and support he gives me even now. And my grandmother, well she's a whole other story, all by herself ... and I'll get to her soon.

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Email: richmonds@mindsync.com