Landslide of Lessons

Someone posed the question "Name something important you learned from your dad" recently and I had to think about it some before I could come up with my answer. See, in my past, I would have answered out of a place of pain, snarky responses based on my limited perceptions at the time. I had reasons for these answers, sure. My parents split up when I was six weeks old and Mom—like too many single parents do—made the poor choice of sharing her feelings about my father with me. Repeatedly. For decades. In my young adulthood, after I’d left the church to find my own path, and admitted that my “roommate” was really my girlfriend, I knew my life wasn’t shaping up the way he expected it to.

I grew up hearing Mom’s explanations of my father’s absence, never questioning that there might have been more than her side to the story. Even after we moved back to Tennessee and I saw him more often, those stories colored my experiences, and it took a series of unfortunate events over a long period of time for me to see that the truth could be bigger than what my mom and I had perceived.

Due to a combination of mental and physical health problems, I once asked my ex-husband to take care of our daughter temporarily. As a result of his underhanded reaction, I lost custody of my daughter for six years. In late 2001/early 2002, I learned that my ex was planning to move to Alaska and had instructed our daughter to keep it a secret from me. I remember calling my Dad about it, hoping he might have some kind of advice or support for me. I honestly can't remember most of the conversation or what advice he had to offer for my custody issues (I ended up getting custody because of my ex’s moving plans) but I do remember the confusion, hurt, anger, and betrayal I felt when Dad said "I know how that feels. Your mother sent me a letter from the airport when you moved to Utah."

It's the first time I remember thinking "maybe he did miss me when I was gone." When I finally got the guts to ask my mom about this, she said she had been scared they would try to keep her from leaving Tennessee if they'd known in advance. She wanted desperately to get out of the small town, the south, the places where everyone knew her and her family. She wanted to see other places, felt drawn to go out west, even if only for a while. I could understand her desires and her fears, but I still felt robbed of my relationship with my Dad, though it would be years before I would fully understand why.

 In 2010, Mom died. Dad was one of the first phone calls I made, and over the next several months as I cleaned out her home, handled her estate, and planned her memorial service, my dad was a huge source of support and guidance. In 2013 I began therapy again, this time with a therapist who worked with me on surface issues, and old issues, and helped me to delve more into my subconscious and learn more about why I tick the way I do and even a bit on how to change the way I tick (within reason). I can safely say that the past five years of therapy with her have changed my life in ways I never dreamed possible. See, I not only learned more about myself, but I began to understand others better.

Everyone has trauma/problems/obstacles in their lives, and in many cases, these things affect the way we interact with others, the way we handle emotional or physical intimacy, the way we communicate, the way we handle our own feelings and reactions, and so much more. Learning this lesson has allowed me to look back, to reflect on these pieces of stories that weave themselves through my lifetime in reference to my dad. I began to understand that just as I was terrified and traumatized when my ex-husband planned to move far away with my daughter and not even tell me, my dad must have felt just as scared, worried, and betrayed when my mom did the same thing to him. That maybe the pain and anger he felt toward my mom caused some of the distance from me as well, because he was young and hurt and doing the best he knew how.

In 2016 I became a grandmother. As my still-pregnant daughter and I talked about her plans, hopes, and dreams for the baby, the kind of mom she wanted to be, the lessons she wanted her child to learn, it made me think even more. It made me think about the lessons I'd learned from my parents, from my peers, from being her mom. I realized that I would do some things differently now, but that's because of the things I learned from doing them the first time around.

Due to me being his oldest and having my daughter quite young, Dad was in the unique position of being an active father and a grandfather at the same time, which has now led to my grandson being close in age to my brother's youngest kids. So one day, Dad called to tell me about the college savings fund he's set up for my grandbaby, and he mentioned having done the same for "the other grandkids." Now, I realized he was referring to the younger grandkids, the ones who are all under 10, but my immediate reaction was to say "that would have been great for Katie” (my daughter, who was just finishing college at that time). Looking back, it probably sounded snarky, but Dad patiently explained that he has more resources now than he did fifteen years earlier when Katie was still a kid and he’s trying to do more where he can. As I reflected on that conversation later, I felt like I had unknowingly spat in his face.

One of the things I learned in therapy is that hurt people hurt people. My first understanding of this was to consider how those who hurt me might have been hurt by others, but one day I suddenly found myself shifting perspective, considering how I might be hurting others because of the unhealed pains of my own past. I've often looked at my brothers' relationships with our dad and felt sad and jealous and neglected, but it's only recently occurred to me to consider how Dad might feel about the fact he's much closer to his sons than his daughter. We never bonded while I was growing up, and I feel like that's played a big part in the fact that we never really learned how to communicate with each other. We talk, but it's seldom and primarily surface stuff, so I've never quite figured out how to approach him with my thoughts and feelings. I'd begun to think I never would, might not even have the guts to really try. Then one day a few months ago, I heard Stevie Nicks dedicate a live version of "Landslide" to her father. I immediately thought of my father, and as I listened to the song, I was overcome with emotion. I pulled over at a park and found a quiet, isolated picnic table where I let my feelings flow. What follows is a lightly edited revision of that stream of consciousness thought in a powerful moment of understanding for me.

The song starts off with "I took my love, I took it down, climbed a mountain and I turned around," which sounds like growing older and looking back on your life. "And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills," sounds like recognizing yourself in your aging parents with their white hair, whether it's recognizing their face, or their mannerisms, or something you learned from them—whether it's what they wanted to teach you or not. What I learned from my dad probably isn't what he wanted to teach me, (we seem to have very little in common, and I definitely don't fit his expectations in my spiritual life or my marriage) but that doesn't mean it's not what I needed to learn. And most importantly, there's what I'm still learning from him about how we change as we get older, how we learn as we grow and experience more things.

 "Oh mirror in the sky what is Love? Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I handle the changing ocean tides? Can I handle the seasons of my life?"

So many questions. I see the 'mirror in the sky' as deity.  My understanding of the Divine (by any name, in any faith) is centered around Love, and I believe Love, especially Divine Love, is about accepting people for exactly who they are and how they are at any given time. It's about non-judgement and compassion and seeking understanding. The love of my deity is about connection and providing in various ways. Each person to their own ability with their own special talents. The child in my heart is still hurt because her dad wasn't around much, and because she felt less important than her little brothers. My inner child doesn't want to let go; she doesn't want to look at anything else but the absence and the hurt. It doesn't matter to her why he wasn't there or why her brothers seemed more important. All that matters to her is that she didn't have the daddy she needed.

 But if she can listen to adult me, and tap into the Innocence of a child that has an endless ability to forgive and love, then maybe she can start to heal. Oh, maybe I can let go and rise above the hurt of my past to accept the changing ocean tides. My father has gone from telling me that my girlfriend is not allowed in his home, to including my wife in my grandfather's obituary. We're regularly invited to Christmas breakfast now. Though my phone calls with Dad are rare, they are longer and include more daily life conversations than they used to. I can't deny that he has made huge strides in learning to accept me for exactly who I am right now, and according to my god, that's love. Dad guides and provides assistance with home stuff and car stuff whenever he can because that's what he knows he can do to help. He may not understand my life, he may not share my view of the world (but honestly, we don't talk enough for me to know that), but he understands how to help with a heater that needs repaired or a car that's making a bad noise. He knows that when he can knock a bit off something I owe him, it's a big deal to me. He makes sure we know when that Christmas breakfast is scheduled, and other holiday things. He calls me when a family member is sick. He does these things to show me that he loves me. And I understand that now.

 "Well, I've been afraid of changing cause I've built my life around you. But time makes you bolder, even children get older, and I'm getting older, too”

 I didn't intend to, I didn't try to, but a big part of my life was built around the way childhood Cindy saw her father and even how teen Cindy saw her father. Change is scary, and sometimes accepting the fact that you are loved can be as hard and frightening and new and strange as the idea that you're not loved. But like Stevie said, time makes you bolder and I think I might be almost bold enough to tell my father that I finally understand how he shows his love. Maybe that can be how I show mine.

So I went back to reply to that question "something important you learned from your Dad" and said "That moving forward is better than being stuck in the past." It was the shortest way I could say, well, all this.  But now as I've put in into many more words, one of my hopes is that by writing this out, I'll be able to share it with Dad and maybe it'll help us, open doors for us to get to know each other better now that we've both learned and grown from our pasts.

 So Dad, this is for you. I’m sorry for any time I’ve hurt you, I hope we can keep learning more about each other and growing closer, and I love you.

Post Script: I’m pleased to say that I sent this to my dad, and it was well received. It’s opened communication between us more, and I’m hopeful that our father/daughter relationship will continue to heal and grow from here.

-Cindy O’Malley

Cynthia is a writer, artist, and dreamer. Her creations are intended to express and share, and ideally to make others feel. Stories and art have been instrumental for Cynthia in understanding herself, her world, and all those she shares it with. She lives and travels full-time in an RV with her wife and cat while continuing to learn and create as often as possible.