About this time last year I found out my father died. The father who I called Ivan because that was his name. I never referred to him as my dad or my father. Just Ivan. Because he wasn’t there to be a dad and ‘father’ sounds too important.
I was 20 when I travelled on my own, 14 thousand miles to find him. (England to Australia)
I found him when I was 22 years old.
And like any girl looking for her father I hoped for the fairytale and the mending of the abandonment wound.
Nothing could have prepared me for what lay ahead. And it’s really too much information to go into here but in the end, I had to step away.
I thought that ONE DAY I would step back into it all. I thought that ONE DAY I would suddenly have that strength where I could be in his presence, be myself, be full of forgiveness and not expect him to be the father I always wanted.
Well it turns out I’m no saint. I never found that within myself.
I always knew I would feel let down by him. I would never get what I wanted. And I didn’t want to go in with any anger and upset anyone. So I stayed away.
But I always thought that ONE DAY I would make peace with it, with him, and have that sense of total freedom and relief from finally standing before him and say what I needed to say with a completeness in my heart and soul.
Fast forward 12 years.
I knew he was sick. I could sense it. I could sense it for about 2 years. (Bare in mind the last time I saw him I was 23 and when he died I was 35) So I began looking through his families Facebook pages for pictures or signs of his wellbeing. I only did that occasionally but then early last year I felt compelled and I regularly investigated certain family members fb pages. Nothing.
And then one day, as I was investigating, I was scrolling down a news feed and there it was:
“RIP Granddad. We will Miss you”.
The emotion I felt in that moment is indescribable.
I screamed the house down.
No one told me.
No one tried to get in touch to let me know.
I never got the chance to say goodbye.
That ONE DAY I had thought so much about, was gone.
It was like a weird relief. Like I had been waiting for that moment so I could finally grieve over the Father who had never been there but whom my life was shaped around so subconsciously.
I could never grieve for his not being there. But now I could grieve for it all.
It’s over.
So I found out he died. I found out on Facebook. I found out about the death of my father on Facebook in Sept 2015. The death had happened around 2nd June 2015 going by the Facebook post.
I never really told anyone about this because for many, it’s hard to understand. I felt weird about saying that I found out my father died because he was never my father but at the same time, that is who he is. So I felt sort of ashamed for feeling sad and angry and all those grief feelings because he wasn’t there, in my life.
But I see now that he was. In so many ways. There wasn’t a week that would go by where I didn’t wonder about THAT DAY that I would meet him again. And not to mention THAT DAY that I would meet him when I was 22.
So much effort and emphasis around ONE DAY that may or may not happen plagued my mind my entire life.
And now it is over.
Who am I without that story and without THAT DAY to plan for?
That question is so empowering for me. I realise that without this journey I would not be who I am. I was never meant to meet him in this physical world again and I’m ok with that. There have been facts unfold to show me why it never felt right to connect. I was being protected, just as I was all my life by him not being there.
I know that I will continue to receive the healing gifts of insight and clarity and for them, I am forever grateful.
Kimberley
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