Mark the date and time. April 19, 2011 at precisely 9:45 p.m. It is the first time in all my 50 years on this earth that I recall my father telling me, singularly that he loves me.
Once, at Mama and Daddy's 50th wedding anniversary tea, he told all of us that he loved all his children, but that was because we had encircled him and told him we were not letting him go until he said it. Left a little to be desired, rest assured. It was not the individual "I love you, Laura" that I had needed so desperately to hear for the most of my life. It was a generalized cover statement that rang rather empty in my heart.
A week or so ago, my children came home from visiting the grands and happily announced that Granddaddy stated that he loved the girls in reply to each of their expression of love for him. I was very happy for that and am appreciative of his willingness to do that for them.
His expression of love for me last night was sincere and given freely, but how sad that it took him 50 years and a diagnosis of terminal cancer to be able to say those three little words. Have yet to hear him say "I am sorry" or "I was wrong" and honestly, I never expect he will. Needless to say, although I appreciate hearing that lovely phrase come from his lips and know it originated in his heart, it still leaves me feeling somewhat empty. It is just too little, too late. It would have meant so very much more had I heard it all my life instead of at the time of his impending death.
In spite of my struggle to battle it, bitterness abounds. That is the saddest part of my daddy's passing. That I can't seem to muster what it takes to just push through the bitterness and forgive his shortcomings. In my head, I know the rational thing is to accept and be grateful for whatever I am given, but in my heart there is still the hurt little girl who is afraid to let go of the tight control of her emotions for fear of being shattered. A part of me knows that with unleashed emotion comes all the pain, joy, fear, anger, love, etc. and I am not sure I am able to come through that deluge intact. It feels safer to keep a distance and more importantly to keep control. My head knows that is not the best venue for healing, but my heart is unsure of doing anything other and time is running out.
This end of life thing has been no picnic for any of us and is complicated by all this baggage that I wish could be dealt with before the end comes. I just don't know if I can dredge up the courage to tackle it before it is too late.
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