Scars

Young Adulthood

Chapter 11, (Death of a Father I didn't even know)

My sister, called again that Monday evening. Her voice was strangled she sounded like she had been crying and she seems very upset. Addressing what was going on immediately, she asked me to go with her to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to the Cancer Center. I ask her if she was alright. She responded that our father had been diagnosed with Leukemia and that he was in the end stages of the disease. I agreed to go with her not knowing what to expect.

That Thursday evening, I drove from Thurmont, Maryland to Terra-Alta, WV. We got up the next morning and headed to see our father, the man that I did not even know and was not sure if I even wanted to know him anyway.

We arrived at the hospital went to the information desk and got his floor and room information. Jane headed towards the elevator, I was very nervous and was feeling very faint and sick at my stomach. She encouraged me to hurry so we jumped on the elevator and headed to the fourth floor. I continued to trail about ten steps behind her down the hall and into his room. As I looked around her at the tiny man lying, sleeping in the bed I realized that I was ambivalent to this man.

He opened his eyes as my sister began to speak to him softly. He looked around her towards me and I faintly smiled at him looking for the closest exit in case I needed to make a quick escape. His voice was very faint, he looked like he weighed no more than ninety pounds. His eyes were sunk back into his head, all his hair had fallen out from the chemo and he was so pale that he was almost indistinguishable against the white sheets on the bed. Several IV's were hanging from a pole and feed his arm.

He talked briefly about how much he had missed with us girls as my mind wondered aimlessly not concentrating on what he was saying. Thinking that people always get remorseful when they think they are going to die and that he doesn't mean anything he said. He was just trying to ease his conscious. He asked Jane if she had brought the couple of things he had asked for and she replied by handing him the bag that she had been carrying in her hand. He took out of the bag a bible and a pair of reading glasses. Laying them on his bedside table he turned to Jane with a big smile and said thank you.

Then he turned his attention to me, calling me his little Katydid. I instantly informed him that he was not allowed to call me that name. Calling me Katydid was a privilege and he had not earned that right. He asked me how I had been. He asked for a synopsis of my life for the last twenty years, like he was a playwright working on a script. Anger rose inside of me and I jumped up from the chair in which I had been sitting. I headed out the door, turning to look him square in the eye saying if you cared about me and my life, you wouldn't have been an enigma these last twenty years. Tears welled up in his eyes, and he continued to stare at me. He softly stated, "I guess you're right". He made no excuses for leaving us in the foster care system. No announcements of undying love or no pleas for forgiveness. He just had a sad, defeated look on his face, with a single tear rolling down his pale cheek. After about four hours of unwitty banter, cross looks and miss read signals, I informed him that it was time for us to go. He asked if we would come again, agreeing just to get out of there. This man may have been my sperm donor, but he was in no way, no how my father. Because if he had been, he would have come looking for me. He would have moved heaven and earth to find me and love me, at least that's how my little girl heartfelt. That was my story and I was sticking to it.

Three days later, Jane called again letting me know that no more trips to the hospital were necessary; he had passed away. I wanted so desperately to cry, I felt like I was supposed to cry but I just couldn't shed a tear. Instead, I did what I always did when I couldn't handle the pain or anguish. I SHUT down! Eventually, through prayer and anointing at Church and counseling with my pastor, I learned to let go of the pain. I wrote him this letter, that he never got to read but my heavenly father read it and he approved. My letter was as follows: