A Dance with Dad

I take my seat in the quiet of the den, my father across from me, knowing this will not be an easy conversation. For either of us. I breathe in a silent prayer and exhale a breath of readiness that’s taken so long to arrive.

“Dad,” I begin, my voice shaky but resolute.

“I need to start by apologizing for my delay. It’s taken me a lifetime to get here, but now that I am, I hope you will be patient with me. There are some things I need to say; things that will be painful for us both. I’ve held back for what seems like forever, putting this off because the last thing I want is to hurt you. But I can no longer remain silent. I’m only going to ask you for one thing, that you listen, okay?” my eyes pleading with him.

He is silent, as has always been his way. I bow my head, finding it hard to face him after all this time, but still, I feel his nod of comply. My heart is racing as I set to begin, knowing this will be a test of my courage and resolve. This moment, a beginning; a shot to signal my dash towards a finish line that is nowhere in sight; a timeless race around the circle of our life.

“Daddy, I need you to know that I have never stopped loving you. I have so many memories that are good, some bad ones too. We both know that. I remember our motorcycle rides when you balanced an adult sized helmet on my tiny head, and we tore off down the highway with freedom as our anthem, and the deafening roar of the muffler, our song, my smile as wide as we were wild. I loved those moments with you. When you would relinquish control of the handlebars so that I could steer us on our course to nowhere in particular,” I recount as trills of my childhood echo through my mind.

“One of my favorite traditions was our ventures to Bay Springs Park where you would lift me into the seat of the two-armed Helicopter Swing. I remember how you would grab hold of the swing opposite me, summoning all your power as you orbited the center pole propelling me, sending me soaring high above the ground. Oh, how I loved that feeling of flying high with you. You were the magic-maker of days that gave me wings to reach glorious heights. Do you remember how we would cap our day with chocolate milkshakes when we were done? Milkshakes have never tasted better than when I was with you.” My mouth waters as I can taste the sweetness of yesteryear.

“And I hold dearly”, I continue, “to our days on the ocean when the water could wash away our cares, and the waves safely held the brokenness of our family beneath its surface, if only just for the day. You were always a wonder to me, Dad; a king on the sea as you slalomed back and forth, a gliding vision of strength and grace,” I paused to stave off the tears surfacing in my minds-eye as I reveled in our story…our Once Upon a Time. “I’ll never forgive you for the day you flipped yourself backwards off the edge of the boat as we carved our way, at high-speed, through the open water of the channel, disappearing into the deep blue, just long enough to make us think the worst! And then, up you popped like a human-buoy, your evil laughter mocking us! Oh, Dad, those were some good times,” I recall with warmth reminiscent of the Florida sun and its waters that, long ago, were our backyard playground.

Dad is silent and still…recollecting our glory days, I’m sure.

“You know what else I’ll never forget? I was five years old and full of innocence when you took me to that little motel on the south side of town, and how as you slipped inside the door for a visit with your “friend”, you asked me to sit quietly outside. I was too young then to understand what was really going on. But a year later, it would all make sense,” I recall, my voice low and hushed, as if his secrets are still mine to keep. “How could you, Dad?” I ask.

I allow the moment to settle over us, for we both know what he had done.

“It was the splintering of our little family that would teach me consequences weren’t just for children. I would fully grasp, at an age so tender, that mom was not your one and only. That vows could be easily broken. Under the weight of your betrayal, we fractured into a million tiny pieces that would never make their way into anything whole again. There was nothing left but the broken shards of our life. You moved on with abandon, your new family taking our place. We stumbled to find our way through the waves of grief left in your wake,” my voice cracks. I pause to press back against the damning of my tears, determined they will not speak for me. Not here. Not today.

Honoring my request, Dad sits with the gravity of my words, listening. I press on, feeling my way through to what is harder still.

“The women were one thing, Dad. But the drugs and alcohol carried you off to faraway places I could never go. You were no longer present in body or mind. We could have found our way to a future, you and me, but you squandered it away and danced with your demons to music that never stopped. To those who knew me, I had a father, but I knew the shameful truth. I was a fatherless wonderer in a world you never prepared me for. Why, Dad? Was it all worth it? These are the questions I ask myself, but I don’t want or expect any answers from you.” Some things are better left banished to the muted corners of my mind. I’ve actually grown quite comfortable with them being there. I take a measured breath to sit in the presence of my silent prayers.

We hold in the stillness until time nods for me to continue on.

“I remember it all, Dad. The good and the bad. You always were both sunshine and shadow. I love so much about you. Your crude sense of humor. The way you would pull my pants down while I was elbow deep in dishwater. You thought you were so funny, and you were.”

“I’m so sorry I walked out on you that dreadful day. I remember standing there in the hospital room staring at what was left of you, the battered and shattered bits that remained. And I could barely breathe. When the police arrived and asked you what had happened, you spilled the truth of your tortured world. Truth I never wanted to know. And in that moment, when the pain assaulted my threshold, I couldn’t do it anymore. I quit. My unspoken goodbye ushered me through the door and out of your life.”

Though he says nothing in response, I know he remembers it all. Every painful moment of reality that stared us both down on that day. Reality I had no choice but to accept. There was a calming of my heart as I rounded the last bend of our story.

“I wish I hadn’t walked out on you that day, Dad. I wish I would have stayed to say the hard things. And I wish I would have responded to your text all those months later when you asked me if I still loved you. Instead, I allowed silence to speak for me and the pleadings of my heart. I thought that maybe if I left, you would fight for me. That you would cry out for help, and if you had, I would have come running. I would have championed your cause. But you never did. For so long, I felt guilty. Like maybe I hadn’t said or done enough to convince you to seek help. I felt regret for quitting on you. I’ve carried that guilt for too long. It’s taken me a lot of time and prayer to realize that I wasn’t the one who quit on you when I walked out that door. You were the one who quit on me all those years ago. You abdicated your role in our lives, as a father, a husband, a brother, a son. And for what?”

“I want to thank you though. You left me with the most beautiful of gifts, one that I will cherish always. You taught me the importance of fighting the good fight, of never giving up, no matter how hard that fight might be. I don’t know why you never fought for the beautiful things of life, Dad, and I may never understand why I was not worth fighting for, but I do know this. I am only here with you today, finally saying all the things I could never say before, because of you. Your life has been my greatest teacher.”

With my words nearing their end, I stand to cross the room. I kneel beside him and place my hand on the black box of his ashen remains. I have one more thing still to say. The very hardest yet.

“Claire, Dad. It was only after your death that I learned of your final betrayal. She’s my daughter, so precious to me in every way a child should be. How could you do it? How could you justify bringing her on your final run…inviting her to the dance? Was it not hard enough on me already to have an addict for a father? Must I also endure having one for a daughter too? Did you ever even stop to think of anyone other than yourself? I’m sure you had no way of knowing this would be the end for you. I can only surmise that in the end, there was nothing left of you to have known any better. I’m just thankful it wasn’t the end for her. I may never know if you felt any shame or remorse for your actions, but I do know this. I forgive you.”

At this, all the tears I had been holding back for a lifetime begin to fall in a cleansing current of absolution. I surrender.

“I’m so sorry we have not yet laid you to rest, Dad. All these years later, and you still reside in this dark corner of my TV cabinet. I have no excuse. When they found you, you were on your knees. How you were still upright, I will never know. The autopsy revealed you had danced your final dance. Knowing you the way I do, always being the life of the party, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were to have curtseyed at your final curtain call. My hope though is that maybe, in your last breath, you bowed before our Maker and cried out for help. I love you, Daddy. I hope you will forgive me too,” my words a reverent prayer.

I stand to my feet, cross the room, pull out a record from long ago and place it carefully on the table of our old record player. I lift the arm and lower it to ‘We’ll Meet Again’ by Johnny Cash. One of his favorites. I take a deep breath and extend my hand towards him, asking one final question.

“May I have this dance?”

As the music begins, I slowly make my way back to him, and taking him into my arms, we dance. We sway to redeem all the dances we missed with one another. Graduation. Wedding. The moments that could have, should have woven themselves through the story of our life.

When the song ends, I hold him for just a moment longer. My words have found their end. Peace.

I make my way across the room to where a green velvet drawstring bag lays waiting on the table. Knowing there is nothing left to say, nothing left to pray, I carefully place him inside the bag and tuck him safely back on the shelf where he will remain until further arrangements can be made.