January 10, 2016: I had returned home from Vegas the previous day.  I went to church Sunday morning. It was difficult to hold myself together when Dad’s death was mentioned in the announcements.  In the afternoon, I wrote Dad’s obituary.  I volunteered with the youth group in the evening, though I had to hide in the restroom when they played the song, “Good, Good Father.”

As we were preparing for bed that night, my husband and I got into a minor argument.  I went downstairs to the kitchen, sunk to the floor, and wept.  Loudly.  Uncontrollably.  David came to find me and joined me on the floor, placing his arm around my shoulders.  When I could speak, I said, “I wrote my dad’s obituary today.  I will never see him again.  I can’t even think that he is someplace avoiding me anymore.  He is nowhere.  He no longer exists.  He didn’t let us say ‘goodbye.'”

We decided to hold the memorial in May because of Val’s work/travel schedule.  I printed flyers and delivered them to the two bars in town where Dad spent most of his spare time when he was in Michigan.  We posted a memorial announcement in the local newspaper inviting all who knew him.  I wanted Dad’s friends to be there.  Cory did not think that they would come because he had left them as abruptly as he left us.  One day he said, “You’ll never see me again,” and walked out the door.  They were hurt and angry.  But I wanted them to learn from his life.  I wanted everyone to.

May 15, 2016: The day arrived.  I was nervous.  Excited.  Ready.  Unsure of what to expect.  I was going to see people I had not seen in many years and family members that I had never met.  Bless my soul, some of Dad’s friends from the bars arrived.  I could have kissed them.  

Dad’s cousin, Rich, began.  He shared memories of Roger the child.  The naughty things they did together.  The happy memories of innocence.  Next was Dad’s sister, Nancy.  She also talked about the young boy.  Her older brother who would pick on her, scare her, protect her.  She mentioned their abusive father and how Dad couldn’t get past the pain of their childhood.  When she had seen him shortly after their mother had passed a few years before, he still spoke of their childhood abuse like the wounds were fresh.  Then it was my turn. Below is the video of my portion.

Afterwards, many shared stories with me about him. He was a jokester. He liked to sneak money to his friend’s little boy. There were consoling words and healing hugs. I realize now how badly I needed this day to come, to say what I believed needed to be said, to let him go and move on. When we got home, I said to my husband, “It stinks that he had to die for me to get to get to know him better.”

April 11, 2017: I dreamt about him.  I woke myself up crying. A feeling of heavy darkness clung to me throughout the day.  That evening I tried to do homework, but could not concentrate.  My church had posted a new podcast that morning, so I decided to listen.  The pastor spoke about obedience.  What is God telling you to do that you haven’t done?   The answer filled the room like a whisper from everywhere.  Forgive.  I did not want to.  I was still so angry.  However, I had learned that I could not live my life in disobedience to God.  I said aloud, “I forgive you.” Again, tears flowed, but not of anger or pain. Tears of freedom.  The anger that had burned inside me, erupting like a volcano whenever I spoke about him, was gone.  Just… gone.  I realized that a piece of myself had been in Dad’s Hell as long as my anger lasted. 

The words of the song “No Longer a Slave” had held great meaning for me after Dad’s death.  “I’m no longer a slave to fear.  I am a child of God.”  I was no longer a slave to the fear of being abandoned or rejected by him.  I was no longer a slave to the fear of never seeing him again, because it was now a fact.  And that day, I was no longer a slave to the anger that pulled me down into the pit where he had lived his entire adult life.  I was free.  I am free.

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.” John 8:36