Two Truths -- This One's For You, Dad

Theme Song: The Dock of the Bay

I have experienced three life-altering losses in my adult life, in order from hardest to easiest to bear they are:

• The loss of my daughter to Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS), which was heartbreak of a magnitude difficult to describe.
• The loss of a 22-year committed relationship and marriage, which grew me up (so to speak).
• This latest heartbreak, which, while more difficult to bear than I had thought, should be a cakewalk in comparison.

But it's not. Well, okay, it is (cakewalks are maybe harder than they look?).

The Reason

The reason, apart from the rejection and loneliness, is, I believe, that losses are lodged in the bodymind, and therefore recall other losses (especially those that are unresolved) on a cellular level.

The loss I don't like to talk about, that I usually don't even think of as a loss, is the loss of my father. What took him? Was it drugs? Alcohol? Mental illness?

Blame

Without cataloging his wrongs, let's say my father wasn't well-equipped for fatherhood. And so he didn't father.

The reason was supposed to be that he was a mentally ill addict, but I didn't buy it. I thought it was unfair and it made me angry.

And then, more recently, I thought maybe he was a big part of the reason that I haven't had a happy relationship. Of course, being a yoga teacher, I know you're not supposed to blame others for your problems, and so my grief and anger embarrassed me.

Two Truths

Last night I attended a Zen and Recovery meeting. No, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm more the type to be in a relationship with someone who is emotionally unavailable. (Naturally, mentally ill addicts fall into that category, so you may be able to see how I thought I might be seeing a pattern. . . .)

The meeting facilitator talked about the relative truth (what we live every day) and the absolute truth (you know, the truth where we're All One). I actually believe that stuff, but I had questions about how to live with the idea that we're all one while also living with the idea that I'm pissed off and sad that I didn't benefit from a loving father, not to mentioned embarrassed because, "Hey, buck up."

It's not as if I had to walk ten miles there and back in the snow everyday. And what about the fact that 25% of San Francisco children don't have enough to eat? They would be happy to have my problems.

So, the facilitator was nice about it, didn't mention anything about snow or hungry children, and pointed out some ways I could work on my grief and anger using recovery principles and Buddhist practice. It was compassionate and helpful, which may have set the stage for what came next.

The A-Ha! Moment

What really struck me was a comment another participant made. He said, "At one point, I realized my Dad had suffered, too."

As we chanted the closing chant, it came to me that I had never thought about my father's suffering. If it had been any other person, I swear it would be obvious to me but, in fact, last night was the first time I ever really considered that he had suffered. (Granted, he didn't exactly confide in me, but still.)

I imagined myself holding him in my arms and comforting him, which I assume only happened because of the power of the group chant, and I cried. And inside of myself I told him, "I'm sorry you suffered."

And then the chant was over and my friend gave me a Kleenex and that was that. I know it's not fully resolved, but a door to resolution and forgiveness cracked open. And not a moment too soon, I might add.

This One's For You, Dad

I never actually called my father "Dad." I called him by his name which was, and this may be funny but certainly it is also embarrassing, Dick.

One of the few things I know about Dick is that one of his favorite songs was The Dock of the Bay by Otis Redding. Please take a listen (above) and see what comes up. Maybe you will be inspired towards forgiveness. On ne sait jamais.

Your Turn

Having trouble with forgiveness? Tell us about it.