Requiem for a Father

I quickly explained the reason for my call. She genuinely seemed surprised but not overly emotional about it.

"Tim, that's something that happened over 50 years ago. What is the big deal at this point"?

"The big point?" I was incredulous. "It's my life, it was a lie."

"Why was your life a lie?"

I really didn't have a good answer for that, so I moved on. "I'm going to talk with Mom about it."

"No you're not. Listen to me. Leave her alone. Let her live out the remainder of her life in peace. Do not do that!"

"I have to; don't you see how everything makes sense now? The way Dad treated me, her standing by him, and....."

"So what, what possible difference does it make now? For god sakes leave it alone and get on with your life. You have a great wife and family, just let it go."

"I can't Teri, I just can't." Why didn't anyone understand?

There was silence for several uncomfortable moments. "Tim, if you hurt her. If you cause her any unnecessary pain, I will never forgive you."

"I won't, but please just keep our conversation to yourself, Ok?"

She never answered me; she just hung up the phone. I just stared at it, why couldn't anyone fathom how important this was?

When I recounted my conversations with Teri and Mona, Debbie just held my hand. After a while she quietly told me she agreed with them. What was to be gained?

I wouldn't be dissuaded.

I had called ahead and arranged a lunch with my mother at the usually quiet and moderately priced restaurant that we met at every month. I had finally agreed to The Cabbage Patch.I never figured out why it was called The Cabbage Patch.The only thing on the menu with cabbage in it was their cole slaw, and it wasn't very good. It was our regular spot, so she would quit complaining about the cost of the meals. Although she was very well off, in her mind any meal over $5 was highway robbery and would result in an inane ten minute discussion about overpriced food being further proof of the decline of civilization. A lunch entrée at The Cabbage Patch was about $10 so she would only harrumph about it as she paid when it was her turn. I always had to find a way to sneak more tip money into the cheap tattered vinyl folders because no matter what the meal cost she would only leave a $2 tip. As I said before, she grew up during the depression.

I set the time up for us to meet after the lunch rush was over to insure privacy for our discussion. I had debated telling her ahead of time what I wanted to talk about, but settled on surprise. I was worried about the stress it would have on her, but you tend to get more honest answers when a person doesn't have time to think about how they should answer, and I wanted the raw truth.

The meeting was wholly unsatisfying to me.

I started it off with a shot right between her eyes. "Mom, why did you never tell me that Uncle Thomas was my biological father?"

She immediately became skittish and emotional. Tears were forming and it took a long time for her to answer. She spoke haltingly and "Honey we were just kids, we were all friends, things happened. It wasn't like...."

I quickly cut her short, "I don't care about any of that mother, I want to know why you never told me."

"Your father was going to tell you when you were older, but he got sick."

I was trying hard not to become angry, but I was frustrated. I tried one more time. "I understand that, but why didn't you tell me?" I asked pointedly.

"It was a long time ago, and it really wasn't important." She snapped and waved her hand dismissively. "Frankly it was none of your business. Your true father was the man that raised you!"

"No mother maybe it wasn't my business when I was a child. I probably couldn't have handled the answers anyway, but it was my business when I became an adult, but again that part doesn't really matter. I just feel cheated. I feel that by not telling me you robbed me of the chance to try and understand him. If you had told me maybe he and I would have had a chance to sit down and talk and possible develop a halfway decent relationship before he got sick. But even after he was sick you never told me. I would have understood his anger and resentment towards me...."

"He loved you..."

"No he didn't mother, he hated me and you know it." She was shaking her head in the negative violently. "Even if you're right and I'm wrong, at the very least he hated everyday what I reminded him of."

She was crying unembarrassed "That's not true; it was something we moved past. We loved each other, and he loved you." She pleaded.

I knew in her mind she thought she was telling the truth. Or was she? In either case she was a very tired old woman and all I was accomplishing was to agitate her. Some long past bitter memories were trying to break through to her consciousness, but what would it accomplish if they were successful?

There was no point in pursuing it further. There would be no answers there for me.

She was on the verge of breaking down completely so even though I had a million more questions to ask I backed off. In the end we simply talked about the usual frivolous topics because I didn't have the heart to push her. It was obvious that, as is common with aging, she had built an idyllic vision of what her world was and nothing could shake her from it. Maybe it isn't a bad thing.

I was so disturbed after the meeting I didn't do anything further for a few weeks, but it was still gnawing at me. I couldn't let it go. I became a bear at work and I'm sure I wasn't much better at home.

I know Debbie was very worried and apprehensive about me making this trip alone. She wanted badly to come with me, but I told her this was something I had to do by myself. It was her idea for me to make the journey. She told me it could be my last chance. I thought she might be right but didn't completely understand why she said that. For most of the 200 mile drive north the words she directed at me with tears in her eyes as I climbed into my car kept repeating in my mind.

"Who is responsible for your achievements, who is accountable for your failures, who is answerable for your emotions, who is liable for what your life has become? Until you can answer those questions honestly, there is no hope for your redemption."

Ultimately we are responsible for what we have become, but if that is true then your family, friends, and environment don't matter? That flies in the face of common sense and millennia's of teaching. Certainly, all of those matter and have an impact on what we mature into. The problematic part though is the redemption piece. If you haven't been able to accept the ultimate and complete responsibility for what you are, there is no hope for you. We always have choices in life. The correct choice and the wrong one aren't always clear, but they are always there.

What choices did my father have? He had several along his path. Abortions were illegal back in those days, but they were done routinely. Could he have forced that issue, why did he not? He could have opted for divorce, but he chose not to. Was it because he loved my mother and got past her infidelity, or was it that he just didn't want to be a part time father to the child he already had? They had two more children together after my birth. What did that mean? These questions and many more I was never going to find answers to. It was one of the many things I was robbed of.

On the other hand, my parents chose to give life to a child of adultery. Why was that? I had tried to ask that of my mother and she chose not to answer. I wonder if they wrestled with that decision or was it obvious to them? I am eternally grateful that they did choose to give me life of course.

Its one thing to accept that we will all die someday and that everything we were disappears along with the light being extinguished, but trying to accept the concept that you never would have existed is another whole subject!

There was always adoption, but they chose not to go that route either. Shouldn't that have been the easiest decision? I struggled with the question of would my life have been better if they had? In the end I decided no, because if they had I never would have met Debbie or had two great sons. That's when the doubts started to creep in.

I started this journey by thinking I had to offer forgiveness to my father, redemption if you will. But how do you give absolution to the dead? And after wrestling with all my questions I was no longer sure he needed forgiveness?

Did he need exoneration for the way he treated me? Maybe. But foremost in my mind was the question, what would I have done under similar circumstance? He was only 23 years old when I was conceived. He was just a kid then, even younger than I was before having children. I didn't have all the answers then and it was obvious I still didn't.

The depth of my anger and obsession with finding answers was putting stress on our marriage. I knew it but when Deb tried to talk with me about it I blew her off. That was something to deal with later.

Finally, I think in desperation as I was leaving, Debbie told me for the second time that if I couldn't find answers to my questions I had no hope for redemption and that I shouldn't come home until I did. She turned her back to me and walked away. What did I need redemption for? I wonder how she knew.

I needed it for something I have never told another living sole.

When my father lay dying, long past any recognition of his family or cognizant thought of anything earthly, I asked the hospice nurse and my family to give me a few minutes alone with him so I could say goodbye. When everyone had left the room I picked up his hand as if to shake it. His eyes were open and he turned his head towards me. Although dulled by age and disease I thought I saw a flicker of recognition in them. That happened periodically and the doctors told us that it was simply his retinas reacting to light changes, I hoped they were wrong. I wanted him to know it was me. After double checking that the room was clear, I quietly shook his hand and whispered into his ear, "Good luck asshole", and I walked out of the room.

But I wasn't done there. I had brought something with me that day and I went to retrieve it from my car. I got my mother alone and pulled out my old baseball glove, the one he had ridiculed me and mom about more than 40 years ago. She didn't recognize it. It was the one I used all during little league, high school, American Legion ball, and even a brief unremarkable stint in the low minor leagues.

The glove had a ball in it and I handed both to her. I looked her in the eyes and lied to her. "Could you put this in Dad's casket for me? I was thinking maybe when I die we will see each other again and we could play catch."

She was moved to tears by my sentiment, and promised that she would, but what she didn't know was that in my mind I was saying, take that you motherfucker.I hope you rot in hell!

I never shed a tear nor lost any sleep over his death.

As I pulled into the gravel parking lot of the small and not very well kept cemetery, the only sound being made was the crunching of the pea sized rocks made by the tires of my car. Well that and the pounding of my heart in my chest.

This was the first time I had been to his grave site since the day we buried him. I sat in the cool of the air conditioned car for a few minutes to gather my wits. It had to be over 90 degrees outside. I closed my eyes briefly and heaved a big sigh and got out of the car and headed up the path.

When I got up to his grave I sat on the smooth grayish granite bench facing away from his gravesite. Despite the heat the bench was cool to the touch. My mother had it installed so one could look out over the arid valley he had loved so much. I didn't understand his affinity for the place but I guess I didn't have to.

There was a lonesome two lane highway off in the distance. On occasion a car or commercial truck would travel on it as they traversed across the valley. It was well into the distance so not a sound could be heard from it. In fact the only sound was the rustling of the leaves and tall grass as the dry hot wind blew threw it. I could see a couple of hawks circling lazily high overhead looking for prey. Now and then smaller birds could be heard talking with each other from the limbs of the surrounding mature oak trees. It was indeed calming and I could feel the anxiety and anger slipping from my body. At that moment I realized my wife was right and my path forward was clear. I had spent the last few months searching for answers in the wrong place. I really already knew all I needed to know.

I turned to finally face my father. "I'm sorry Dad. I'm sorry for the way I treated you and probably when you needed me the most. I didn't understand then, but I think I do now. I have gone through life blaming you for everything I was and I wasn't, but it was me all along.

"I'm sorry no one ever told me the truth. I would have so very much liked to talk it over with you. Maybe we wouldn't have gotten along any better, but at the very least we could have understood each other more. Heck we might have even grown to like one another?

"I'm sorry I didn't get the opportunity to ask you the many questions that I would have liked. Not the least of which is why did you do what you did? I guess none of us ever get all the answers we are looking for.

"Maybe you should have asked for my forgiveness for the way you treated me, but if your goal was to make me hard enough to survive in this world, you succeeded. I know I can take whatever fate throws at me and that is thanks to you. Maybe that is what you were trying to do all along." I sheepishly laughed out loud at myself.

"If it matters I forgive you, but what I really hope is that you forgive me. That's really all I have to say, there isn't much more I guess." I swiveled back toward the valley to gaze at it again then stood and headed back down the hill. It was time to go home.

When I got back home although I hadn't even called ahead to tell her I was on my way, Debbie was there waiting on the porch for me, as she always was. I wondered what she saw in me that made her stick with me. Someday soon before it is too late I will have to ask her.

As I approached her she delicately asked. "Did you find your redemption?"

"I did." I grabbed her, pulled her to me, and kissed her hard.

30 years later:

On a clear crisp autumn morning, an old man and a woman who were clearly in the late winter of their lives, their backs were hunched by the crushing weight of a long hard life, came slowly shuffling up the hard packed dirt pathway toward a gravesite shaded by an ancient oak tree at the top of the small hill. Their faces were marked with crevices and age spots, and they both needed the assistance of canes to make the trek. They had almost missed the driveway to the graveyard because the sign was gone and weeds had overgrown most of it. You wouldn't know that it was a cemetery really except for the headstones poking out from tops of the dried overgrown brush. It was still a very peaceful place, but time and progress had long since passed it by. The small town at the bottom of the hill was virtually abandoned now. Neither of them had been back to this place in the five years since they buried their big brother. It was such a lonely and forlorn setting.

The two siblings had never understood why their father wanted to be buried there. But when their older brother Tim told them as he lay dying that he wanted to be buried next to his dad they were shocked. Given the father son relationship they had, it made no sense whatsoever. Tim and his wife Debbie had talked it over. She wanted to be buried next to her father, and Tim his. So be it.

What the pair thought even odder was that their mother chose not to be buried next to her husband of fifty plus years even though there was a plot for her. Her will had specified that she was to be cremated and her ashes spread at sea. The executor of her estate, the long time family attorney said she was adamant that she not be buried next to Don. He said that she had a bitter smile or a grimace, he wasn't sure which it was, but when she told him that she didn't want to disturb Don's peace she just seemed terribly sad. Strange he thought, but he was a lawyer and he complied with her wishes even though he had to threaten legal action against her children who wanted her buried there.

The old man spoke the only words he said the entire time they were there. "Well Dad we just came to tell you that we buried big sister Teri the other day, Maureen and I are the only ones left now. We promised Teri we would let you know, and she told us to relay a message that she forgave you and hoped you and Tim finally had the peace you were both looking for.

"As for you big brother, we're still trying to figure out why you wanted to be buried here next to Dad? Especially after the way he treated you. I guess it is peaceful and all, but you never even liked this area."

Maureen butted in, "and another thing, who buys a brand new $800 baseball glove just to be buried with it? What a waste." She spoke with obvious disgust.

And they turned their backs on the very ordinary headstones and started back down the hill.

The two tombstones were simple granite markers with their names, dates of birth and death. At the bottom of Donald E. Jones' etched name was a simple saying, Husband -- Father -- Teacher -- Friend. And at the bottom of Tim T. Jones' was a straight forward epitaph, His Son.

To forgive is to set a prisoner free and discover that the prisoner was you.

Lewis B. Smedes

On a lighter note:

"Fiction was invented the day Jonah arrived home and told his wife that he was three days late because he had been swallowed by a whale.."
― Gabriel García Márquez