A Table For Two

“All those years of darkness can make a person blind.” I’m Changing by Jennifer Hudson

“Why are you crying?” she asked, finally breaking the awkward silence that filled the space between her just having placed her soul in the middle of the table of our window seat at a quaint Starbucks outside Baltimore and my misguided search for “right words” in response.

“I’m not entirely sure,” I replied.

“Maybe it’s your willingness to be so vulnerable.

Maybe it’s the gentleness and frailty of your spirit.

Maybe it’s your courage and commitment to persevere.

Maybe it’s your other-centeredness, which is so rare these days.

Maybe it’s your beautiful, child-like nature.

Maybe it’s how empathetically and lovingly you talk about others.

Maybe it’s your passion and compassion.

Maybe it’s your tenderness – the fullness of your heart.

Or maybe it’s the glimpse I caught, as you were talking about your dreams, of how much more beautiful the world will look when you finally, fully step into the light.”

“And you?” I continued, as tears were now streaming down the sides of her face.

“Because I would give anything to see ‘me’ that way for even a day,” she confided.

“One day you will,” I assured her, praying that a droplet from my hope-filled heart would spill out and germinate a seed in hers, “because it’s true – the ‘me’ I see IS you.”

A faint smile and warm hug greeted my parting words and with them we were off … me to keep the flame of hope alive, her to continue the hard work of recovery.

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“Is My Friend Right, Dad?”

Some time ago, I received a Facebook message from a friend who’d gotten a copy of my book and set aside a quiet Friday night to read it.  She was writing to tell me that she hadn’t made it through the “Dedication” page before tears began cascading down her face making it impossible for her to continue reading:

DEDICATION

To my daughter, Ashley:

I would have given anything, including my very life, to have spared you from the unimaginable suffering and heartache that ultimately led me to the reflections and revelations that fill the following pages. I only hope that the life lessons I’ve learned through your pain and what, perhaps unbeknownst to you, became our mutual struggle for understanding and emotional survival, will enable another precious young woman and her family to find hope and shed one less tear in their collective journey towards a full recovery.

You are my inspiration.

I hurriedly apologized for the effect my words had on her, but she was equally quick to assure me it was not my fault.  Instead, she confided that her tears sprang from a lifetime spent wondering if her own dad “loved her that much” and was proud of her in spite of her imperfections. I hardly knew what to say, except that, on some level, I understood, not only because there was a time when I too longed for those assurances from my dad, but because, over the past several years, I’d heard countless women (young and non-so-young) echo those same heart-breaking sentiments.

Ultimately, I told her that, while I obviously couldn’t speak for her dad, I was confident that the day she first came into his life she took up residence in a very special place in his heart (that’s just what daughters do!) and she likely still “lives” there.  The problem is: Some dads have difficulty properly expressing their feelings and some, regrettably, don’t express them at all.  And so I encouraged her to take the initiative and write her dad a letter sharing her pain and her need/longing to know that he loves her and that he’s proud of her, which she did with a little help from a “friend”…

Dear Dad,

I can’t remember the last time I wrote a letter or recall if I’ve ever written one to you.

There certainly have been lots of times I thought about writing or picking up the phone to call you –

Times when I could have used and likely benefited from your wisdom and guidance;

Times when I needed assurances that I was making a good decision or that as dark as everything may have seemed at that particular moment there likely would be brighter days ahead;

Times when I simply needed a word of encouragement;

Times when I needed understanding or empathy; and, most importantly,

Times when I felt very much alone and just needed someone to listen, to be reminded that there was someone I could count on to be there for me, to love me, to be supportive, to not judge me.

I desperately wanted/needed that someone to be you, Dad, but, for some reason, I could never find the courage to write that first word or finish dialing the last number that would give you the chance.

I always stopped short, because I was afraid, afraid that if I were honest with you, if I shared my struggles, my fears and my shortcomings you would criticize me, make me feel small, leave me feeling even worse about myself in my imperfection than I already did.  Most of all, I feared that you would be disappointed in me and I just couldn’t bear the thought of knowing or sensing I had done that – again. I’ve done that enough for one lifetime.

But, an old friend has convinced me that my fears may be unfounded. He assures me that there’s nothing quite like a father’s love for his daughter. He has encouraged me to reach out to you, told me to take a risk, to share my feelings with you openly and honestly – to let you know the longings of my heart.

Having never met you, he is somehow confident that the only disappointment you will feel will come from learning that there were so many times that I wanted to reach out to you, but allowed my fears to stand in the way and, in doing so, denied you the opportunity to be there for your little girl.

Is my friend right, Dad? Do I have this all wrong? Have I had it wrong all these years? Do you love me? Are you proud of me?  I need to know. I need my Dad.

Love,

“Your Little Girl”