Stagnant

I’ve been stagnant. There were just so many rejections that came and I started to believe them. The book wasn’t a ‘right fit’ for them and, by the way, ‘good luck’. I don’t want luck. I want that one person out there who’s waiting for this story to step up. This pecking through a pile of chicken scratch hoping to have the query land in one of their mouths just doesn’t seem like I’m doing it the right way.

I can sit with any one of you out there and tell you the story of my father’s and mine, tell you how we were separated for 33 years and I will hear back from you that this story must be told. Well, we wrote it, with all its gory details. Maybe it was just meant to be a catharsis for us to go through but I can’t help but think that others will find themselves in this story and will be given, at the very least, an example of how to change their own powerless reacting to the generations of imprinting before them.

I'm working on another way of telling the story in a nutshell so here is a brief synopsis in my POV. My dad is doing the same exercise on his blog and then we'll piece together a new approach for the the agents, publishers, and special interest marketing Gods!

Here's the story...

I was seven years old the last time I saw my father. I remember his drinking, the violent fights between my mother and him, and the rages towards my brother. But I loved him like a little girl loves her father, no matter what. We had an unconditional bond that lurked in the shadows of my life as I grew up to become my mother. She loved my father in that way of abused domestic partners that always think the next time will be different, perhaps even the next house, or town, or state will be even better.

My siblings and I grew up with the scars of a broken home seared in our hearts in different ways. My brother became the man of the house at ten years old. He took on the father role of disciplinarian while my mother worked swing shift hours. He helped with money from his news paper route, and he became angry, perhaps like my father, and acted out cruelly towards me in ways that convinced me that I was hated. My sister disappeared in the ashes and became more of an after thought being six years younger than me and nine younger than my brother.

Out of this dynamic I found my husband, at a very young age, and fell madly in love with the man that was the image of my father and my brother with a little of my mother sprinkled in. He fit the childhood imprinting perfectly and we began a journey of drinking and drugs, fighting, separating, returning, and not being able to break the bond of attraction and love. Two children later and violent episodes mirroring my own father and mother, our family stepping away, and our lives caught up in a vortex spinning no where but down we decided to break the pattern of our parents and theirs before them. We quit drinking, through counseling we learned better communication and I discovered much about my reactions to life and how powerless I was in controlling my behaviors. I learned how to turn those reactions around and to see life in the reality of it instead of the feelings about it. While taking this journey I was able to see the life path I took and to better understand why I needed to walk this way to become the person that I am.

Now you can take this as a text book study of what happens to a little girl when the father abandons the family or you can read it as a more esoteric story of a father and a daughter finding their way into a spiritual way a living. Or if your interest is to understand the powerlessness of alcoholism and the denial that seeps insidiously into the mind you will get a good story here also.

To sum it up, my father and I met after the thirty three years and compared our stories. We realized that both of us had echoes of our parent’s stories and both of us had made decisions to break out of the chains of those beliefs and live life with more positive philosophies. Our work was done far before we ever were reunited and therefore the reunion was a miraculous bonus to discover we had really never broken the bonds that joined us.

 I learned where my father had gone, what he had done, and heard about his spiritual awakenings both in prison and in nature. His story is tragic but redeeming and is told in alternating chapters with mine, written in chronological order, both paralleling our lives together and apart.

I do believe that this story must be told. I’ve been led to it my whole life and I can’t believe I’d be dropped on my butt by the Gods of destiny after all the stepping stones being laid out so perfectly. We will continue doing the footwork and eventually that right person will come along to help it be published.

I remain courageous,

Kathy

Comments

[Shelly]

I love this! Such a great high level view of your story...very intriguing and invites me in to want to read more. Parallel lives has a life of its own...not stagnat, but maybe just laying in wait for the words to come forth with renewed energy and truth that this story is ready to be revealed in all its beauty to us all.

[Rob Ferree]

Kathy-
The story goes on... much like you, my sisters and brother lived with the alcholism and abuse at the hand of your father. We were his step-family just before he went to prison. The experience of living through this tumultuous time in our lives is viewed quite differently by my siblings and myself. It was a horrible way to live for a prepubescent boy looking for examples from his parents, or step-parent as the case indeed was. But instead of learning to repeat the cycle, it provided me with an abundant lesson of who I should not become. What I appreciated the most was exposure to sports that Ray provided as my natural father was not in the least interested. It became an outlet for me, something to keep busy with, learn the lesson of teamwork and to form friendships. There were just enough small but powerful positives in the relationship. Like you, I reached out the Ray just last year with a phone call, thanks to finding him on the internet. Although our conversation was brief I know he is not the same person we lived with. Yes, there is a light, and I am at peace that he found it.