Lila ~ May 15

 

24 years ago at this time, I didn’t know that I was about to be abandoned.  

My parents had split just 2 weeks earlier.  My mom had had an order of protection to have my dad removed from the home.  

“Goodbye, Lila.  Daddy will always love you," he said, but I couldn’t bring myself to come out and say goodbye. 

The police brought him back one more time that next night so that he could get a few more of his things.  

I saw him once after that, on a supervised visit, with a therapist, during which time, he promised me that he wouldn’t hurt himself.  But I have no memory of that ever having been said.  

On Tuesday, May 16, I was supposed to go to my friend Victoria’s house after school.  But the bus driver was radioed that I would not be dropped off with Victoria, I would be dropped off at home instead.  I walked in the door to see my mom with a very sad look on her face.  I knew that something was wrong.  Who could it be?  Was it grandmother?  Was it Uncle Eugene?

“Our daddy died this morning,” she said. 

I still remember those two weeks during which I hung in limbo.

Acting out and becoming irascible at school.

“Lila we haven’t seen your dad’s car around lately.  Where is he?” asked Matt, my neighbor at the bus stop one morning.  

“he’s just been leaving for work early,” I said, evading telling the truth.  

The way my mom was quiet, not saying much. The way she placed a tape record behind some family photos on the piano.  I saw her do it, but she said nothing to me about why.  

The way I didn’t know if Dad was coming or going.  I thought he would just be gone for a few days and then come back!”

“No sweetie,” said the therapist.  “He’s probably not coming back anytime soon.”

These two weeks, followed by an irrevocable cut, was an event that lodged itself in my nervous system, and sadly would replay itself in adulthood.  It sowed a deep dividedness within my soul when I was young and vulnerable. 

It left a deep hole inside of me, one that I sought to fill up everywhere I went. 

I'm sorry, dad.  I'm sorry that I didn't speak up.  I'm sorry that I remained silent.  I didn't know how.  I'm sorry that I didn't let you know that we wanted you here.