Promise of Better Days Ahead: Part 9-A Deeper Love

Here is my story:  I was fifteen years old living in the suburbs of New York.  My hometown was Highland Park, New Jersey.  I lived on a quiet street with my mom, dad, thirteen-year-old sister and my dog, Foxy.  I was a walking poster child of adolescent insecurity.  I felt like my place in the world was always in jeopardy and lived to play organized and disorganized sports (free play they would call it today).   I was very interested in having a girlfriend to help me feel less alone and worried.

At the same time, summer of 1966, my father was exhibiting strange behavior.  He seemed disheveled much of the time.  His hair was never combed, and he frequently would be seen sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.  He was obviously in a lot of pain.  I found out later he was suffering from migraines.

He put too much bleach in my black Levi’s and tried to remedy the problem by painting my pants black.

One day he came home early from work without an exclamation.  Latter my mom informed me that my dad got fired from his job because he forgot to tell his boss he was going on vacation.

On our vacation that summer, my dad was driving way too close to other cars speeding along the New Jersey Turnpike.

No one in my family discussed any of these incidents and his doctor knew he was dying but didn’t know how to or just didn’t bother to save him.

One summer day I was upstairs, and my mom was pissed at me for some reason.  My father ran into the room with a glazed look in his eyes.  He reared up his hand to slap me in the face, but before he could strike me, I punched him in the stomach.

He doubled over and I prepared myself for retaliation that never came.  Instead he looked at me with a confused look on his face and walked away; never to speak to me again.

He died of a stroke shortly after this trauma.

I felt guilty for years.  I never had the opportunity to reconcile with him.  I am an author of five self-help books and countless blogs.  I have been a psychotherapist for over thirty years.

No matter how much therapy I have done, no matter how much I talked and wrote about this experience, I felt forever stuck in this memory.  Happiness would never arrive because I couldn’t resolve this terrible memory.  I would never have the chance to apologize and explain my actions to my father.  I would never get to hear from him either.

Hanging on the edge of a cliff with my fingernails bleeding was the ongoing feeling.  I had imaginary conversations with him.  I had internal conversations with the child, teenager, father and wiseman within.  These interventions helped but didn’t bring the feeling I was looking for.

“What feeling is that?”, you ask.  That feeling is FREEDOM!  This lack of resolution triggered me daily.  I felt like I was a horrible son.  What kind of son hits his father?  My days were filled with anxiety and depression.  I want to be free from all the burden this memory brings.

Gradually through my willingness to explore this pain, the challenges of a therapist, the love of my wife, friends and family, I was able to land in a new place.

Instead of forever pondering the memory and wondering what could have been, I choose to turn away from it.  There is nothing new to be gained by regurgitating this once again.

Instead, I focus on what is going on right in front of me.

When I am working with a client after years of struggle, she suddenly realizes that she is not to blame for being sexually assaulted as a child.  I will help her enhance that feeling so she will always have it to return to.  I will celebrate this moment with her, and I will make sure any other extraneous thoughts are set aside.

This is who I am now.  I am no longer that boy who hit his dad in self-defense. I am no longer an aggressor and a victim.  I am a healer.

When I run five miles while listening to music, I feel the power of my body getting stronger and have the knowledge that I am now a wiseman who has overcome much adversity.

I have too much I want to accomplish to dwell on past events that cannot be changed.

When I hear Prince playing the solo guitar part in Purple Rain and his falsetto Ou, Ou , Ous  after that, I know I am in Heaven on Earth and want to remain in this spot for a while.

When I play guitar, drums, or write; I am taken to a higher plane.  The awareness that I am experiencing excitement and connection is new and beautiful.

When I am out to eat with my wife, Gail and I connect with her smile and laughter, there is no room for this dismal stuff.

It has been suggested I could go back to imagining a conversation with my dad as a way of working through his loss because I am in a new place, but I have too rich a life right here for that.  I have found a deeper love; a deeper love of myself.