Saturday Ramblins, Vol. 1, No. 10 (July 18, 1998)

Writer's note: I just wanted to convey some of the background of my mother and father, so people would get the whole meaning from the story. It feels good to hope that maybe my story will help someone else let go and heal as well. - - Marie

I was the oldest of three children, having two younger brothers. My father and I were closely bonded; he called me "Dimples." My parents married very young, and were so in love.

My father worked at a refinery. One day he was severely burned while he and other men tried to put out a pump house fire. He suffered extreme pain for ten days afterward. He told my mother that he didn't us kids see him as he was, wrapped in bandages like a mummy — his face burned beyond recognition. He wanted us to remember him as he was, and my mother complied with his wishes.

My aunt, his sister, decided that, as oldest, I should see him. She took me to my father's first floor window and lifted me so I could see in. I saw a body wrapped in bandages; I could not see his face — I guess it's better that I couldn't. It is the last image I have of my father.

Back then, small children didn't go to funerals. A relative stayed with us while my mother buried my father. I had no closure, no chance to say goodbye. My brothers were really too small to realize what was happening. We moved away, to go live with my maternal grandmother.

While I was growing up, I had nightmares — that my father was still alive and couldn't find us, or I'd find him alive and lose him again. Sometimes he beckoned from a tall wall — when I ran to him, he fell backwards off the wall, not to be seen again.

As an adult, I had to go to therapy for this problem. My therapist asked me to go to the cemetery and make a tape recording, as if I was talking to my father. I did so; it was quite lengthy. He tossed the tape in the trash, and told me to go back again, and tell my father goodbye.

It took me quite a bit longer to go back. I passed the cemetery exit and had to turn around. When I got to the intersection, traffic was stopped for a funeral procession. I turned behind the last car and I realized I was finally going to my father's funeral. I was going to tell him goodbye, and was in a funeral procession!!!

I have no doubt that God and the angels led me past that familiar exit, so that I would fall in behind that funeral and have the healing of letting go at last. To top it off, the gate directly beside my father's grave, which was always closed and locked, was wide open, like a pair of open arms! I cried beside my father's grave, tears of healing and release!! I said goodbye at last.

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