Its been a long time coming

The phone call came tonight, 5:30 pm, just as I was leaving a day of work. My Dad's third wife Thelma left me a cryptic voice message on my cell phone:  "Your Dad has pneumonia, he's not doing well at all... I thought you should know. "  Thelma and I have not spoken in three years.  So the message spanned a time of lost family closeness and depths of upspoken words.  My eyes began to well with tears.  Dreading this hard conversation, I dialed her number. Awkward and stilted we conversed briefly.  Following that call, next was the call to my brother who has not seen our Dad in 10 years. This family story I live and move among is full of sadness and broken hearts stemming from years of our Dad's alcoholism. Gifted by his recovery in 1989 it has now been 20 years that our Dad's sobriety has given us opportunity for healing, intimacy and some sort of relationship that we missed as little children.  Try as we might for some sweetness or normalcy,  we never quite got there.  My endeavors were more successful than my brother's. And, there are some sweet memories of my Dad and his getting to know my daughter.  Then in 2005 Daddy was hospitalized permanently, back in North Carolina, due to Parkinsons Disease.  Thelma, the third wife, became very bitter and a matyr. It never was the same with our Dad. The poison of Thelma's resentment invaded simple cell phone calls and we slowly lost touch with Daddy. Often we never know if he receives our cards or gifts.  For four years now I have processed this slow goodbye with my Dad with Spiritual Directors, Christian Counselors, my husband, a few dear friends.  But the raw truth is I am coming closer now to saying a final goodbye to the lifelong ache of never having a father.  Will I fly back to his bedside? Will I fly to his funeral? How will I grieve and have closure?  Its been a long time coming ... this slow goodbye ...  And its still slowly coming...  I look in the mirror and I see the handsomeness of my Dad evidenced in my tall feminine body and bone structure.  In my own ministry that unfolds and the calling that I hear to serve my God , there is a genetic bloodline of  Christian servanthood that flows through my veins part of which my Dad gifted me with.  My hazel eyes resemble his.  And my intelligence is partly DNA from Daddy. So, I look deep into the mirror at my own face and see the memory of those gifts manifested in me.  Then my memories take me to the beach, sand, sun and water where my earliest happy memories of my Dad still live.  And I hear him sing the Beattles song, " Oh please if you love me ... let me hold your hand".  I think someday we will hold hands again... on heaven's shores...  Til then I let the tears gently fall and my heart quietly processes the goodbye that has been a long time coming.