Reflections on My Father

As many of you already know from earlier posts, my father was diagnosed with lung cancer in early August. He had contracted pneumonia, eventually had a stroke in September, and died in the wee hours of the morning Dec. 1st after a very difficult struggle. It has been a very painful journey some of which I’ve written about here. Today I want to tell you the full story. Please keep reading until the end, as I think you will be encouraged.

My Dad was 87 and had been married to my mother for 63 years. I was the eldest of three daughters and one son, who died in 1990. Daddy had suffered a lot of ill health for the last couple of years (metastasized skin tumors needing ongoing surgery) and his passing after such a long age was normal, and a blessing considering the pain and fatigue he suffered.

But I’m not going to talk about grief and missing my Dad here, even though I’m going through both. I want to talk about the problems I had with my father that almost ruined my marriage, my career, and kept me from achieving much in my life until my later years. But I also want to tell you what I learned in the end.

The truth is that my Dad and I never really had a good relationship. We were either silently angry at each other, or we simply ignored each other. I couldn’t stand to be around my Dad very much. He suffered from what I eventually came to realize was Narcissistic Personality Disorder, caused by multiple factors.

My father talked about how he loved his children, but was unable to really express that love. This was because he couldn’t ever think about what we needed from him, only what he needed from us. He was consumed with needing to look important and to be right all the time, regardless of the cost to others. This made him appear to be arrogant, cocky, and often, a braggart. He expected gifts from us, but never really returned the favor. He was “all about him” even down to where we ate in restaurants and who got to go first at meals. Dad was always first.

To make matters worse, my father attended church and served it religiously, but expressed no real spirituality. We never talked about God, and certainly not about Jesus, who my father saw as a good teacher but certainly not as the “son of God.” My father was a very intelligent, self-educated, and proud man who felt religion was a guide for behavior rather than a way to get to heaven. He didn’t ever talk about the afterlife, and he certainly didn’t want to talk about what the Lord was doing in his life. He never prayed with us as children, or read us Bible stories. He was too busy ranting and raving about politics (he was a diehard Democrat) and himself all the time, especially his awards and accomplishments, or who had done him wrong.

This behavior became even worse after my brother committed suicide in front of my parents when he was only 26, a factor caused in part by his own ability to make peace with his father, and shame over his own life mistakes. But instead of this making my Dad gentler and easier to be with, his attitudes and behaviors worsened. The lack of spiritual understanding in his life became a source of great pain in the family, especially for my mother and I, and our son, Lee.

But that all began to change a few years ago, especially once my father was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He began to listen when we witnessed to him, and on one particular Sunday last year, when confronted by his family about our concerns for him, he broke down in tears. He began to share real stories of his pain and suffering–how it was to find his mother dead on the floor of a massive stroke on Valentine’s Day, when she was only 49 years old. His grief over not having been able to save the farm for his Daddy (he was only 15, but he still blamed himself) and his shame at having been discharged from the Army as unfit for service because of his polio as a child, and the sadness of not having been able to follow his life’s passions.

My father’s behavior began to make sense. I saw his narcissism as a horrible mask for the severe fear and insecurity it really was, and his obsession with self having become a survival technique that caused him to be unable to adequately parent his children, especially his eldest child, and the son that came too late in his life to appreciate. Understanding this about him gave me a measure of forgiveness toward him.

Things all came to a head this past August. I am so grateful to say that my son led my father to the Lord, and his commitment to Christ was real. For the first time in a lifetime, my father stopped cursing. He became sweet, gentle, and kind. Openly affectionate, he allowed us to care for him as one would a small child, something he had never tolerated (or needed) before. The power struggle was over, once and for all.

The last few hours my father suffered greatly. God was doing a work in him, I think. My sister Teri and I sat by his side, singing, talking, and stroking him. We put cream on his lips, drops of water in his mouth, drops in his eyes. Of course, we were administering the morphine left to us by Hospice, and other medicines to ease his pain, but still there was a struggle. At one point I held his head and in my arms and cradled him like a baby against my breast, as he stared deep into my eyes. I will never forget this as long as I live.

At that moment in time, I felt the presence of God like I have never, ever felt it before. The past simply slipped away. All was forgiven. My father was like my own prodigal child, restored to me once more. And as he slipped away into heaven, my heart was at peace.

I don’t know what has happened between you and your father. Many women who have difficulty with men also have had difficulty with their fathers. In my case this made for problems in the workplace, difficulty accepting authority, and with low self value and insecurity. I was needy for male attention and for many years vascillated between being defensive and angry, and arrogant and cocky, like my father. I never felt I had my father’s approval until I began to write books at the age of 55. Of course, I made mistakes in life that had nothing to do with my parents, as I’m sure you have. We cannot blame our parents for everything, even if that is convenient.

I’m telling you all this because I want to remind you to never give up. No matter how many years it takes of witnessing, patience, and praying for difficult relationships you never know what the end result will be. In my case, we achieved the victory, and I rest in the joy and knowledge that I will see my father restored, as God once intended him to be before the enemy hit him with illness, grief, and pride. We will be heirs of the kingdom together, not as parent and child, but as friend to friend. We will be bathed in the light and love of our real Father in heaven, who in his grace and mercy, opened his arms wide and took my father home. I believe my brother is there as well (I’ll share why I believe that in another post sometime) and that they are restored to each other.

I want you all to reflect on the life of my father this Christmas, the relationship you have with your family, and the ultimate prize of forgiving those who have hurt you, in spite of their lack of repentance. My father never asked me to forgive him; but he did ask God to forgive him, and that is all that matters. I udnerstand how difficult that is, and I want you to know….

To God be the Glory!

Have a wonderful Christmas…in spite of your difficult family members.