Finding My Father {a journey I never expected to finish}

Finding My Father {a journey I never expected to finish}

I wasn’t expecting to find my father while browsing in an antique shop.

But there he was. Tucked between two dusty old postcards.

My biological father and I had a split.

A series of painful, life-altering, moments shattered us like glass across decades and continents.

He passed away two years ago,  on a sunny spring day. I wasn’t at the funeral.

He was in the Philippines, and I was here. In America.  I was left without.

Without answers, without healing.  But that summer, I was no longer without hope.

Finding My Father…

Tucked into a basket, in the middle of the Indiana cornfields, were two postcards.

Old ones from the 1970’s. And they were my story. I was stunned.

Both from specific spots in Colorado that were very meaningful to me. Back from the best memories of us together. They told my heart of happy stories and reminded me of the little girl who loved her father.

They told my heart of happy stories and reminded me of the little girl who loved her father.

And he loved her.

Of course, I took them home with me that day. Unsure of how to process this. I knew God was the only one who could orchestrate such a find.

This picture above? I used to wait as a little girl, on that porch at my grandparents, for him to come pick me up for a visit.

Usually, he showed up

And I ran for him. But those days were crowded out in my memories by ones of bitterness and rage. Heartache and a chasm of perceived rejection.

I am so thankful for having for another Dad at home to embrace this girl of his heart, if not his blood. And a mother who had to love me through this. They gave me stability and a place to be “home”.

But, I still needed healing. And these postcards were the first step.

I created a project documenting our story in these places, and how the postcards connected the dots.

Happy stories.

Adventurous stories.

Because that is what is important at this stage.

Those memories are what I will choose for the rest of my life

They are beautiful, they are important, and they are part of who I am.

My father was not a villain and I am not a victim. We had good things too. And those are what I will remember now.

I am refusing the memories that don’t align with this, they have haunted me too long to take up another moment.

I debated for a year about sharing this here, in such a public forum. But it felt like it might encourage you. We all have a story, and sometimes the rough parts have too much power over us.

We can choose something else. Sometimes healing will come in the unlikeliest of places. Doesn’t that make you want to keep your eyes wide open? It does for me.

So here is the best part. I am going back. To visit family and have a wonderful, long-awaited time of reunion and love.

And while I am there?  My husband and I are going to revisit some key spots. Places of memory.

We will create new stories there. Together.

Can you relate to part of this story? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

This was super hard to share, but I trust that for someone, it is just what YOU need today.

P.S. Wow, update time! Check out how after his death a new sister found me here.  For more information on healing father wounds, Focus on the Family has a helpful piece here

Resources to help:

• Adult Children of Emotionally Immature Parents: How to Heal from Distant, Rejecting, or Self-Involved Parents
• The People Pleaser’s Guide to Loving Others without Losing Yourself 

• Growing Up as the Scapegoat to a Narcissistic Parent: A Guide to Healing 

• Forgiving Our Fathers and Mothers: Finding Freedom from Hurt and Hate
• Disclosure: I only recommend products I do/would use myself. This post may contain affiliate links that at NO additional cost to you, may earn me a small commission to help support this blog. Read full privacy policy here.