I have this situation, only with my mother. Without trying to sound whiny, I was severely neglected by my mother. I was the last child and by guestimation, my birth was one too many. Don’t get me wrong, I am grateful to be here and love my life, but I do believe those are facts, not just conjecture. She died when I was 9 and honestly, ever since, my life has been better. But, there are times when I think of her. Most of those feelings are angry and resentful, but within the last year I’ve had a few tender thoughts about her. It’s felt wierd to have that because there is no logical reason why I would have anything but anger toward her. Maybe God is helping to heal my heart, I don’t know. But secretly, I hope I can see her again one day. Neither she nor my father were members of the Church so we weren’t sealed together or anything, but if there’s truth to the possibility to progress even after death, then I hope they’re taking advantage of that so we can see one another again – in peace. Whole and healed. It’s been a long time.

As far as what he did, I think the scrptures and prayer and FHE he tried to have us do wasn’t hypocracy; it was his attempt to cling to the one thing he knew could save him (and save us) despite the addiction he was struggling with. I don’t think he ever was flippant about his issues or tried to justify what he did. He regretted it all. He wept to me over it on several occasions. But it was what it was–difficult and a long journey to overcome.

I’m glad that you feel Dad around you now. I don’t. I try to, but I rarely feel him. The fact that you do must mean that he does know that you love him and that he’s trying to tell you that he loves you too. I think you two will gain closeness more now than you ever did when he was alive. And someday, when we’re all perfected beings, things will be able to heal completely.

Have you read “The Holy Secret” by James Ferrell? I loved it, for many reasons, but this is one of the themes it dealt with, too.

Of all my siblings, I was the daddy’s girl. He was a good daddy (to me–each sibling had their own experience) when we were little, and I adored him. Unfortunately, every one of the kids experienced a kind of emotional separation as we grew up and became critically-thinking individuals, capable of seeing our parents as people. I think it was rooted in his own shame and assumption of rejection, but he was unable emotionally to sustain the kind of relationship each of us craved, and withdrew emotionally–sometimes punishing us for being bright and wonderful people.

I remember the process of letting go… I was smart enough to know that the divorce wasn’t my fault, but I also thought that perhaps if I could reach him and show him how he needed to change… I learned an invaluable lesson in hope as a seventeen-year-old, while praying about my dad…

The answer I received was something to the effect of Heavenly Father saying to me, “You know what? You are a teenager, and you need to be able to enjoy this time of your life. I’ll tell you what–all these hopes and cares and energy you’re putting toward your dad’s well-being–I value those prayers. But now, why don’t you just give it to me? Look–I’ll put it right here in my pocket. It will ALWAYS be here, with me, in my pocket. I’ll never let it go, so that you can let go…” One of my biggest fears in “letting go” of my dad was that I would stop caring that he get better. But Heavenly Father was right. In giving it to Him, I am never giving up altogether on my father, but I am also able to live _my_ life.

At this point, my relationship with my dad did change. I found myself being “cold” or dismissive in my interaction with him. He was the same: it was me that changed. But it doesn’t serve him or me to pretend we are closer than we are. Today I talk to close friends frankly about my experience thus far. It probably comes across as indifferent or calloused, but I believe in acknowledging things as they are–the good and the bad, and my relationship with my father at this point is what it is. A process. The hope is still there. But I couldn’t (and can’t) let this one aspect of my multi-faceted life consume all my energies.

It seems my father had to lose everything in order to change. (My father always loved the gospel, even if he wasn’t exemplifying it). Thirteen years after the divorce, he has taken admirable strides toward overcoming his addiction. He is happily re-married, and he is a better husband to his second wife than he was to my mom. I can see that he lives with the burden/sorrow for what happened to our family; and he does the best he can as far as restitution is concerned. We let him provide in the ways he is capable. And where there are gaps, well… such is life. Each of us kids has a superficial relationship with him. We get together regularly, and we talk about things…just not on a deeply connected or personal level. Occasionally there are moments where a deeper connection is shared.

I sometimes dream about my father…often sad dreams, and always very frank and telling. Most of these dreams involve bags or piles (and in one case, mountains) of garbage that needs to be gone through and gotten rid of. These dreams indicate to me that I still have work to toward forgiving my father.

But I still have hope–tucked safely in Heavenly Father’s pocket–that someday all this muck will be made tidy, and even my imperfect dad will someday become, through the power of the Atonement and forgiveness, the glorious being he was intended to become.

I have been thinking about your post all morning–your story–my story–my question–my own answer to my question. I don’t know that my parents know that I love them despite the pain they have caused. And I don’t know if I am at a place yet where I can swallow my pride, if that is what it is, and make that step. I hope that will come. It is so hard to have parents who are emotionally crippled–the insecurities it brings seem so insurmountable at times. And it is hard to step out of one’s own pain to acknowledge someone else’s suffering. I have tried to be sympathetic to their life experiences that have made them the way they are, but my relationships with both are problematic, to say the least. My father has struggled with his own demons of a sexual nature and I will never get that phone call, no matter how horrifying, with any kind of truthful admission-or apology of sorts for how it affected his children. I wonder if you think about how much guts it must have taken him to make that call, how much shame he must have felt knowing that you knew. My father’s sexual addiction was the reason for my parents’ divorce as well and the reaction from the LDS church (I was raised Mormon, my father is still very active), their response to and lack of support for my mother is one of the (many many–both Mormon specific and religion general) reasons that I cannot and will not be Mormon. (yet I have this uncanny instant affinity with Mormons–funny huh?)

on another unrelated note–I checked out your blog–we have a similar geographical history–I was raised in Utah, later lived in Oregon and now live in Austin too–don’t you love the Fall weather?–finally!!

I want to get to forgiveness because I’m miserable when I’m holding a grudge. Most days I’ve forgiven him, then the resentment comes roaring back in and I start over. It gets easier every time, though. And the intervals between anger spells are getting longer.

To answer Harlene’s question, yes, my view of God was deeply affected by my relationship with my dad. The screwy mindgame my dad played with me was to punish mom for being a crappy mother whenever I did something wrong (clear into my adult years). I’ve got weird guilt issues about other people being penalized for my mistakes. The Church does feed into this, by all their talks about how if we don’t do missionary work or temple work, we keep others from progressing. I know others don’t have talks like that send them on panic attack guilt trips, but they affect me badly. I finally decided that God isn’t like my dad. He isn’t going to punish other people when I fall short. So I disregard a lot of Church talks if the speaker says other people are counting on me to be good enough. It’s the only way I can handle Mormonism right now.