My dad was a convert to the church. He joined when he was 19 and the next year served a mission to Chile. He married my mother in the temple and was always very devout while I was growing up. Scripture study and prayer every night, PPI’s on a regular basis, that sort of thing.
We were never very close, though. Too similar maybe. I’ve always thought that you get along worst with the parent who is most like you, personality-wise. I base that hypothesis entirely on my relationship with my father. We fought occasionally, but mostly there was a tangible chill in the air when we were together.
I didn’t really miss him at all when I went to college. I spoke to him a few times, but for the most part our paths barely crossed. I was surprised, no–make that horrified, to receive a call from him one afternoon, explaining that he was going to Sexaholics Anonymous. I suppose he was trying to complete the part of his 12-step program where the addict apologizes to the people he’s hurt. I was a sweet and naïve Mormon girl; I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. He completely lost me at “sexaholic”. Even after my mother called me sobbing about “a girlfriend” and “strippers”, I still didn’t really understand.
Their divorce was finalized the week before my own wedding. In my selfish, egotistical mind, I didn’t consider the humiliation that my father must have felt to wait outside the temple while his oldest child got married. I don’t remember thinking about him at all. I don’t remember even talking to him, although I must have.
My father died suddenly the next year.
It left a hole in my heart. Not a hole like, “my father died. I will miss him so much.” More like, “he died and I have no idea if he loved me.” I didn’t feel sad when he died; I felt angry. I felt angry that he could have been so untrue—to my mother, to his covenants, to his family. I was beyond furious that he would read scriptures with us, then go out with his buddies to party all night. How could he have been so hypocritical? So evil? (Things seem very black and white to twenty-somethings.)
Strange things have happened to me lately, though. Sometimes I’ll dream that he calls me on the phone to tell me that he loves me. Last year my two-year-old daughter brought me a picture of my father that I had just found in an old box. I’d never told her about him because she’s young and how do you explain death? But she brought me the picture and said, “this man is in the kitchen right now. He’s smiling. He says he loves you.” I ran into the kitchen but I didn’t see anything.
When I tell people about my father, I usually start with the same flippant story (we-never-got-along-and-then-he-died-but-who-cares). But I have held back the last few months. I think he can hear me. I never thought that before. If I understand church doctrine correctly people will continue to progress once they die—it will just be much more difficult.
I think my father has been progressing. I have no way to know if that’s true, but I can feel him around me. I can sense him sometimes. When I am tempted to say something snotty about him (it’s a habit. Sorry.) I catch myself. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. I understand now that his life was much more complicated and difficult than I imagined. I know he regrets the way our relationship turned out.
His church membership may have been in jeopardy when he died, but I hope—no, I know—that I will see him again. I can at last rejoice in the sealing power that binds us together even now. And I thank the Lord each day for the sweet mercy of His atonement that allows us to repent and be forgiven.
However it happens.
Whenever it happens.
what a beautiful post. thank you for sharing.
A beautiful, thoughtful post on fogiveness and hope. Thank you
That takes a lot of courage to forgive and change like that.
A hopeful and inspiring post. Thank you.
Thank you for your post.
You’re a lot farther along than I am. I went through a similar situation with my father. He’s still alive and has just divorced the “girlfriend” who he got pregnant while he was still married to my mother. It’s been 15 years since we found out and a few years ago I got past the hating stage. Now I’m in the “nothing” stage. I nothing him. I don’t hate him, I haven’t forgiven him for abandoning us for his new family, I hardly ever think about him. And when I do think about him I pity him.
I’m hoping I get to the forgiveness stage. After 15 years of near silence he’s starting to offer tentative olive branches of communication from across the country. I’ve always wondered how much I missed by not having a father in my teenage years. I guess I should take advantage of the time I have left with him on this earth.
I hope I can learn from your example, Jennie.
I went to the LDS 12 step for 3 years give or take. For some reason, people have no problems with steps 1-3, but step 4, 5 and 6 are really hard. To make it to Step 8 and 9 must have been really hard for your father (Step 8 is make a list of those you have hurt. Step 9 is to make ammends wherever possible). What a tender mercy of the Lord that He was able to apologize in the flesh and that your child was able to seal that apology for him. That’s a double tender mercy for him and for you. Life is a lot harder when the apology is never said. Thank you for sharing your post.
You’re much further along than I am. Similar situations with our fathers, only mine was never a lick sorry, and in fact, quite arrogant regarding what others thought were his faults. When he died 2 years ago, in the days before the funeral, 2 of my brothers woke up in the night saying they saw him standing in their room. When I was questioning one of them about it, he joked,”Yeah, it’s your turn tonight”.
I was terrified to go to bed.
I had no desire to see him at all, let alone to see him peaceful. I prayed he would not come to me, and mercifully, he did not.
I have, however, in the time since, thought that perhaps he was near me. Sadly, it makes me angry. I do not want him to share any part of my happy life, and I fight to push thoughts of him out.
I obviously have a very long way to go on this one.
Beautiful and poignant, Jennie. Thank you for sharing this. It brought me to tears. Different situation on my end (and he’s still alive), but similar anger at my dad for years. Forgiveness feels good. Your post reminds me to be more expressive of my gratitude for things going better. Thank you for that, too.
You had me in tears this morning. I’ve had similar witnesses that those who have passed are aware of what we say and do; it makes you really think.
Jennie,
Thank you so much for sharing this. I have issues with my father as well, though not at all the same you with yours. But, the distance between us is there, and there have been hurtful things said and done on both sides. I want to forgive him and open myself back up to him (I mostly communicate with my mom), but my hurt and my pride and my anger keep me from doing it. It’s helpful to see others in a similar situation and to know that forgiveness is a real process. I have a long way to go as well.
Jennie,
Thank you for your candor. There is such beauty is getting to the point you can truly love those who hurt us. Love as in, want the Gospel to work for them too.
I do have a question. I have always believed that our relationship with our parents can in many ways “frame” our relationship with Heavenly Father. Did you find Him distant as well? When you were younger I mean. For years after I joined the church I felt that God certainly loved those with “those” families much more than I or he wouldn’t have sent me to my family. I would often bolt out of church meetings when people talked about their amazing parents and grandparents, sure the Lord loved them more. I’m past all that now. But I was just wondering if anyone else ever felt the same?
You bring joy to my days. Thank you again.
Wow, Jennie. All I can say right now is thank you.
I love this post. I wish we (as a culture, in general) spoke about these kind of difficult relationships more often. I had a similar experience with my Dad, but following the big blow-up, the 12-step healing, and about a decade of give-and-take, I am finally getting to a good place with him. I consider it a blessing that I have had this time to relate to him as one adult to another. It is different for everyone, but one thing that has really helped me is the idea that no one is black or white or even gray: we are dalmatians. Black AND white can co-exist simultaneously in one person. The good/righteous things he gave you are not null and void because he was also doing bad things.
Harlene: This has been a big part of my life, too (always hated the song “Families Can Be Together Forever,” until I had my own kids). The older I get the more grateful I become for the experiences I’ve been through because of my family. It was painful at the time, but those years helped me develop empathy and sensitivity and kindness.
Harlene,
Yes, I have felt that way — my father has always been very distant and not affectionate, and I saw God that way as well. It has taken me a long time to see God as a loving, involved, caring, heavenly Parent, because I never felt that from my own father. I’ve had to look to other examples of fathers for that, including my own husband.
It just goes to show we’re not alone. It seems every time someone shares something deeply personal here, something that seems unique in its painfulness, others come forward to say the author’s experience mirrors their own, and reading it is helpful, brings greater understanding, insight, etc.
FWIT–I’m very close to my Dad and he is practically perfect in every way. But, I have a hard time feeling a ‘personal’ relationship with Deity. I’ve wondered if it’s because I’m used to lots of give and take.
Harlene–I think I took all my expectations of what a parent should be (which my parents were not) and transferred them all to Heavenly Father. To me God was always warm and loving and accepting and wonderful. He was that dream parent that I always wanted.
I remember when I got my patriarchal blessing, and there was the phrase, “you have been born to goodly parents who love you.” I was totally stumped every time I read it over the years. I just thought, “oooookay. Whatever.” But the Lord has the ability to see what has been and what will be. Since He can see the big picture, I have to believe that it’s true.
Jennie- thank you for this post. It made me cry.
Such a beautiful post. This reminds me so much of this post. http://www.bycommonconsent.com/2006/08/pre-resurrection-progression/.
Jennie, this was really lovely, thank you.
This makes me so sad. I can’t think of anything worse than leaving issues unresolved to be worked on at some future time in some future life. We can’t take any material things with us, all we can take is what we have learned. We will still be the same. This life is the time to prepare to meet God. What might have been can never be experienced.
because of something that just happened, i’ve been having a very hard time emotionally dealing with this very topic. jennie’s post just zero’d in on a lot of the issues i’m struggling with.
if i’m honest with myself, as much as i’d like to be in the place jennie is in, i’m probably a lot closer to being where jessie t. is right this moment. but this post gave me some hope.
i have been stymied about how to move forward with my parents. i wish my dad would do the 12 step thing mentioned here. his method of dealing with things was to stop abusing us, turn himself into the church for discipline, and then when time had gone by, be reinstated to full fellowship.
he says he knows he’s been forgiven, and that now we just have to forgive him. but there was this part called restitution that never happened. he didn’t even tell our mom what he’d done…and the church didn’t require it of him back in those days. she says she was told she didn’t need to know, and just accepted that. he just did everything they said he had to do, but it was like it was a spiritual matter between him and god alone. that just because we were all small children, it wouldn’t have impacted us.
but it did. and though i’ve grown a lot in the past few years particularly, because of the thing that happened this week now i’m feeling so immobilized and icky. set back a few years progress in dealing with things.
it’s heavy on my mind. part of me feels like they’re not my family. that my family is the people who bring me joy…not the people i was born to and sealed to who make me squirm. my sister adopted kids. they’re her family, though there’s no blood relationship. can’t i just be adopted by another family, or be an orphan? do they get to claim me just because they’ve “repented and know they’ve been forgiven”?
i hate where i’m at right now. but i know it will pass. eventually. somehow. i just don’t know how it will EVER be happily resolved. i can’t even picture it. it’s quite depressing.
Beautiful post Jennie–and wow–what your daughter said really got to me.
And to the rest who are in different places on the path, thank you for sharing your stories too. I’m sorry for your pain and I wish you well.
Wow. Thank you so much for sharing this.
I especially was moved by the experience you shared about your little daughter seeing him, and what he said.
I lost my little baby boy last November, and have been so anguished over the fact that I never see him, and very rarely feel him near.
That story helped me realize that he is probably near much more often than I know.
I love how you candidly shared your real feelings. May you continue to increase in the peace you feel!
This was a beautiful post. Thank you.
but it did. and though i’ve grown a lot in the past few years particularly, because of the thing that happened this week now i’m feeling so immobilized and icky. set back a few years progress in dealing with things.
This made me ask myself: Aren’t there support programs out there for people who have been affected by others’ addictions, etc? My heart hurts for you who have been through awful things like this. I hope you can, over time, find the healing peace that you need and ache for.
M&M-there’s Al-Anon for the family of alcoholics, but I’m not familiar with any for other addictions. That’s such a good idea, though. It would be great to have a support network in that type of situation.
I am reminded of my own story with yours. I have a hard time having much of a relationship with either of my parents, but I know who they are and I know they loved me as best they could but I have yet to come to terms (in some ways) with the deficiencies, but I think that is where forgiveness lies.
I think the important question for you is this: Did your dad know you loved him despite all of his defects?
Angie–that is a really great question. I think the answer is probably not. Maybe that is the next phase of my life. Letting him know that I do. Somehow.
Jennie,
Maybe this is just in my area, but our LDS Family Services rep sent me a document (I do our ward newsletter) that says that they do have support groups for families of those with addictions. I just looked it up online and they list ‘family support meetings’ in some of the lines, so I think that is what it means. !! Maybe worth checking out?
I found the info here:
I hate getting choked up at work but really appreciated this post.
I’ve got a difficult relationship with my father too. I decided to leave the church in hopes of breaking the sealing so I wouldn’t have to be with him in the eternities, but got caught on my way out by a really good bishop. I’m still Mormon, which is progress for me.
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.
Wow. That was powerful. Thank you for sharing.
Jennie
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 instantly identified with your story, too. My dad had secrets his entire marriage, and finally “came clean” when I was a teenager. Unlike your situation, he was never with other women–just _deeply_ steeped in pornography and destructive behavior, and living a lie for 25 years. When he finally spoke with the bishop and each of us about his addiction, I remember feeling incredibly optimistic. I was at an age where I was really discovering my God & Savior, and learning that I can always depend and rely on them. (So, like Jennie, I did not confuse the traits of my earthly father with those of my perfect Heavenly Father). I thought of the scripture “ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free,” and decided that this step, however difficult and painful, was definitely better than keeping the elephant under the rug. Unfortunately, my dad was unable to make the changes (he was also emotionally abusive–especially toward my mom) necessary to save his marriage (addictive/destructive behavior doesn’t always change overnight), and he continued to hurt us and let us down. These kinds of patterns make trusting relationships impossible.
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.
Hey Jennie,
I know I’m slow getting to this post, but I hope you are still reading comments. I just want you to know that a family I am very close to also lost their father amid the repentance process, but many of them have since had experiences indicating that yes, he is still progressing on the other side of the veil. Maybe that is the place where progression needed to take place? Regardless, I wish you well in your desire to feel your father’s love and to find peace.
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.
Jennie, that was a really beautiful post. It pains me that you were never as close to Dad as I was. He was my best friend growing up and I often wonder how you could not have seen all the wonderful things I saw in him. But I take hope in the fact that you are finding ways to heal your relationship now that he is gone.
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.
What a beautiful post, and lovely, honest comments to ponder afterwards too.
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.
p.s. There is an organization here in Utah–I’m pretty sure it’s church wide–for people with sex addicitions AND support groups for their families. It’s run through the church and is called PASAG (Pornography and Sexual Addiction Group). A guy I work and his wife are missionaries for it, teaching bishops and wards about the orgainzation. You can find out more about it on LDS.org (under addictions).
[...] Blog Segullah, Jennie shares a moving and intensely personal spiritual experience in which she heals old wounds inflicted by the sins of her father and strengthens her faith in the Mormon doctrine that there is hope for learning, rebirth, [...]
Great post, very beautifully written.