Guilty by Association

 woke up from a perfect dream about a little girl named Olivia. She was my shadow at the daycare I worked at. In my dream she remembered me. She remembered my name, gave me the ultimate hug, and hung out with me for a little while. She was my little baby. I loved her sass, cuteness, and her laugh. It made me feel all warm inside. 

And then I closed my eyes again  and felt guilt. Guilt about my father. Guilty that somehow I was wrong for writing a letter that spoke all my truth. I said everything I ever wanted to tell him. Things I held in for years all in the name of mending our broken relationship. 

"If you avoid conflict to bring peace, you create a war inside of you" 

Everything was playing in my head over and over again. How 24 hours later I found out my dad died from a call my mom received asking how the kids were doing. Not knowing we didn't know. My fiancé got a call from my mom asking us to come over as soon as we could. I knew inside what happened but was unsure. She told me he was gone. That day I was a step child. It was like I was the sickness that killed him. I thought he was getting better. So did everyone else I suppose. I visited him twice in the hospital. The first time he had just finished surgery and wasn't doing so well. When he finally woke up and He saw my face his heart monitor kept beeping. The nurse kept telling him to calm down as tears rolled down his cheek. I held his hand. I was the estranged unexpected guest in his room and somehow his pride and joy at the same time. I hated seeing him like that and I cried when I got to the car. Luckily my fiancé drove. I went again and I tried to avoid his wife but she was there. I wanted to see him. I loved him. He couldn't talk he motioned a lot and had a tube down his throat. It was sad. I couldn't imagine it. Another time, I called him. I could hear the happiness by way of tears in his voice and said that I always surprise him. That he was happy to hear from me. That was the last time I would hear his voice. Through a speaker. So I thought maybe if I wrote the letter, I would be able to speak my mind.  He wouldn't have the option of defending, he would only be listening but somehow I was not thinking of everyone else. I thought of my dad and myself. The turmoil, the anguish and the love I wanted back again. It was all real. All real to me at least.

After the letter was sent, I heard from no one. Everything was quiet. But God is amazing and my sister I found out about 3 years prior sent me a text message with an update about his status. But I saw my dad fight for his life before and he made it out. He left the hospital fine. That's probably why when my sister said he wasn't doing too good I thought maybe he would fight through. He's tough. He would make it through again. 

Perhaps If I didn't write the letter, I would've been loved on and been a part of the funeral. Yet I was told that's what my dad wanted. He didn't want my brother and I  to know and he didn't care about whether we came to the funeral or not. I'm not sure if that's entirely true but if it is I came anyway because after all I did love him. Maybe If I didn't write the letter, I wouldn't have gotten evil eyes rolled at me and looks back at me from his wife and her mother at the funeral. Instead I would've gotten side hugs and words of encouragement. That day I wanted to be just like my father.  I wanted to walk up and and punch her in the face. Yes the Walker way.Yes, his first born daughter. Thrown to the side and called a coward. The one child he spent the most time with. Me. I was angry and yes I think I had every right to be. Maybe they did too. However, in great Niqua fashion and in honor of my dad and my grandmother who was crying, I just kept looking at his picture on the screen saying to myself internally: you came here for him to honor him and that's all that matters. Maybe I was hated because I told the truth. That's okay too. Maybe they didn't know the truth and were okay with the lies. Maybe they felt that it wasn't the right time. Maybe all of thee above.

"If you avoid conflict to bring peace, you create a war inside of you" 

Of course I wanted him to walk me down the aisle before I said I do. Of course I wanted him to hold my unborn babies. But not in brokenness. Not in fear that my children would have to hear broken promises as I did. Not in lies and deceit.  There was always a hole in my heart where my dad was supposed to be. People spend their whole lives wishing, hoping, wondering and even searching for their fathers. There were times he reached out and tried to make amends but still he couldn't be honest with me. He couldn't just say I messed up and I'm sorry. Everything was always swept under the rug. I really wanted to hear sorry. I didn't want to leave you. I could've done better. Just because I divorced your mother doesn't mean I divorced you. Maybe it just wasn't possible. It all hurt so bad. Not just his death but all of the things that happened in the past. I couldn't shake it, I couldn't move. 

As all those things played in my head, I cried. I wept. I wept so hard that I woke my husband. He kept asking me what was wrong and tried to console me. I just pushed him away. I didn't deserve to be held. I was a bad person. Guilt held me closer. I continued to weep, told my husband everything until I fell asleep. 

The guilt hasn't gone away but I would venture to say that one day it will. I will forgive myself. I've forgiven my dad. Every now and then he visits me in my dreams and it makes me happy.

I didn't honor my father when he was alive but now that he is gone I can honor him now. I can attach the broken pieces with siblings I didn't know I had and let them know about him. Honor him by singing which is a great gift he passed down to me. Although no one is given a parent hand book, I can change the way I raise my children and learn from both of my parents mistakes. 

God sometimes teaches us through experience. My dads death was a lesson I am still learning. I don't regret writing the letter despite the the hurt and friction it may have caused. The truth sometimes hurts but it always sets you free. 

Guilt is a part of grieving.