Remembering Dad on Memorial Day

Just some thoughts about my own grief and processing it

Note: This picture was taken only a couple of weeks before my dad died. He had just been presented with veteran's appreciation certificate from the hospice that was involved in his care.

Have you ever experienced grief so strong you felt like it could crush or kill you? Have you grieved to the point where your chest physically hurt, or you became physically ill? I have.

Today, is Memorial Day 2025. My dad was a Korean War US Army Veteran. So, I can't help but think of him on days like today.

I have grieved the loss of loved ones before, but Dad's death hit me kind of differently. It felt complicated. It was time in my life that it had to be okay for me to not be okay. It was a different kind of grief than I had ever experienced before. You, see? I loved my dad very much, but our relationship was strained.

As a small child, he was my hero. He was not only a veteran, but he was a preacher too. He had his own radio show that he preached on. I can't remember what it was called now. He preached behind pulpits when asked and he preached in the Oklahoma City and Gutherie jails in Oklahoma. He also worked at the Oklahoma City Water Department. He loved to whittle, mostly walking canes in his spare time. Those canes were unique and beautiful too. He sang in the church choir. He was strong and my protector. He did a lot of good, and people admired him.

What I am about to talk about may make people despise him, but that is not why I am sharing this. I hope my story helps someone else. Now that I have aged myself, I realize that it wasn't all about me. There is a bigger picture at play, and a bigger God in control. God is the one who has helped me forgive and to process the grief.

Before anyone gets any ideas, Dad never sexually abused me. He was abusive though. Once I got a little bit older, he became physically and verbally abusive. It was as if there was his public image and then the reality I faced at home. It's true that hurt people hurt people, and usually the ones closest to them. There were some great memories with my dad while growing up too. He did have a fun, adventurous, and gentle side too. Yet, due to the abuse he had endured by his father, I believed it affected his judgement. My father was human and not Superman after all. He felt his dad's abuse made him a better man. So, maybe he was trying to make me a better woman. Don't think I am trying to condone making excuses here for abuse. It never should have happened. However, understanding the back story does help to extend grace to my dad and aides in understanding and forgiveness.

Dad was one of those Christian men who didn't understand how they were truly supposed to treat women. As a result, he didn't exactly treat them like a first-class citizen, if you know what I mean. He was a man who had these invisible walls built up around himself, and good luck getting past them. He would lash out a lot in cruel sarcasm, with degrading and disrespectful statements. He expected me to convince him of every little thing I wanted justified like he was my judge in a courtroom, and I was facing condemnation.

We butted heads often when I was a teenager, usually resulting in me on the floor with him hitting me wherever he could and I would be crying and trying to defend myself. However, I probably said some disrespectful things to him too. I had to realize later in life that I deserved correction a lot of the time, but I did not deserve the abuse. Dad would kick me in the back with his steel-toe work boots, he would poke me in the chest as he shoved me backwards with the ends of his pointer and ring finger. He grabbed me by the throat and held me against the wall with my feet off the ground. He slammed me into the wall, furniture and onto the ground. He would say things like, "Go tell God about it because I don't want to hear it!" or "I'm going to beat the devil out of you!" and "If you would have been a boy, I would have beat you harder!". To hear him and my mom tell it, they didn't abuse me because they didn't beat me with objects and leave me bleeding.

It's hard to talk about. It's painful. The abuse hurt me to the core of my being. It had ripple effects into adulthood. I had trouble with relationships. It was always hidden. When I messed up, it made "the preacher" look bad. To keep a long story short. it was swept under the rug and kept a secret.

When he died, I had a rush of mixed emotions. I had been able to tell him "Goodbye" and make peace as best as I could. However, there was a breech in our relationship that seemed as though it could never be repaired. I grieved for more than just his death. I was angry because of the past abuse. I guess at this point, it was the "I'm sorry I hurt you." that I would never hear. I was relieved it was over yet overwhelmed by grief. I was sad my dad died, but there was so much more I was feeling at that time. It's hard to put into words.

I didn't want to be unforgiving. I didn't want dad to suffer for what he had done to me, but at the same time I couldn't help but think God was about to confront him about all those times I really did tell God all about it. I wanted to honor my parents like the Bible had said to do, but I didn't want to undermine the abuse or hide it. I wanted to be honest about it. How could I even talk about it? It is the truth about my past, but how could I come to grips with this darkness hidden in my soul? My dad's death left a hole in my heart. I grieved so much, I had to eventually make myself dry it up, set it aside, and deal with it later. I just couldn't bare it all at that moment. I was having chest pains and was feeling crushed by my grief.

I have now come to realize that I can be honest and honor Dad and God by giving him grace in this situation. This also frees me from my burden. I had also struggled with guilt about the broken relationship. I have also had to extend a bit of grace towards myself. It is over now. What is done has been done. However, God is able to mend a broken heart and a broken relationship even after someone has died. So, now I can concentrate on the good. I think in general; my dad was a good man. He was a broken man raising a broken daughter with a broken spouse doing the best he could do with all the broken pieces. It's ok to be broken if you let God, the master potter, put you (the broken clay) back together again. God will remake you into a beautiful vessel fit for use at his (the king's) table.

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