Invisible Monster

May 23, 2020, I woke to a miracle surrounding a loved one. Later, I sat in the gardens watching butterflies perch upon lavender lilacs while my Sweet Shalom giggled and chased after them. It had been a perfect day. The air was warm, but the skies overcast like a storm was about to roll in.
 
Life changes quickly...   

The message flashed on the screen.       

Wait - he's gone?

Dear...I don't know what to call you,

I've always wondered, with the slamming of the prison door, did you know what your choices would cost your children? Did you care? 

My grandpa knew you as a kid. He was your pastor, said your parents were good people. He said you were a good kid too, but somewhere along the journey you lost your way.
  
You lost your way... and I was one of many that paid for your choices.     

One of my last visits with you left me with a shoulder injury. The physical pain is a reminder that children should never have to visit mental hospitals or prisons...parents should protect their babies.

My last name was changed so others wouldn't know who I came from. Still, I lived in your shadow. 

Your head cut out of every picture by those in my family. Your name never intentionally spoken, but when tempers raged it seeped out with cruelty. I was told throughout my life that I was just like you. 

I looked like you. 

I was argumentative and stubborn - like you. 

Lazy - like you. 

Heartless and shallow - like you. 

A bad seed - like you. This one is still hard to speak out loud.

I was 4 when I learned of who you really were, and I was 4 when their words of pure hatred for you pierced my heart. 

Anything and everything that had to do with you was intentionally removed...except me.

I was their constant reminder of you.

You named me. 

I hated my name. 

When I heard you had the names of all your children tattooed upon your forearm I was sickened. 

It felt as though you branded your property.

I was your property.

The atmosphere of fear was consuming. I watched my mom barricade the door at night - even when you sat in a cell. I won a contest, but when it was disclosed that I would be on the news I was made to drop out in fear that you would find me. Every school I attended was notified and put on alert. We lived shrouded in secrecy. It's hard to see a future when you're held back by the past.    

I was 9 when I ran across a stack of letters from you. The depth of your sadness mixed with evilness still haunts. 

The question continually turned: If I had children of my own, would I pass on all that you were, that they continually said I was? Was I in fact a bad seed destined to create more bad seed?   

For the deep pain you caused others...for all you stole from me...I felt hatred for you. 

I wished you would die. 

Maybe then I wouldn't sit outside the bedroom door and listen to them on the phone when you were up for parole.

Maybe then the fear would end, and I could feel relief? Live.

Maybe then I wouldn't feel so guilty...so filled with shame...for being your daughter.

Maybe then they could love me? 

Then the phone call came. You had been released. Early. A few weeks later you were seen in the grocery store near our home. Panic gripped. Now I'm 11 and they want me to carry a gun for my protection. When I start crying at the thought I'm told "Stop it! There is nothing good in him worth crying over."

The adults in my life spun in chaos but my grandpa spoke with reason amidst the storm - I was always safe with him.

My whole existence had been wrapped in your shame. Now, many years later a memoire is written. It's her story to tell, and I feel selfish to say otherwise, but it's my story too...not one I was ready to have told. I was never asked how I felt about it being shared...it just was...for the world to see. 

Your choices, along with the choices of others stole a childhood of memories with my siblings.  Treasured memories that we should have had. Until I was 12 I was repeatedly told I had no siblings, but I remembered them so finally the truth was revealed. At 14 I found them and begged to get into contact. The answer was no. Now as an adult I began to search. After years of searching, I found them again but the guilt trips and hostility I received from family made me take pause. I prayed about it and put it down. I didn't reach out. A few years later my sister found me - thanks to the memoire. Funny isn't it - the very person who had such disdain about me reaching out had just led the way for my siblings to find me through the memoire they had written.      

I met my older sister for lunch. She gave me flowers and a hug. The last time we saw each other I was a toddler. Hugging her after all those years was an unexplainable moment I will never forget. One of the first things she said was I have your dimples. It was strange and uncomfortable to hear her say your name so freely, but I didn't feel condemned. She brought pictures and I saw your face for the first time. I have no adequate words for that moment. For 40 years, my life had been terrorized and controlled by an invisible monster. Now peering into your face... I began to see truth. I do have your dimples, and I do look like you, and that's okay. 

I am a part of you.

BUT I am not -- you. 

May 11, 2017, my sister found me.      
May 11, 2020, you died.  

Now the funeral home is searching for family or friends who know anything about you. They're trying to have someone claim your body. So, we're trying to identify our names on your arm, but they say only one name is still visible...mine. What I felt branded by may now tell us who you are. Do we pay for you to be put to rest with dignity or cover you in an indigent cemetery? We have to give our permission for cremation. My older siblings' step in and do what needs to be done financially.

It's ironic that your choices landed you in the paper and spread across the news yet many years later those same choices led you to be no one.   

You had no one. 

While you left this world alone, I was watching my granddaughter blow out birthday candles with no knowledge of your demise.  

 

I was 4 when I learned who my earthly father was, and I was 4 when my Heavenly Father began to pursue my heart. From the night in that little church, I believed in Jesus. I believed He died on the cross because He loved the world. I believed He was the only way. I believed He would save anyone. Anyone...but me. 

No one could love me like that. 

But for 19 years Jesus relentlessly pursued my heart. He had my grandpa - the kindest man I've ever known stand in your place and show me that I was worth loving. Still, I pushed truth away and walked my own way. I guess - like you.

Then He sent me my first baby. I knew I didn't deserve such a gift - I needed to be better...I needed to be a mom he deserved. With my own will (or so I thought) I pulled myself out of a mess and became better. I had 3 gifts now and I was doing well. I didn't need God. To need Him, would be to trust Him, and I didn't trust anyone.    

August 1999 my third child almost died. Giving CPR to your baby is not something anyone should experience. Ever. As I followed the ambulance across town, I begged God to please be kind and merciful and not let my baby die...I would do anything if He would spare my son. He did. 

October 1999 at an old Baptist Revival meeting I finally gave my life to Christ and believed the gift of salvation was for all...even me. I would never be the same. Now healing could begin. Slowly.   

I don't hate my name anymore. God called me before I was ever born, and He says I am fearfully and wonderfully made.   

I don't hate you anymore. 

I don't feel guilt or shame. They were your choices not mine. 

Truth is, I was also your victim, but I am a victim no longer. I will fight with everything to overcome your legacy.

Even though I sometimes still struggle to not listen to the shouting voice that I'm a bad seed - truth gently whispers differently. 

In spite of myself God gave me 9 precious gifts. They are the best part of my life. I haven't been all I hoped to be for my children. I've failed so many times as a mother, but I will never stop trying to be better...to be what they always deserved. And I pray they will do better than I ever did.

When I heard of your passing, I felt relief...losing a parent shouldn't bring relief. I felt anger for the things left unspoken. Then I realized, even if I had said them, I never would have gotten what I thought I needed or wanted. You were not capable of that and that's okay because I don't need it from you anymore. I don't think of you as a monster. Just a broken soul who for whatever reason continued making wrong choices. Your life brings me sadness. You could have chosen differently. I wish you had. I wish I would have had my father. But God gives each of us free will. I have accepted that, and I no longer live in your shadow.     

      

Jessica