When I lost my dad, grief swept over me—not just for the man I had known these past seven years but for the little girl who had once loved him fiercely and then lost him. His passing unlocked memories I didn’t even know I had—memories of love, warmth, and being his little girl. It was as if God had taken the veil off my heart, allowing me to see and feel the love my dad had always carried for me.
One chilly morning, as I walked my dog, I stopped to adjust my jacket. Suddenly, I was no longer on that quiet street but standing in a swirl of snow as a little girl. I saw myself bundled up in a pink, black, and white snowsuit, my tiny cheeks red from the cold. My dad knelt before me, gently zipping up my coat, his hands warm and sure. The tenderness in his touch, the way he looked at me with love—I felt it. I was no longer just remembering; I was reliving. My heart ached with the bittersweet realization that this love had always been there, hidden beneath layers of pain and time.
For so long, I carried only anger and disappointment. When my dad went to jail, my mom made sure he was erased from my life. I became a sponge, soaking up her hurt and bitterness until I, too, believed he was nothing but a ghost. I shared his name, but I wanted nothing to do with him. I built walls high and thick, believing they protected me from more hurt—not realizing they also kept out the healing.
But God had a different plan in His infinite love and mercy. When I first stepped into my church home, I felt an unfamiliar stirring in my spirit. The pastor handed out small cards, asking us to invite someone to church. He told us to ask God who needed this invitation, and before I even finished praying, my dad’s name burned on my heart. I wanted to ignore it, to pretend I hadn’t heard God’s voice. But the pull was undeniable. God wasn’t just asking me to reach out—He was asking me to trust Him, to step into the unknown and meet the man behind the title of “father.”
I brought my husband, brother, and cousin the first time we met. I didn’t trust him—or myself—to be alone with him. We met at a park, the late summer air thick around us. I remember my dad challenging my husband to an arm-wrestling match. There was something so childlike, so pure in that moment. I wanted to take a picture, to capture the first brick being pulled from my wall, but my anger wouldn’t let me. Instead, I burned the image into my mind, a beautiful and haunting memory.
Over time, the hardness in my heart began to soften. There wasn’t a moment where I could say, “This is it—I love him,” but rather a gentle, steady flow of grace. I started to see him, really see him—not as a father but as a man who had made mistakes, who had his wounds and regrets. Sitting next to him one afternoon, I noticed how our mannerisms mirrored each other. We used the same gestures and shared the same expressions. It was like looking into a mirror; I felt like I belonged for the first time. I wasn’t just a fragment of my mom’s world but also a part of him.
An accident leaving him with a traumatic brain injury changed everything. Watching him fade, seeing the man who had been so full of life now bound to a wheelchair, was a different kind of heartbreak. I would sit by his side, hoping he could feel the love I had finally allowed myself to have for him. I’ll never forget the day in the hospital when the doctors had all but given up hope. He lay there, unresponsive, a shell of himself. But his eyes shot open when I spoke, and he heard my voice and saw my face. He tried to get up, his body fighting against its limitations. At that moment, I felt the weight of his love, the depth of his connection to me. He may not have been able to say it, but his spirit spoke loud and clear—I was his daughter, and he loved me.
God used those years to teach me that forgiveness isn’t about freeing the other person; it’s about freeing yourself. Each act of forgiveness was like a key turning in a lock, allowing love to flow where only pain had resided. And through it all, God showed me that He loves me enough to give me back the love I had lost, to restore what had been broken.
My dad’s love, though imperfect, pointed me toward God’s perfect love. His passion reminded us that love can find its way even in our brokenness. I am eternally grateful for those seven years—for the laughter, the healing, and the gift of knowing him not just as my father but as Tony, a man with a beautiful, complicated heart.
Though my dad is gone, his love lives on. It lives in my stories, how I parent my son and my gratitude for a God who never stops writing our story. I am living proof that redemption is authentic, that love can be restored, and that God’s gifts are often wrapped in the most unexpected packages.
If You’re Struggling with Trauma: Practical Steps for Healing
If you find yourself struggling with resurfacing trauma, know that you are not alone. Healing is not a straight path, but here are some steps that might help:
1. Acknowledge Your Feelings: Give yourself permission to feel whatever comes up—grief, anger, confusion. Journaling or speaking with a trusted friend or therapist can help.
2. Ground Yourself: When old memories resurface, grounding exercises can bring you back to the present. Try deep breathing, touching objects around you, or focusing on your senses.
3. Create a Safe Space: Whether it’s a cozy corner at home or a favorite place in nature, find a spot where you can relax and feel safe.
4. Set Boundaries: If certain situations or people trigger you, stepping back is okay. Protecting your peace is an important part of healing.
5. Seek Support: Therapy, or support groups can offer guidance and understanding. You don’t have to carry this alone.
6. Engage in Spiritual Practices: Prayer, meditation, and faith connection can offer comfort and direction.
7. Practice Self-Compassion: Healing takes time. Celebrate small victories and be gentle with yourself when the road feels hard.
Above all, remember that God is with you in the process. He is a God of restoration, turning ashes into beauty, mourning into joy. Your story is still being written, and healing is possible.
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