Thaw

My dad called me yesterday.

It felt as though the ground had opened up before my feet, and there I was, frozen at the edge. The overwhelming relief in having escaped a monumental disaster was intertwined with the intense fear that I might still fall in the crevasse. As we talked, it was like I could see every word as soon as it was uttered, as if the conversation was being recorded on paper in real time, a transcript for later review.

Dad hasn't called in over a year. Our last real conversation was on Christmas Day 2005, when I listened once again to his disapproval of how I was handling my life, his anger at not being heeded in what to him was family business. It was clear to me at the time that I was not at a place to handle on-going conversations like that and still feel freedom to make my own choices. It also seemed clear that he wasn't going to change his opinions any time soon, and that his grief and disappointment was going to stand in the way of our being able to enjoy what at many times has been a close relationship.

I made a few overtures, sending cards, emails, and birthday presents, and being friendly for those brief hellos before the phone was passed to Mom. But I also held back, knowing that I needed the space as much as he did in order for me to walk on the path I've chosen. I recognize the ambivalence in that, how painful it's been, and how it has served me at the same time.

What's different now? Is my resolve making room for me to tolerate his feelings and opinions? Is there softening that comes with the passing of time? My parents are in the process of moving to DC after two years of interim work in Florida, and my brother and sister-in-law just had a baby; maybe there's an openness to change in the midst of change. I don't know. Whatever the reasons, I left a message for him while Mom was helping out with my new nephew, and he called me back.

We had a pleasant conversation, staying on the surface as we exchanged stories from the week. It was as if we'd been talking regularly all this time, as if we had both been ready to be in relationship but needed a little push to get started. At one point, he was lamenting about how they were going to lose a great sum of money from the sale of their house in Florida. They'd bought in order to accommodate my father's extreme dislike of apartment living; after only a year in the house, they were set to lose tens of thousands of dollars.

"It's a big loss, but it was for our peace of mind," he put forth, matter-of-factly.

"I think I know what you mean," I stammered. "Actually, I feel exactly the same way."

And then we moved on to other topics -- the kids, catching colds, Chinese New Year -- all the while the words in that exchange searing my consciousness like a branding iron. Who would've known that it would be my father, who, after an Ice Age of silence, would speak the truth of my life, and my impending divorce, with such eloquence and simplicity.

photo credit: Fausto Filho via stock.xchng