The Reunion

A few months later… I didn't learn much that day. Dad didn't stick around to answer any questions—although I had plenty. He was there one minute and gone the next. It was like he was waiting for me to show up and take over my mother's care, the passing of the torch, one might say. I did learn that Dr. Rayford Vance Wilson, known as Dr. Vance at the facility, had been Mom's attending psychologist for the last four years, surprisingly at the prompting of my grandparents. I knew he had a doctorate in psychology, but an active practice, no way. When did he have the time? However, my mother’s progress, although she had a long way to go, had been attributed to his many hours of work with her. Looking back on the earlier years while we were still under the same roof, I could now see the intense struggle that consumed my mother. She was caught in the battle between fact and fiction, a battle that I, at the time, could not fully comprehend. She had convinced herself and me that she was the victim of an overpowering husband, a narrative that was far from the truth. At that time, I was unaware of Dad's strenuous efforts to maintain our family's unity. It was a revelation to me that I had misread entirely their behavior toward one another. The seemingly hushed disagreements between them were, in reality, his fervent pleas for her to stay. Over time, I learned much about reality—that reality is based only on what you know—and what you know may not be the complete picture. I saw a father full of evil, but that wasn't the whole story. He was a father full of love—allowing me to resent him for the greater good. How does one begin to explain to a child about the impact of mental illness? However, the most astonishing discovery was that Dad never relinquished his love for the woman he married. He remained steadfast in his hope for her recovery and did not leave without a backup plan for her care. Weeks later, when I drove north to see him, he was already gone. Once a charming and well-kept home, our old house lacked its former allure. However, I tried my key, and it worked, but the thought of going inside made me sad—there would be time to gather my things later. The weight of loss hung heavy in the air; tears stung my eyes until I noticed that something had been taped to the door—an envelope addressed to me. I stood on the stoop and read it right there. It contained only a few words: "I will be in touch." How could this be enough words for a man who could lecture one for an hour or more on the correct way to stand while preaching the gospel? I was disappointed but not surprised. Sometimes, the shortest utterances were the most powerful. I, the forever student, will have to wait for revelation. The remaining pastors at the Community Church were sympathetic. It was a first for them: Granting a sabbatical for one of their own. Following an explicit outline, Rayford dispersed his duties among the staff, locked up everything, and left early the next day without fanfare. Meanwhile, trusting Pastor Wilson’s decision, they eagerly await his return, filled with hope and excitement for the day when their community would be whole again. How many times had I wished that my father would disappear? From my earliest memories, I envisioned life would be much better without him. Now, even with all the unanswered questions about his actions and decisions, I regret those wishes and would take him back in a minute. Why did he not trust me to understand? I’m not a child anymore. I have learned many things during my journey south, but one thing sticks out above everything else: Life is all about family—loving and forgiving one another. It’s a continual growing process, learning from one’s mistakes—because we are only human. Despite the challenges, I am past being angry. Knowing my father, I’m sure he has a plan; a family reunion is coming someday. In the meantime, I strive to be like the tender bloom crushed underfoot, emitting the sweet fragrance of forgiveness.