A Crimson Cord;

Despite the unrestrained joy and happiness of meeting my dad, that Christmas was tremendously hard for me.  I had come to the unmistakable conclusion that my marriage was over.   If I had any doubts as to the state of my relationship with my husband, the events around me meeting my dad were extra confirmation that we were simply not on the same page.   Or even reading the same book.  I knew this would be the last Christmas that my kids and I would ever all be together again.   I was deeply hurting and very alone that Christmas Eve, no one even mentioning the reunion with my dad.   The one bright spot was when I got a text from my him at 3:19 pm on December 25th. It was a simple message: “Merry Christmas Annette! I hope you and your family enjoy a wonder [sic] day!”   I didn’t hear from my dad over the month of January although I wondered everyday when or if he would call. As expected I was knee deep in a marital separation and its ugly fall-...

Although I was riding the high from meeting my dad face to face, and my small circle were overjoyed, not everyone was happy for me. On the Thursday night, after I got home from work, I told my husband that I had met my father the night before.  He couldn’t have been more disinterested.  A disheartening confirmation of what I knew to be true - that what mattered the most to me, did not matter at all to him. I had hoped that he would, in some measure, share in the happiness of the moment just like my friends and my boss had. But he did not. He was surprised but said very little. He did mention that it must have taken a lot of bravery and was shocked that I could do such a thing. His response was underwhelming and disappointing.  I then told each of my kids. Each conversation was the same. You could hear the thud of my joy hit the floor as each of them could really have cared less. I am still unsure, even to this day, why none of them seemed to be able to muster eve...

It was perhaps my failing marriage alongside the two grandchildren I was so in love with that only served to intensify my need for belonging. I could not assuage this desire to see my dad face to face. It was long past the time where I could envision having a relationship with him. He was pushing 70. Likely crusty. Cantankerous. And I was (ahem...just a smidge over 50...a very gentle 50!). But I was too old to have these little girl fantasies about a daddy any longer.  However, over the course of 2012 I could not shake the intense need to see my father’s face and look into his eyes. See if he was real. I knew another rejection was waiting for me if I persisted.  Then a God-thing happened.   A God-thing, to me, is one of those occasions when no one could ever orchestrate the series of events that unfolds. Where there are just too many coincidences to actually be a coincidence.  People, timing, and so many intangible details woven intricately into past, presen...