Beach Child
Carolyn Blish
Buy Beach Child
Beach Child
Carolyn Blish
Buy Beach Child
Love Heals
By: Linda Reynolds
With the covers of my bed pulled protectively up to my chin, I lay in the dim light cast through my window by the street lamp on the corner, crying to release the pent-up pain I couldn't name. Worms of loneliness ate at my heart.Of course there were people in my life; they just didn't connect with me in the way that I needed. My brothers were much older and thought of me as little more than a doll. Mom was always busy cooking, cleaning, and doing laundry. When dad came home from a day of building and repairing hopper cars that hauled Southern Illinois coal, he was too tired to do anything but read the paper and watch the news. There were few children in the neighborhood, and most were aggressive brats, eager to take advantage of a shy and sensitive playmate.
When Mom heard my crying, she came to see what was wrong. I struggled over what to call my feelings, but with her encouragement, I summoned courage to mutter, "Nobody loves me."
As Dad passed my door, returning to bed from the bathroom, Mom called him and told him why I cried. Surely she expected him to reinforce her comforting and assurances of their love.
His response stunned us both. "That's the stupidest thing I ever heard! Of course we love her!" And he stormed off back to bed, indignant at having his night disturbed by such foolishness.
Sorry that she had tried to enlist his help, Mom tried to ease my pain, but the damage had been done. Anger piled on top of my loneliness. No matter what Dad said, I knew he couldn't love me, and bitterness toward him began its 20-year residency in my soul.
After that night, Mom did all she could to fill my need for love. I treasured our shopping trips together, usually accompanied by lunch out. She listened as I shared details of my school day, the two of us often remaining at the supper table after Dad returned to his recliner in the living room.
By adolescence, I considered her my best friend and confidante. When I begged to see Star Wars because all my classmates had seen it, Mom went to the theater with me. Although she was concerned over the movie's content, she recognized its importance to me and stepped out of her own comfort zone to indulge me.
Even with Mom's efforts and the loyal love of my dog, I was preoccupied with finding a boyfriend. I needed to know that a member of the male sex could find me attractive. A boy with questionable motives easily could have entangled me in a web of promiscuous sex, drugs, and violence if my parents had not been very strict. Due to their religious convictions and general insecurities about the world, I knew there were few boys they would allow me to see. Maybe that's why, when asked out by unsuitable boys, the word "no" was out of my mouth before I had time to think.
When David asked me to the homecoming dance our freshman year of high school, I turned him down for a different reason. My best friend, Marianne, had known David since they were in preschool together, and to her way of thinking, he was about as appealing as her own brother. Although I liked David, I allowed my friend's opinion to sway me. By the middle of our sophomore year, I regretted that choice. When David worked up the nerve to ask me out again, I didn't care if Marianne thought I was crazy or that he was a nerd and afflicted with teenage acne. He was intelligent and caring and made me feel good about myself. His family and religious background was similar to mine, and I thought I had a decent chance of getting permission to date him. Little did I know then that through David, God would teach me what unconditional love is and heal the hurts caused by my Dad's careless words and inattention.
In the security of our marriage, I recognized the negative lessons I learned that shattering night long ago. If my saying that I nobody loved me was the stupidest thing Dad ever heard, I assumed I must be the stupidest person he'd ever met. I determined never to make mistakes, in order to prove him wrong and to avoid provoking his terrible anger again. David helped me learn that it's okay to admit I don't always have all the answers. And he steadfastly loved me no matter how hateful I became to test him.
Because Dad said I was wrong to feel unloved and did not try to give me affection and attention, I believed those needs were invalid and that it was wrong to expect, much less ask, anyone to give them to me. David taught me that he cannot read my mind and encouraged me to tell him what I want and need. My church has taught me that God does love and accept me; He is not distant and prone to anger like Dad. Numerous books I've read and courses I've taken assured me that emotional needs are just as real and valid as physical needs.
While God has healed my hurts through love, He also dissipated my anger toward Dad by helping me accept him as a person with his own hurts. And He has worked on Dad too. After 30 years with the railroad, Dad lost his job when the shop closed. In the months he was out of work, Dad lost a lot of weight, and I learned that he was not immune to anxiety, fear, and the burdens of financial responsibility. When he wrestled over accepting an opportunity to work for the railroad again--but in Chicago, four hours away--I learned that he felt insecure when thrust into unfamiliar situations. When he fought back tears as he kissed Mom goodbye each Sunday evening, not to return until late the following Friday, I learned that he did feel emotions other than anger. He gradually learned to express love to other family members through hugs and kisses, and I'll never forget the phone call when he first told me, "I love you."
Although Dad still is not adept in emotional matters, he is greatly improved. Dad's behavior in my early years was governed by the way his own parents raised him. I know that he did love me and expressed it in the only ways comfortable to him. He worked endless, dirty, exhausting days on the railroad to provide for the family, and he was strict in discipline and religious training out of concern for the fate of my soul and for the hardships I could bring upon myself through unwise choices.
I continue to struggle to select greeting cards for Dad; the sentimental ones about fathers who were there to comfort and give advice don't apply to our relationship. With patient effort, I eventually find one I can send without feeling I'm a liar. The search no longer evokes anger and resentment, only sadness and envy of those lucky individuals who can buy the cards I must pass up.
The author and her husband have been together for almost 20 years and will celebrate their 17th wedding anniversary in May. They have a dog and three children, who also love her wholeheartedly. You can contact Linda at lindakreynolds@attbi.com
Return To: