I’ve known for quite some time…okay since my last entry…last offering…that my next blog entry would be an emotional jaunt back to the beginning. Where exactly is the beginning? The chicken or the egg! Ha! Silly, huh? And completely irrelevant.
In other words, the trial or the testimony? Or a sugarcoated formulation of the truth? Which one to offer as together we travel back in time…
What informs my choice with this entry is this…that 8thirtytwo is a sanctuary of sorts. A place of freedom. And in this place of freedom, we’ll only experience vast levels of liberty if depths of raw truth are rendered…shared…if complete transparency reigns! Irrespective of discomfort… Nothing sugarcoated… Just the unadulterated truth!
So, for me, what comes first is the lack of him…!
To begin with the lack of something/someone…to communicate deficiency first is counterintuitive to me, but this is my truth and warrants…begs…to be told.
This is the beginning for me…
The lack of him…
I don’t know him. I didn’t know him until I was introduced to him as a child. What I remember of our extremely succinct meeting…is he was gentle, affable. At 30 something, James Bernard Hatchett was ill…battling leukemia…but he was in amazing spirits. He purchased a Ms. Pac Man board game for me and gave it to me shortly after we met.
(Side Note~ Oh my goodness…I’m just realizing…in real time…my affinity for Ms. Pac Man – the video game. I’ve never noticed a correlation before now. Wow!)
Okay so…He shared with me, during our meeting, his favorite Gospel song, which was Rough Side of the Mountain. Then, he flew to Seattle for treatment and never returned. GOD called him home. I was eleven!
I don’t recall much about his funeral. I just remember the expansive family car provided by the Funeral Home. I marveled at the fact that I was privileged to ride in it. I remember the solemn minister extending the tightly, very meticulously wrapped American flag, that draped my Dad’s casket, to my Paternal Grandmother during the grave side service. Sometime later, I wondered why the flag wasn’t given to me…my Dad’s only child.
Then nothing… Nothing. I don’t recall what happened immediately following the funeral.
There are no more memories to share.
We met. He left. He did not return.
I didn’t know him before eleven. I didn’t get to know him beyond eleven. I would not appreciate the immense depth of his absence until much later. I didn’t know at eleven that, as an adult, from year to year, I would miss him so terribly on Father’s Day…this man I never knew. At eleven, I couldn’t have foreseen as a woman how much I would wish to have his opinion concerning my choices in men.
I just wanted to talk to him.
How could I… Why would I desire to have a conversation with a man I never knew? Still, his opinion, I thought would have been invaluable. Perhaps he could have cautioned me against some of the pitfalls I would eventually face. Maybe I could have been held by him…warmly embraced like a Daughter who knows her Dad loves her. To know I was definitely loved and that he was tremendously proud of me would never come. The Daddy / Daughter interaction, rapport building would not materialize for me, though I am grateful that GOD allowed me to meet him.
This is the beginning…
Still, there is so much more to share. This piece of my heart…the baring of my soul concerning my Dad is overwhelming. For now, I need to step away from the keyboard to sit at GOD’s Feet as HE again comforts my heart over the loss of something/someone I never had…
GOD, You, and Me again…real soon!