The Father I Never Knew

Sometimes I feel guilty for going on this grief journey for the father I never knew. You see, my mom remarried when I was four. I consider Pat my dad and can’t remember my life before he was in it. He has been in my life since I was two and treated me like a daughter even before they were married. He has loved me as his own, and most people don’t even know that I’m not his biological child. I don’t feel like I deserve to grieve the dad I didn’t have, because I did have a dad and he’s pretty great. But the thing is, I’m learning that I can have a really great dad and be sad that I never had a chance to meet my biological father at the same time.

Having grown up with Pat as my dad, I know that he did gymastics as a kid. I know that he had a white corvette when he and my mom were dating. I know that he likes milk duds because we would always eat them together at the movie theater. I know that his family used to roast chestnuts at Christmas time when he was little because we tried to roast chestnuts for old times sake one year and they were HORRIBLE. I cherish these pieces of information about him, because they tie me to his life.

I grew up with very few tidbits about John’s life and I certainly don’t have any shared memories. I remember one time we were visiting his parents, my Nanny and PawPaw, and they told a story about how when John was really little he thought the fireworks on the Fourth of July were for him because it was his birthday. I couldn’t have been more than 8 or 9 at the time, but I have held on to this memory because it gave me some insight into the man with whom I share half of my DNA.

I can remember feeling desperate to know more about John before my mom remarried… Searching for ways to tie my life to his. I would watch home videos of him with Brandon over and over just to hear his voice. To see what he looked like, how he dressed, what his laugh sounded like. I don’t know if anyone ever knew, but I would watch them alone in my room and cry knowing I never got those moments. My mom had a chest in her bedroom with mementos of John and I can remember wanting to look in that chest all the time. Even though the chest doesn’t contain those mementos anymore, I wouldn’t let my mom part with it. In fact, I have it in my house now. To me, that chest is symbolic of John because that was how I felt connected to him as a child.

Recently, I developed an interest in gardening and I can’t help but wonder if subconsciously it is because I have seen home videos of my brother and John in his garden together and I want to share that with him as well. Honestly, in surveying my life, I wonder if there are a lot of choices I made subconsciously in an effort to make John proud. John played baseball. My husband, Collin, also played baseball. From photos I remember looking at when I was young, I know that John hosted and attended crawfish boils. Collin and I host an annual shrimp boil with our friends and co-workers every spring. Although I didn’t know Collin shared these interests with John when we first met, I can’t help but wonder if my mind made those connections as I learned more about him and grew to love him.

I don’t think that feeling to know John ever went away, I just stopped allowing myself to indulge that feeling. I am hoping to find healing in talking with John’s siblings and finding ways to tie myself to him.

Psalm 147:3: He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.