Daddy
"Daddy, oh Daddy I love you so,
Love you more dearly than you'll ever know,
My love for you will never end,
You are my very best friend, oh Dad!"
This song, a memory from my sub B days floated through my head last weekend like an inescapable theme song. I can never say I felt as homesick as I did the week before that weekend, constantly sick and feverish without parents to take care of me... but there was something deeper than just the dependancy on them which I had grown accustomed to over the Christmas break.
There is this emotional attachment to them so deep and painful that I want to ignore it and shut it out. The idea of ever loosing one of them is unbearable. Thursday night I dreamt constantly that my father was dying, and then there was the family at his funeral in Briarwood church.
I would wake up crying, and fall back asleep only to return to the same nightmare. The next day I felt anxious to see him, but too sick to drive home. Saturday I made it home, and watched "The End of the Spear"
Perfect.
That story has always held a particular emotional attachment with me, since I also grew up as a missionary kid. Fortunately many times as a kid I never fully understood the dangerous positions my father was constantly put in, however the fear of loosing him was always there somewhere in the back of my carefree childhood mind.
I always got choked up whenever he would apologize to me. There was something so emotionally beautiful about my parents humility. There was always something so bitter when they were upset with me. I was one of those children who honestly didn't NEED too much punishment because a frown from my parents was punishment enough: it would wound my tender little heart over and over again.
I cried throughout "End of the Spear" and that night I lay awake imagining in a horrified state what it would be like if I never saw him again. All I wanted was to go to my parents and hug them, and feel them there, and hold them. I wanted to cry, and mostly I wanted to talk to them about everything: particularly the emotional strain I was experiencing everyday. But I couldn't even the thought got my sensitive throat choked up.
The thought of emotions that powerful frightened me, and rather than loosing it, I wanted to run away from it. Run away from the powerful urge to behave like the little girl I wasn't. I wanted to be that little girl again.
The next day dad was sick, and I felt accutely aware of his absence at lunch. It would be so terrible to loose him or mom. I can't imagine.
That searing loss... that loss that can be identified with by so many people, but that loss that I am deathly afraid of.
I hugged my parents more times that weekend than on any of my other weekend visits. I was so thankful my dreams were just dreams. I was so ready to leave anyways, because my own sensitivity scared me, and made me ashamed of myself to where I wanted to run.
Here I am again... another weekend, and I got to spend some time with my daddy, and yet I have to leave again. It's funny how in that mid-tean period of my life, there was nothing I wanted more than to leave my parents house. Now how ironic that all I want to do is stay here.
Love you more dearly than you'll ever know,
My love for you will never end,
You are my very best friend, oh Dad!"
This song, a memory from my sub B days floated through my head last weekend like an inescapable theme song. I can never say I felt as homesick as I did the week before that weekend, constantly sick and feverish without parents to take care of me... but there was something deeper than just the dependancy on them which I had grown accustomed to over the Christmas break.
There is this emotional attachment to them so deep and painful that I want to ignore it and shut it out. The idea of ever loosing one of them is unbearable. Thursday night I dreamt constantly that my father was dying, and then there was the family at his funeral in Briarwood church.
I would wake up crying, and fall back asleep only to return to the same nightmare. The next day I felt anxious to see him, but too sick to drive home. Saturday I made it home, and watched "The End of the Spear"
Perfect.
That story has always held a particular emotional attachment with me, since I also grew up as a missionary kid. Fortunately many times as a kid I never fully understood the dangerous positions my father was constantly put in, however the fear of loosing him was always there somewhere in the back of my carefree childhood mind.
I always got choked up whenever he would apologize to me. There was something so emotionally beautiful about my parents humility. There was always something so bitter when they were upset with me. I was one of those children who honestly didn't NEED too much punishment because a frown from my parents was punishment enough: it would wound my tender little heart over and over again.
I cried throughout "End of the Spear" and that night I lay awake imagining in a horrified state what it would be like if I never saw him again. All I wanted was to go to my parents and hug them, and feel them there, and hold them. I wanted to cry, and mostly I wanted to talk to them about everything: particularly the emotional strain I was experiencing everyday. But I couldn't even the thought got my sensitive throat choked up.
The thought of emotions that powerful frightened me, and rather than loosing it, I wanted to run away from it. Run away from the powerful urge to behave like the little girl I wasn't. I wanted to be that little girl again.
The next day dad was sick, and I felt accutely aware of his absence at lunch. It would be so terrible to loose him or mom. I can't imagine.
That searing loss... that loss that can be identified with by so many people, but that loss that I am deathly afraid of.
I hugged my parents more times that weekend than on any of my other weekend visits. I was so thankful my dreams were just dreams. I was so ready to leave anyways, because my own sensitivity scared me, and made me ashamed of myself to where I wanted to run.
Here I am again... another weekend, and I got to spend some time with my daddy, and yet I have to leave again. It's funny how in that mid-tean period of my life, there was nothing I wanted more than to leave my parents house. Now how ironic that all I want to do is stay here.