Daddy and I always had a love/hate relationship at best. In hindsight, I am thankful I was forced to spend that month with him. We needed to be alone...together. We needed to talk, we needed to listen to each other. He told me his story, answering any questions I had. And I had a million questions. I doubt if I know the truth but I know more than I did. I can pick my parables. What I learned helped to fill in some blanks. It also left a lot of open ended stories. I listened to him and took notes so I could keep the story straight. He never asked me about my life and I didn't tell him anything he didn't already know. I should have told him how I felt. I needed to say those words aloud. I was too afraid and that was my mistake...my regret.
I learned that Daddy really didn't hate me. My existence just happened to be the one thing he could not control and it drove him nuts. My mother always picked my well being over him and he hated that fact. Thank God she did. I only lived with Daddy for nine years. If I had been raised by him I would be in a mental institution or a grave. He was not a 'kid friendly' man in the long run. I don't think he ever wanted children. Children are needy and that was one thing he could not handle.
When I went to Kentucky with Melodi, it was for the weekend. I packed just enough for two days and that was it. Normally, when I went home I packed enough for a month. However, Mama was dead and I knew I would not stay beyond Sunday. Once again I was so wrong. Daddy was waiting for a room in ICF and it was not ready yet. He needed me to stay with him for a few days. The days turned into a month.
I had to buy clothes, medicine, books, a new journal, pens and I needed something live to take care of...other than Daddy. So I bought the bamboo plant. I can hear him now as I came home with the plant and all its contraptions, "Daughter, what the Hell did you buy that for?" He laughed as I began to assemble my project on the patio out back. We talked a lot while I was repotting the plant. He even gave me a few suggestions. It was warm so we kept the plant outside. I think he enjoyed it. We would sit outside every morning and drink coffee together, waiting for the sun to come up. He would fiddle with the plant and move it so it wouldn't 'sunburn' later in the day.
It was a good month. Daddy got saved and that was amazing. I heard him pray for me to be 'happy' one night while I was up reading. I never thought I would hear those words...but I did and I treasure them.
I cooked all his favorite foods. He told me I "cooked like my Mama". We took long drives out in the country where he used to live. He told story after story and I soaked them up much like water in the desert heat. Everything changed and nothing changed between Daddy and me. When he died, he died alone refusing to allow family to be with him. He was a strange man. A man of violence, lies, discontent, love and humor. Everyone who knew him, had their own version of John O. I doubt if anyone had the full story. I know something was broken inside him. I hope whatever was broken is fixed now. I hope he is at peace. I loved him with all my heart but I was so afraid of him...something is wrong when a daughter feels this way about her father...very, very wrong. Some things just can not be fixed.
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