I got used to living a fatherless life, even before he died. When I thought about him, it was always followed by guilt, and then I would actually stutter. It was better to not think about him at all.

And then one day my sister, Peggy called.

“Hello Anne. You’ve got to come. It’s Dad. He’s dying of cancer.”

Is she crazy? She knew what he had accused me of. He blamed me for our mother’s death. She knew all about that.

And now she is telling me I need to come and see him?

“No!” I shout. “I can’t.”

And I recount the whole story once again complete with emotion.

The Specter of Regret

But she continues, “Listen Anne, you already regret not going to Mom. Don’t do it again.”

And I freeze. My emotions want to keep arguing, to somehow defend my decision to stay away, but she hit a nerve. What she said was true.

I had regretted that one decision. Whether Gus was telling the truth or not didn’t matter, I made a decision I regretted. One I couldn’t change. But I could choose differently now.

“Okay.” I finally answer. “I’ll come.”

I take a moment and call Lois to ask for prayer. I am learning how to turn to God for all my needs. To lean on God, the one who knows me intimately and loves me completely.

The Next Day

My legs are like Jello as I walk down the long hall at Veteran’s Hospital in Chicago.

What will I say to my dad, after all the silent years? What will he say?

I walk through his door and his face lights up.

“Annie, you came!” he says, “but why do you look so mad?”

It took everything in me to respond, “It was not my fault Mom died.”

And then it’s my turn to be surprised. Dad responds, “I know.”

He knew? He knew and yet, didn’t bother to tell me?

“Help me God, this is hard.” I whisper.

I look down at my father. This person before me does not resemble the one I knew and had been afraid of for years. Running from him when he was enraged, swinging his belt at us. My siblings and I felt so powerless.

No. This man before me looks helpless. And much older than his 51 years.

“I’m sorry I was not a good father to you,” he says.

It was the first time in my life I ever heard him apologize. I think it was his very first apology.

God gave me grace to respond, “You did the best you could.”

Saying those words was not planned at all.

Nor do I remember wanting to reach down and kiss his cheek, but I did.

It’s the next day. My dad keeps calling me George. He doesn’t recognize me at all. I’m so glad Dad and I talked yesterday.

Our best conversation truly was our last. He died that day.

Letter from Above

My Precious One,

I’m proud of you. Proud that you listened to my prompting and went to see your dad. Proud that you chose to trust me, regardless of your emotions.

Remember I am the God of all time. When you were little, I knew what you were going through. I heard you and your siblings crying after your dad would hit you. I gathered up your tears. 

Now, I’m so proud of how you are putting your trust in me as a brand-new Christian. You chose the impossible thing and knew I would help you.

You were right, my Child. When you woke up to see your father that second day, I did whisper to you, “Get ready.”

I knew he was going to take his last breath. Think of what you would have missed if you did not listen to Peggy.

You would have missed the opportunity to face your father and tell him it was not your fault your mother died. You would have missed the opportunity to hear the only apology your dad ever made.

And even more importantly, you would have missed the opportunity to forgive your father.

Yes, I know it’s possible to forgive people who are gone. But you got to actually say the words, and to give him a kiss on his cheek.

Did he deserve forgiveness? No one deserves it. You didn’t deserve my forgiveness either. But that’s what grace is all about.

Remember when I gave you the verse from Psalms 27:10?

“When your father and your mother forsake you, I will take you up.”

I meant it. 

I have been your parent ever since. And no one loves you like I do. No one ever will.

Reaching

When I was just a little girl,
you raised me up so high.
I was a ballerina,
who could almost touch the sky.

But then before I even knew,

I grew up afraid of you.
The belt you’d wave,
the way you’d swear,

and we would run

most everywhere.

And even when
we all got older,
words were few
your heart grew colder.

Sometimes I’m just very sad,
you were the only dad I had.
And deep inside, I wish that I

could still be reaching for the sky.

This is an excerpt from Always There: Finding God’s Comfort Through Loss

To find out more about Always There: https://www.annepeterson.com/always-there/

Read more by Anne on Open to Hope: When One Loss Follows Another – Open to Hope