My sister called this morning. Calls from her are few and far between. I share the same biological father with three sisters and a brother, but our mothers ensured we knew and loved each other. We have allowed time to put more distance than just miles between us. However, we still love one another deeply. So when I saw her name on my phone, I immediately answered.
“You may want to call Daddy,” she said. “Rose died this morning.”
I was quiet for a moment. Rose was more of a character in my life than a real person. Her role in my childhood was brief but significant. If you read my memoir (available here) she is an early plot twist in the story. I never really saw her as my step-mother for a couple of reasons. This was mostly due to my near, non-existent relationship with my biological father. I rarely spoke with him which means I never spoke with her. So when my sister told me what happened, silence was my natural response. It wasn’t shock or grief. I honestly didn’t know what to say.
Communicating with my biological father
“Would he really want to hear from me,” I asked my sister?
“Yes,” she quickly replied. “Why do you think he wouldn’t?”
I’ve been through a lot of tough times including financial ruin, a cancer scare, depression and a suicide attempt. My biological father’s voice was never one I wanted to hear in those dark moments. I was comfortable with the decades that passed without speaking. Then my mother died. And he showed up at the funeral. Suddenly, I realized how much I didn’t know about myself and decided to find out through him.
Over the last 14 years, we’ve spoken occasionally. Initially, he pushed for connecting a little too hard. This led to my quick retreat. After about a year, we tried again. Now he is understanding and respectful of my desire for brief conversations only. This is all I can handle with the majority of my family members. I made the false assumption that he couldn’t handle talking with me during this difficult time. I falsely assumed that he handled grief the way I handle grief. I was wrong.
Making the call
It’s important to note that this is the day after Father’s Day. Yesterday, I debated whether or not to call my biological father. A part of me wanted to believe it didn’t matter. Ultimately, I made a lazy decision to let the day pass because I did not have the energy for the conversation. The choice nagged at me all evening. When my sister told me what happened, I knew I couldn’t put it off. But, I had to pray for the words.
I’m still going through a lot right now, financially and spiritually. Encouraging someone else, particularly this person, just seems like an emotionally exhausting exercise. It sounds selfish but it’s the truth. God was going to have to help me with this one. I had no words.
“I cannot do it…but God will give Pharaoh the answers he desires.”
Genesis 41:16
Joseph was stripped of his clothes and sold, by his brothers, into slavery. Then he was falsely accused and thrown into prison for years. While sitting in jail, someone asked for his help. With all he was going through, how was he able to do it? He couldn’t. God had to do it. The words had to come from God. So, I asked God for the words and he gave them to me.
“Tell him you love him,” God said.
That’s what I did. I told my biological father that I loved him and that I will pray for him. Holy Spirit took it from there. Tears flowed as I told my father I was grateful for him. Where did that come from? I acknowledged that God sovereignly chose him to be my biological father. There was something in him that God wanted me to have. And yes, I’m grateful for it.
Prayerfully, God will show me the goodness he wanted to pass to me through my father. That call may begin to clear a path to the answer.
*Rose’s name is changed for privacy.
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