This picture below is of me and my dad. The picture was taken almost a year ago in Boquete, Pamana. Then, we got to see him quite a lot. Since January 1998, I’ve seen my father once every few years. It’s hard not being around my family; well, no that’s not true, I lied. It’s infinitely easier than being around them. To be honest, I planned it that way. I had so much to sift through, so many layers and layers of wounded identity to unscramble, that living far from my family was my solution. It gave me the distance to clean my soul, to free up trapped pain, to reflect on truths that I carried from childhood that no longer served me, and to learn to be a new me. Being far away (exact-other-side-of-the-globe far away) was very safe for me. It created a super-thick padding within which I could incubate and heal.
I used to blame my parents for everything. I had lists and lists of reasons why they ruined my life. Maybe you do too. I don’t blame them for anything, now. That took oh so many hours of therapy. I know, I know, I know that my mom and my dad did the very best job that they could in life and in raising three kids. Today, I can only thank them for being so brave, determined, and dedicated in dodging all that life threw at them. Tons of therapy; a world of therapy to be able to say that. (I guess my kids will need it to, right?)
This post was written while with my father in Panama. I was shocked, at the time, to know that my soul still harbored so much pain deep within. And here, it all shoots out.
Daddy’s Little Girl
I was. I used to follow him around from room to room. He’d mow the lawn, I’d pick the daffodils a few steps behind; he’d fix something on his work bench, I was there elbows on the table asking endless questions; he’d watch his late night movie, I was hiding around the corner watching movies I shouldn’t have. It’s a bittersweet adoring love that we daddy girls feel for our Superdads. And, of course, daddy’s little girls fall hard when they realize that their daddy’s aren’t the heroes they thought they were.
Well, I kept in amazing relations with my dad for years and years after I stopped following him around like a lost puppy. He was my guidepost, my adviser, my Daddy. Kobi and I actually lived with him; and then down the street from him for a few years. It was beautiful. Kobi and my father got along really well; he was helpful, joyous, and caring in every way. He was involved in my life and again, did the best he could to deal with whatever life brought him. And then he moved to Panama.
And so, I grew up, got married, and forged my own life; very independent and detached from my father. Not for any good reason other than that it just worked out that way. When you live in Israel and your dad lives in Panama, and you’re not so hot in the keeping-up-with-people department; time just sort of does her thing. And then, at the age of 36 and a half, my family and I embark on an open-ended round-the-world nomadic family adventure and land smack dab in the middle of his Panamanian telanovela (soap opera).
We had spent two months in Houston for I required that much time to work through unresolved childhood issues with my mother. (We had planned on staying two weeks. ) As I told an old high school friend, “It’s like being a kid again, only this time, it’s nice.” My mom and I had always walked on shaky, landmine-filled grounds and so, though unexpected, it made sense that part of our journey would be dedicated to me working through issues that had haunted me for life. Those, I knew about.
But, with my father, I knew nothing. I only remembered good stuff, loving things; and suddenly, I find myself in his living room and in his car, fuming. He’d done nothing in particular, and I’m furious. Out of nowhere storms from within me a volcano of very strong, painful emotions and memories. Memories of lies, of being pushed away, of being manipulated against my mother, so that he would have a friend on his side. Memories of self-defeating adages being repeated so often they became part of my truth. Memories of divorce, and picking sides, and feeling sorry for himself, and dragging me into that pitiful story and dark, dark pit. Memories that suddenly had a place and time and consequence.
Now, understand, my dad is a dear. He’s walking around being a kind host and sweet grandfather; and I’m silently, twisting and turning in the agony of my own internal inferno. All of these traits and fears in me that have limited and hijacked my happiness endlessly, come out in bright, crystal-clear spotlight. Suddenly, I hear him talk or explain something on his mind, and I know. I know, for the first time in my life, the source of so much of my personal misery.
As all children do, I had adopted the most blatantly dominant positive and negative traits my parents had. And now, now, I could understand where it had come from and to what extent it had handicapped my freedom and toxically impacted who I had become.
Turns out my voyage around the world goes much deeper inside, than out. This journey thus far has revealed to me, as much about who I am on the inside (and who I want to continue to become on the inside) as it has about what the world looks, tastes, and feels like on the outside. I find myself here, yet again, healing my wounds and cleaning my soul, like I did at my mom’s house a few short months ago. I am facing gremlins I didn’t even know I had in hidden in deep, deep closets.
Unlike in Costa Rica where I was genuinely touched and amazed each day, I have not pinched myself even once saying, ‘Oh My God! I am in Panama!” I’ve had too much sorting out, healing, and cleaning to do from my childhood past. As my initial shock abates, my internal turbulence turns to hard-core soul scrubbing. It’s taking up my energy and preventing me from seeing Panama. That’s ok, I’ve got time to see it all. And maybe, with untainted glasses clean from childhood baggage, maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to see Panama, the rest of the world we meet, and my father in their full prism of miraculous color.
And….
Thanks for letting me share. You know, all this time later and I still feel my chest tighten. I harbor more unresolved pain. I bow to this invitation to clean my soul; and yet, I know, right now, that I’m not accepting that invitation. Not now, not now.
It’s important that we talk about these things. It’s important that we bring to light all the issues that still bring darkness to our souls. I”m happy to hear what yours are.
Gabi
PS: I’d be honored to have you join me on my new inspirational facebook page.
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Comments (5)
Linda @EcoTraveller
August 27, 2012 at 12:43 pm | #
Gabi, you have such a wonderful way with words, I read every one.
So very personal… brave of you to let go of it all and share. Hope you find resolve within at the end of all your soul-searching
And, happy travels!
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Gabi
August 27, 2012 at 5:13 pm | #
thank you linda. thank you. oh, and so nice to meet you. how did you find me here at gabikaf.com? i love knowing that tidbit. every time it excites me anew how the Universe brings us together with beautiful souls ready to learn from each other. i’m touched that you like my ‘way with words’. that is one of the nicest compliments for me. thank you. i share a lot, i think it cleans my soul and makes others connect to me, and be real, and hopefully, clean their souls too. yeah, we all have a journey. thank you. happy travels to you as well….
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Amalia
August 27, 2012 at 4:15 pm | #
Part of growing up is realizing that our parents are just human beings who make mistakes. We need to forgive them, knowing that we forgive ourselves for being so much like them, and do our very best to cherish the good that we inherited from them and work on the things we don’t like.
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Gabi
August 27, 2012 at 5:08 pm | #
thank you amalia. thank you. for being here, for following us. for always saying the right thing. (for doing the 8-minute abs!) your words ring true, so true. abe lincoln said that we become prisoners of our anger,and can only free ourselves from that prison through forgiveness. cheers to that long journey. and hugs to you and david, gabi
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