I was watching the Marvel TV show Luke Cage scenes where Luke’s dad put his arms around him and apologized for not being there when he was a child. I started tearing up when I realized I never had this moment with my dad. The pain was felt deep inside with the understanding that I would never have that connection with him because he died fifty-two years ago.

Why does this loss seem to be more painful at this point in my life? I think it is because I have more knowledge and experience of life every day. I know from my work as a therapist that having conversations with my father about what happened between us could have greatly altered my life. I could have been more confident, safe and less anxious.

My father died of a stroke after experiencing several small strokes in 1966 when I was fifteen. His brain was adversely affected. My last conversation with him took place while he was moving towards me in an aggressive manner. I punched him in the stomach, he looked at me in shock. I awaited his retaliation, but he simple walked away and never spoke or looked at me again.

I long for my father’s physical embrace, him describing the turmoil he was going through and saying he was proud of me. I long for a moment when I can apologize for hitting his body and explain why I punched him. I was only trying to protect myself. I have come to understand that he was not in his right mind and would want to ask him what that was like. I would like to tell him that I love him and ask him questions about his life struggles, hopes and dreams.

I have had imaginary conversations with him. Hell, I wrote a book about dealing with his death titled Redemption of the Shattered: A Teenager’s Healing Journey through Sand Tray Therapy. I have shared my feelings about him in countless therapy sessions and conversations with others.

These experiences have assisted in the grieving process and they have led to healthy self-examination.

In the end I always feel a sense of loss and bitterness about never being able to have him smile upon me.

Forever stuck. End of story.

No it isn’t. I can move on.

I think about all the years I have been unable to connect with my emotional world because my dad’s sudden death brought numbness to my spirit and a continual splash of freezing water to my heart.

Every day the numbness fades and I can experience the miracle of deep sadness and joy.

I had no one to rely on so I learned to look to myself for answers. While not trusting others to help me led to having a chip on my shoulder, it also taught me to seek out answers within.

Although I was not blessed with extensive life experience as a teenager, I pushed myself to confront seemingly impossible situations. I was desperately curious in my loneliness.

I wanted the approval of this cold world but was unaware of my motives. I wanted to be there for others and be part of healing the world which is the highest Jewish value.

I can be present with my clients as they share anguish about their traumas and losses. I can help them work through their pain and capture their dreams.

I can write blogs and recently started writing songs that I play on guitar. I enter a world that is both peaceful and exciting while performing by myself.

I have learned that painful memories will always be painful no matter how much work I do on myself. If I experience a hurtful memory, it doesn’t mean that I am stuck. It simply means that memory was devastating. It is a reminder to focus on how far I have come since 1966 and to appreciate my efforts.

I love going to therapy because I often believe I am on the verge of learning something new about myself.

I’m trying to appreciate the journey more than obsessing about the outcome. This is an ongoing part of my work.

I have learned to appreciate my close connection with family and friends. My close friends are family and connecting with others is the greatest gift of all.

I have been married for almost forty-six years and we continue to share life, grow together and love deeper.

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