For thirty some odd years, I lived in sorrow.  Unfortunately, I looked outside of myself to find answers to the problems within me.  When my father died, family life, as I knew it, was gone.  My mother stopped reading to us -- how I missed seeing the perfect orange eraser on that beautiful yellow pencil dance across the words on the pages of those books that smelled so good.  Gone were the mother and daughter dresses.  Out went the compassion my mother once had.  In stepped bitterness, sarcasm, hateful words were spoken -- you're just like your aunt; lazy -- you make me sick to look at you -- a baby would know not to put a hot pot on that counter.  I couldn't do anything right and just like Pavlov's dogs, I kept looking for the right buttons to push just so I could be accepted.  That's when I learned to please everybody.  Be whatever they want you to be and you'll be fine.  People will like you.

Help your mother out Angela, don't be so rebellious.  I had so much pain within me, my father's death, incest, attempted rapes, friends who set me up to be hurt.  No, Angela, forget about your pain, you should think about others and the pain you're causing them.  And I did -- I stopped acting out and pushed it all inside to fester like a soar or cancer.  I went to my room and listened to music.  All day, everyday if need be.  I became like Saul, I needed David's harp to sooth me.  I became an introvert so as to not bring myself further harm and to stay out of everyone's way.  Then, one day, my mother called me selfish.  Now, I don't blame her really.  She didn?t know half the things that happened to me, and she didn't know my pain.  Equally so, she had no idea how much of myself I had given up just to keep peace.  So, I descended into a pit of loneliness and despair and I put on the coat of self hatred and wore it everywhere. 

When I got pregnant at 21 and when I told my supposed fiance about the pregnancy, he dealt a severe blow to my heart by asking me, "how do I know it's mine?"  Those words hit at the very core of my being when, in spite of all of the dirt he did to me, I was always faithful to him.  He took the dirt from the street, the dirt from other women I knew he was seeing, the dirt from his own deeds and dressed me in it.  Then, two days after my abortion, he called and yes, I was mad with him and led him to believe I did not go through with the abortion, but the words he chose to use were words that let me know just how much he had always resented me.  He told me I would never raise the child.  He told me I could go on and marry a Harvard man, but no one other man would raise his child.  A Harvard man?  What did that mean exactly. 

What it meant goes back to the orange eraser, on the yellow pencil that danced across the words on the pages of the books my mother used to read to us.  In reading to us, she taught us to pronounce and to enunciate our words.  That was the beginning of my problems -- I talked "proper."  That led to talking, acting, and thinking like a white girl, which led to marrying a "Harvard man."  And since, at that time, I was attending an "elitist college" I was exposed to many things about life, history, music and as well as my body.  He knew, on April 21, 1979, my birthday, the day we became engaged, on the evening we consummated the engagement, he knew I would get pregnant when he gripped me tight and laid into me after requesting I not put in my diaphragm until later.  He knew, because I told him earlier that day I had ovulated.  I felt the pain of the egg when it burst forth from my ovaries and I made the terrible mistake of informing him of that fact.  He knew and had the nerve to later ask me "how do I know it's mine."  That's what the "Harvard man" means -- he resented me and I carried the seed of resentment within my womb -- what kind of child would I have had, conceived in resentment and not love?  I do not regret my abortion, my only regret was not loving myself enough to spare myself the pain. 

So, I added to the coat of self hatred, the scarf of self deprecation, the hat of self destruction, the gloves of self mutilation.  I smoked, I did drugs, I drank to excess.  I became an alcoholic overnight.  I did things I never wanted to do.  I engaged myself with people I never wanted in my life.  I saw things I never wanted to see.  I went places I never wanted to go.  I did these things because I felt undeserving of any good thing in life.  I continued this behavior until 1987 after quitting my job because my legs and my heart had finally given out.  The festering cancerous ball of self hatred had taken its toll on me and for two years, I couldn't walk.  I don't mean physically, I mean mentally, spiritually.  In 1989, having returned to the church and finally becoming baptized Catholic, I went to God  . . .

Let me tell you a story

            Of how my God, spoke to me.

One evening, I vowed to pray all night

            I asked the Lord to show me the light.

I told the Lord how I was sad and broken hearted.

            And, essentially, this is how the evening started.

I then asked what do I do and where do I go?

            Lord, please, help me to know.

Then, suddenly, deep down in my soul

            I felt something unfold.

Ca -- Ca -- Caleb was the word

            I immediately jumped up and acted on what I heard.

I looked through every index of every Bible.

            Then I looked to see if he was definable.

Caleb was nowhere to be found.

            I stood up and I looked around.

I then realized what God had given, in Caleb, was a lock

            So I returned to the Lord and said okay Lord, I again went off half-cocked.

I asked God where I might find him and returned to my knees to pray

            And this time the voice did say

                        Joshua 14:6

I thought Lord, how do I know it's you?

            When the words came again, I knew they were true.

I ran for my Bible and turned to the chapter and verse

            You won't believe what I saw first

"Caleb inherits the Hill Country" was the title

            I also knew, these words were vital.

Though it has taken several years for me to understand

            There is a reason for me to know this man.

Fore this man represents overcoming fear.

            And, this is why I'm here.

If not for him I wouldn't be doing what I love.

            I owe a debt to God, not above

No, God is with me right here today,

            Which is why I am able to say

He accepts you right where you are

            He is near and never far.

November 9, 1998

                        True Colors

I was released from my valley that day.  And yes, though I was more aware or better said, awake.  I still had a few hurdles yet to clear.  I needed and wanted to understand Caleb.  In 1990, I moved to Los Angeles because of a vision I had in a dream. 

One day, I attended mass during the lunch hour and stayed a while longer to ask God if this is what I should do.  Not only did his spirit speak to me affirming this, I also knew the airline to take and the day I would leave Chicago.  In searching for a cheap ticket to Los Angeles, I found the cheapest ticket on United Airlines on the very date the Lord had given me.  I did not question this.  I left according to this divine plan. 

I still, however, had one more valley to tour through before I would fully understand myself.  This was the hardest one, and it dealt with loving myself. 

Life is short and pain lasts too long.

My heart aches -- I need someone to tell me what's wrong.

Melodies sooth me every now and then.

Somebody help me kill this pain within.

Dear Daddy,

Today, for the first time in my life, I thought of you as "Daddy" instead of "My Father."  For whatever reason you became more personal to me than formal.  I don't know why.  So, wanting to capture this unique moment, I sat down to compose a letter to you; just to let you know how I feel and who I am -- when soon, I realized . . . I don't really know you. 

I started . . .

Dear Daddy,

I don't know where you are or if you even know who I am today.  I wish you were here.  I miss you.  I feel as if you left before I had a chance to receive my inheritance from you -- not an inheritance of money or things, but the inheritance of you, who you are and the impact of you on my life.  I honestly don't know if there is any part of me that is a reflection of you. 

I hope, in some way, you are guiding my life and you are helping me.  I wish I could see you just one more time to tell you how much you were my hero.  How I appreciated what you did that day when those boys attacked me down in the hallway.  You went after them.  I never forgot that.  I, to this day, have remembered that day.  After you died, mom became very bitter.  She blamed God for taking you away. 

I wish I had known you.  I wish I knew what your favorite color was or your thoughts on life.  I feel like I lost my only supporter with your death.  Growing up was not easy.  If you had been here, I certainly would have told you about my counsin.  In fact, I probably would have stayed with you to avoid him while mom talked with her sister.  I did not have female cousins to play with growing up, only boys.  So, I guess I got into a lot of trouble because of it.  I grew up lonely.  My girlfriends were more jealous of me than anything else and set me up quite often to get even with me.  I had no one to truly talk to.  I do remember though I could talk to you and you would listen and encourage me.  I wish you lived long enough for me to talk to you now and have you listen to me and give me advice and support.  I really miss you.

Love Angela.

Cathartic?  Yes.  Writing this letter to you helped me realize how little I knew about you.  Only one memory stood out and that was you as my protector.  Somehow, I feel I need that now.  Equally cathartic was the wild hair I got when I thought -- I should allow you to write back to me -- I would just pretend you received my letter and you in turn wrote me. 

Dear Angela,

I have seen your life.  I have watched you grow.  I know the pain you have endured.  Do know too, that I have been there with you through all of those experiences and did what I could to prevent them from getting out of hand.  I also know you have a need to be loved.  Understand though, your mother had to do what she needed to do in order to give both you and your brother a good home and life.  I have strengthened her through the whole process.  However, we are not perfect -- she's not perfect. 

Angela, live your life for you, not for others.  Be free in who you are.  Stop hiding.  When you stand up for what you believe and for who you are, then you will know true freedom.  And, do not let others live through you. 

I have watched you look for love in all the wrong places and when you find someone who could truly love you for you, you run away.  Why?  Is it because you feel undeserving of that love?  Is it because you feel you are unworthy because of what happened to you?  You have allowed the dirt of others to become the suit of clothes you wear.  Discard them and dress yourself.  

You know what you want to do.  You know your heart's desire.  Remember?  You used to make up stories and tell them to me.  You used to dance and sing for me.   When you watch a good movie, when you hear a good song, when you watch a dancer perform, your soul stirs.   Your life is the theater and you have been practicing for a long time. Listen to your own voice, look at how you walk.  This is who you are.  Try as you might, you will never escape it and your soul will continue in turmoil until you have freed this part of you.  You are okay. 

There are many truths you do not know now, but you will.  Jealousy has plagued you most of your life.  That will not change.  Be aware of it.  There are many that will do almost anything to prevent you from getting where you need to go.  Again, be aware and know I will be with you always.

Love, your Father.

Though the voice was truly my own, the sentiment was not.  I had forgotten my little performances for my father.  Only through writing this letter from him to me did I remember my dancing, singing and storytelling.  This was not only the who of me then, it was also who I became in grade school, high school and college.  I lived to escape on stage.  And, tragically, I lost myself sometime after my first abortion or somewhere between life long sorrow and unrequited love. 

Oh father, if only you were here.  If only I could talk with you.  Mom spoke of how you listened to her and helped her free herself from the demons that beckoned to her.  How I long for someone to care enough about me to listen to me, to understand me, to love me. 

For twenty years since my abortion, I still occupy a space in sorrow's dwelling.  For more than thirty years since your death, I have traveled the corridors of misunderstanding.  My life is silence, was yours that way as well?  Were you the great ear everyone talked to, but no one ever listened?  Am I a lot like you?

Life is short and pain lasts too long.

My heart aches and I don't know what's wrong.

Melodies move me every now and then.

But, they only temporarily relieve the pain within.

I have tried so desperately to bring my life some joy

Then, I thought drugs would be the tools I'd employ.

Nothing seemed to work -- nothing quelled the pain.

Everything I did was done in vain.

The pain remained.

Life is short and pain lasts too long.

My heart still aches and I don't know what's wrong.

Melodies fail to move me now.

And I can't begin to fake a smile.

Dear daddy, I have now turned to you

In hopes you might bring something I can value.

And, in fact, you did on that wonderful day,

By bringing forth, to me, truth in a mystical way.

Life is short and pain lasts too long.

My heart aches and I am beginning to know what's wrong.

Melodies have begun to stir my soul again

As I fight to relieve the pain within.

Call it automatic writing or mysticism if you will

But, it was the truth in your letter that remains with me still.

And regardless of what happens, I will never forget

The words of love and wisdom you did remit.

Life is short and pain lasts too long.

My heart yearns for joy and my mind thinks its wrong.

Melodies move me every now and again.

But, it is the melody of my heart relieving the pain within.

So, dear daddy, on that day our relationship was made anew

And I began to see things from a different point of view.

And though joy still escapes me

I am able to see

That I am with you and you are here with me.

Life is short and pain lasts too long.

My heart did ache until I discovered what was wrong.

Melodies still move me every now and then.

But, it is love of self that relieves the pain within.

And then, all of a sudden, I felt your truth.  You were right -- yes, yes, you were right.  I danced and I sang for you.  I told you stories and you applauded me, you encouraged me, you were my audience and I your performer.  And after your death I was overcome with sorrow.  After your death I felt abandoned and came up with all sorts of illnesses and ailments.  I blamed you for leaving me.  I wanted to die too.  So, I distanced myself from you and referred to you as "My Father" -- not daddy, not anymore.  You left me with a bitter woman and I could do nothing right in her eyes -- I blamed you for that.  My cousin took advantage of me and I blamed you for that.  My mother did not encourage me as you once did and I blamed you for that.  When I had that abortion, death appeared at my door once more and yes, I blamed you for that too.  You were not here to give me the kind of guidance that a daughter needs from her father and for more than thirty years; I have blamed you for every little thing that has happened to me -- unconsciously. 

So, dear daddy, your sleeping giant has awakened.  I forgive you for leaving me physically and will accept your inheritance, spiritually. 

From talent shows in grade school, to writing and reciting poetry and all-city chorus in high school, to writing and photography in college, your little girl will perform again.  And if no one else appreciates what I do, I know you will.  And if no one understands me, I know you do.  And I also know, you are here with me now as you have always been.  And yes, I took the negatives shot with the 35 mm Argus and reprinted the negatives of you and I together on a park bench in Chicago -- yes, you are with me and I am with you.

Life is short and the pain lasts too long

In my heart, there plays a new song

Love of self is my new tune

Now watch me Daddy, while I shoot for the moon.

Thank you daddy.

Love Angela.