Are You My Father? (eBook)

Chapter 1: Out of the Nest

There are five chairs lined up in a perfect row. Everything is set up in an ideal way. There are white folding chairs on a red rug surrounded by a beautifully maintained green lawn with white headstones as far as you can see. Every so often, a large tombstone sticks its head out of the ground, and you can spot at least one mausoleum in the distance. There is a slight breeze, but the humidity is hanging over the crowd. No one is speaking, and almost everyone is wearing black, as expected. There are ten men dressed in military uniforms, three with swords and seven with rifles. Everyone next to me and standing in front of me, including the pallbearers, is sweating profusely. July in the nation’s capital is sweltering, and humid and this day is no exception. As a rule, I do not sweat profusely. However, my dress is sticking to my body. There is that yucky feeling when you are so hot that the back of your neck begs for a cold washcloth or a couple of ice cubes. Why did I spray my hair this morning? The hair spray is melting like hot honey and caking on my forehead. My husband has a band of perspiration across his forehead which he keeps wiping away with the overused tissue. Beads of sweat gather around the necklace I am wearing. It is a dull gold chain with a precious, shining heart given to me by my husband. I look at it and remember that I am loved and, My God, it is hot!!

The heels of my shoes sink into the grass, which is saturated from sprinklers that did their job before our arrival. Why aren’t I wearing flat shoes—not only to avoid the wet turf, but to be more comfortable? I hate these black shoes and vow to trash them as soon as possible.

The 400,000 small white crosses covering 620 acres of carefully manicured lawns make quite an impression. It is my first time attending a military burial at Arlington Cemetery. Pomp and ceremony take on a new meaning. There are even horses. They are not as big as Clydesdales, but close. I am sure that underneath all that hair, the heat is most uncomfortable. One horse breaks the silence with his gentle neighing, which sounds like an intermittently working circulating fan. Six Navy men take a step forward and fire their guns as the Blue Angel jets fly overhead. That is a surprise. I know those planes show up at football games or parades, but funerals? I jump out of my skin as someone suddenly taps me on my right shoulder. The priest opens his mouth, but I do not hear any sound coming out. It all takes place in a corner of my mind that is not in the moment, except for the wet grass and giant horses. There is that surreal feeling of knowing that it is happening, but not feeling like I am a participant. I am an observer. I feel like I am standing in the shadows, but there is no shade. No, there is not even a chair for me. The other four daughters and son sit in seats of honor for our father, the Admiral.

I found my father and lost him on that miserable muggy day in Washington, DC. As I viewed the acres of white crosses, I do not remember thinking of the thousands of soldiers who were dead and buried there. I was too self-absorbed to acknowledge their presence. These men died serving their country. What about their souls? What about their afterlife?

I do believe in a Higher Power, whom I call God, but Heaven or Hell are not in my vocabulary. My spiritual journey tells me that these men did not die in vain. Their lives, just like my father’s, touch all of us—the survivors. I remember what my father told me. “You only have to die once.” Maybe our bodies do get buried, and our souls pass on to the universe to further influence the lives and destinies of others. My father’s legacy touched so many. This funeral cannot be the end. While I do not believe in reincarnation, I know the “spirit” is mystical and transcends. My spiritual experience tells me that this funeral is not an event, but it is a process that continues beyond my father’s grave. The family secret will be revealed, and others will be affected. This memorial service is definitely a new beginning in my life.

My one sister, Lynn, knows the truth. Of course, Chris, my husband, is aware of the circumstances leading up to this moment. No one understands how I feel or what made me show up at this memorial service. There were no tears, but lots of sadness. In fact, I held back all my emotions, which I learned to do at an incredibly young age. “Don’t smile! Keep your lips perfectly horizontal across your face.” My facial appearance is kind of a smirk, but a little more mysterious than that. I guess some people would call it the deadpan look.

I talk to no one, but there is a great deal of resentment. I am still thinking to myself: “Are you my father?” I am trying to make sense out of the events that led to this overwhelming sense of loss. Grief is where love and pain converge. “What brought me to this place in time? Who am I that I question everything and everybody?” This self-appraisal might help explain my future actions and reactions.

Most people would describe me as having an outgoing personality (the look helped with the performance), somewhat eccentric at times, a perfectionist, and sometimes compulsive. There was the time when I decided to get a llama and thirty goats one morning as I drank my morning coffee because I wanted to see if I liked being a goat herder. Middle-aged and slightly overweight, I am average-built, smart, and emotionally challenged, and can be extremely moody. Of course, these are very middle-of-the-road descriptions, and perhaps more adjectives will help define middle.

If you just hit age fifty, the “middle” moves up to age sixty, but I would still describe myself as middle-aged and one who missed my youth. However, I now qualify for those super-senior discounts at IHOP (International House of Pancakes.) Overweight? Since childhood, sermons on being “too fat” have been part of the parental communication which did nothing to help with the extra pounds. On the contrary, the constant harassing, belittling, and judging did nothing to support a ten-year-old girl lose weight. However, in high school, I did shed all those extra pounds and went straight for anorexia without passing go. Over the years, the two extremes have balanced out, and I am somewhere between too thin and preferred weight chart tables. In adulthood, I have discovered most of my friends have an extreme body-image distortion of how they look. My two athletic buddies (one bikes over fifty miles a week and the other is in the local gym five to six days a week) are constantly on diets and complaining about how fat they are becoming in old age. On the contrary, both are extremely healthy and have BMIs that anyone would be proud about. Go figure!

When I tell you that I am intelligent, I mean highly intelligent. I am not relying on my test scores but more on my creativity, my search for truths, and being a walking sponge when it comes to learning—I listen intently to everyone and everything. This is a gift and my children have been the beneficiaries.

Born with brown eyes and short blond hair (dirty blond) describes me. My intense interest in other people leads me on numerous adventures to help persons less fortunate than myself. I am an extremely caring person. I heard a college adviser say, “If we could all select a good friend, Janet would be high on the list. She has the ‘good’ attributes as well as the ‘kinky,’ which makes her fun to be around.” I don’t know I believed my English professor at that time, but I never forgot what she had said.

Often, I forget to look out for myself and overdo physically. I take items on my “to do” list very seriously and usually complete it all before stopping. The muscles, nerves, and bones are not what they used to be, and some chores take twice as long to accomplish than they did in the past, or in my thirties. Of course, the next day is when I pay the piper. Getting out of bed is agonizing and walking across the rug takes an incredibly long time. I am usually helpless and somewhat hopeless on the day after a hard workout. It is a struggle to keep balance in my life, physically, mentally, and emotionally. “Isn’t that what shrinks are for?”

Take off the social mask, and I describe myself quite differently. From the inside-out, I am very insecure, am twenty-five pounds overweight in all the wrong places, have short and thin, lifeless hair, and have just average intelligence. I do have excessive mood swings and a host of other diagnoses that doctors have given to me over the years, which might explain the eccentricity. Loneliness is one feeling that never leaves me, and that is why I like to be around people. However, being around people does not always help my overwhelming feeling of being all alone in this world. I often feel isolated in a crowd and often perform, so others believe that I not only fit in but am also enjoying the group that I am with. It is also why I volunteer for far-out projects and get involved with the community disasters. My intelligence is overrated, and I just try to do the best possible. I cannot stand to be bored and can be somewhat of a rabble-rouser when the event calls for commitment. I do know lots and lots of people in different walks of life, but I am only genuinely close to my husband, Chris, and my children, George, David, and Kate. In fact, that is what this story is all about. Will the real Janet Williams please stand up?

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The funeral service is breaking up. Chris and I stand aside to let...