Healing Through Poetry: A Daughter’s Journey

My father died two weeks ago.  He was 99 years old.  He had a good and long life.  He gave me poetry, a puppy, love of literature, love of travel, love of food and cooking, and love of learning.  All those things enriched my life tremendously.  He did very good things.  And still – his behavior was erratic.  He could be kind and then incredibly cruel.  He seemed to get angry when I was most joyful.  I was a little girl.  I was joyful a lot in spite of him.  The joy was my shining armor, my defense.

We did not speak for the last four years of his life.  I just couldn’t.  His voice gave me panic attacks.  His words made me scared even after all these years. I decided that I needed to protect myself even if I was no longer a little girl.  I needed to keep a safe distance. 

When friends say that they are sorry for my loss.  I say, “My loss happened long ago.”  That little girl lost her father, her protector.  She was hurt but she healed.  She grew up and had gratitude for joyful days and beauty in this precious world.

My father was a World War II Marine veteran. He was in the bloodiest battle in Okinawa. He was only 17 years old. I cannot imagine and atrocities he witnessed. So, yes – I understood, even as a little girl, his erratic behavior. He wrote a memoir of his war days called The Timid Marine about 20 years ago. When I read it, I was struck by how some of his experiences interlaced with some of the poetry I wrote to heal. It’s remarkable how, even though we could not communicate well face to face, we could communicate through our writing, our poetry.

I’m glad he had a long life and that he did not suffer. The last thing he said to my sister was, “I have 2 books reserved at the library. I guess I’m not going to get to read them.” Ah – always the curious seeker! Good-bye, old Marine.  May you find peace and rest.

I took my father’s words from his memoir and juxtaposed them with my words, poems I have written over the years.