Hello, everyone. I am not sure why I feel so compelled to share today's importance in a blog post, but please know that this post comes from the deepest, most honest part of my heart. I feel as though I have been upfront on many issues thus far on my blog, and am committed to attempting to journal this new journey I am on for my own benefit and for future reference. I have tracked the progress of each post and many of those who are committed to reading, I personally know. For those of you I do not know, I would like to welcome you and thank you for following my on this journey. However, regardless of our relationship, I invite each of you to follow with me as I share part of my heart.
Many of you never had the opportunity to meet my dad. I will admit that I did not know him very well, either. Eight years ago today Hurricane Ivan was approaching New Orleans. Also, eight years ago today my dad died. These two events were so intertwined symbolically it is almost ridiculous to think about it in depth. I remember the Patrician Academy tornado bell going off and Mrs. Couch sharing a message over the loud speaker. School was being dismissed around break because the rain bands were becoming very dangerous in our area. Since I was only in 8th grade and could not drive, my mom came to pick me up and we immediately went home to make a few phone calls to check on my grandparents and aunts in Bogalusa, LA, a paper mill town north of New Orleans. Choctaw County was expected to lose power that afternoon and there would not be a guaranteed phone call later in the day to check on everyone. We arrived home, and as usual I checked the answering machine. I thought it was odd that we had 3 missed calls because we never received many messages. However, once I listened to the messages I realized they were all from my mom's sister, urging her to call back as soon as possible. Knowing now what I did not know then, I guess you could say we were in for rough weather in more ways than one. Looking back, I was so confused, shocked, and hurt. I was only 13. I did not understand how so much could go wrong so quickly. By nightfall, Ivan had hit land and the impact was felt in more ways than one for many people across the south and especially for those in our immediate family.
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I think I can say all of this with such force simply because I did not know my dad as well as most daughters should know their fathers. Sometimes, I like to think that we did have a relationship even though we did not. If he were here today I believe I would attempt a relationship on my end, even if the feeling was not mutual. In the past, on numerous occasions I have ask my mom specific questions about daddy and she would answer each with precise answers, never beating around the bush. She never tried to hide anything from me, nor keep me in the dark regardless of what I longed to know. Now that I look back, honesty was exactly what I needed. But, I am older now. I am an adult and I long for more of my father.
Regardless of the life my father lived and the relationship he and I shared while he was alive, he is and always will be my father. He loved my mother enough to bring me into this world, and that in itself is enough proof for me. Although my dad is no longer alive, I know that he still is a part of my life in many physical and emotional ways. That aspect of my life will never change. Even though I long for a relationship with my dad, I know that it is not possible. Like many who have lost loved ones, I feel as though the emotions are the same despite the type of loss or the connection shared between the two. Like most, of course I have questions as to why, emotional remorse and anger for what was lost so long ago. However, because I am a firm believer in Christ I know that one day I will be able to know the truth of which cannot be determined in this life. This particular valley in my life does represent that which was lost, but more so of that which I long for thatcannot and will not be attained.
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As a young girl, I was at church every time the doors would open. Naturally, the old familiar verse from Ecclesiastes 3:1 comes to my mind this morning as I think over the events of this date eight years ago. "There is a time and season for every activity under Heaven." Yet, even though I find comfort in God's word, I still remember the effects of September 15, 2004. I can still remember being a little girl eating breakfast at the Patrician Academy cafeteria one minute and just a few short hours later feeling all grown up. Even though the unexpected can happen in such a very short time, even though I had to grow up fast- sometimes the warning bell we hear is not strong enough to prepare us for what lies ahead.
I will always savor the memories I have of my father, and I will always love him. Though my memories may be slim, I do have few that are precious and rare. Relationships are not always perfect. Life is certainly never perfect. I believe the goal in this world is to successfully learn how to live and how to be happy in the midst of the valley, not just when on top of the mountain. For those of you reading today, remember your family. Remember to establish that relationship, line of communication, and depth of love which can overpower most odds. I hope I have made you proud, daddy. Until next time, happy blogging.
This is my brother, Aaron Lee Hall. Everyone says he looks like daddy when he was a child.
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