When I was four we lived in small house in downtown Atlanta. The house sat on top of a hill and my parents parked their cars at the bottom of the hill on the street. There were 22 steps from the bottom of the hill to the house I know this because I loved to count them. When I would fall asleep on the drive home my dad would carry me up all those stairs and I have to admit that sometimes I would just pretend to be asleep when I wanted to be carried. Looking back I realize that he did this out of love especially when he knew I was playing possum. (this is what he would say)
He is gone now and our relationship changed after my mother died. I would describe him as a kind patient man and a loyal partner. He loved to share the message of god's love to anyone willing to listen and sometimes even when they were not. He had the mind of an engineer and loved to talk. He never met a stranger and was there for anyone that asked.
All that being said he wasn’t able to connect emotionally with me and I interpreted that as something wrong with me. I have repeated my relationship with my dad in my personal life more than once seeking out people that were unable to connect emotionally. I can see now is that those relationships felt like home to me.
With time I have also realized that the same man that was willing to carry me up 22 steps when I was four was there all along. He didn’t know how to show his emotions and I needed that after my mother died. Now I feel I can let that go and be in a place of acceptance. He loved me and I loved him and remembering this has helped to heal the final traces of resentment I have had.