Earth Experiences #16: Embracing Indifference

Learning when to let go and when to lean in

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The first three books on my Winter of Discontent reading list. Many more to come!

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Many years ago, my mom told me that I’d find peace when my biological dad’s actions (or non-actions) failed to move me one way or the other.

“Indifference is the place where feelings go to die,” she said. “That’s what I want for you.”

I'd spent so much of my childhood wishing that my dad would stay, holding on to the checks he’d promised we could cash once his paycheck came, sitting by the phone with a useless rectangle of paper in my hand, waiting… waiting. I’d raged and cried and questioned and threatened. I’d wondered if I was the reason he wouldn’t stay. Was I too much? I was often too much. Was I too hard to love? I had unruly hair and too many freckles. I’d watched other fathers sit on the sidelines at Little League baseball games, cheering for their own daughters and sons. I’d opened presents under the tree that were signed by my dad, but were written in my mom’s handwriting. I’d made promises to my Catholic God, had said Acts of Contrition, had vowed to “go forth and sin no more.”

But my dad never stayed.

Eventually, I did find the peace my mom had promised. When I had my own children and was able to pour my unconditional love into them and their squishy, baby toes, I knew I did not want my dad around to steal their sunshine and light and warmth. So, I wrote him a letter telling him that I would not let him do to his grandchildren what he had done to me.

And when I sent that letter, I let it all go—the questions, the anguish, the abandonment.

When I was told a few weeks ago that my dad was in hospice and on his deathbed, I vacillated between staying and going for a few arduous days. Should I go and risk my heart again, not knowing what might happen? Or should I stay and possibly regret someday that I missed my last chance to say goodbye?

Ultimately, I decided to go, not knowing whether I would actually see him or not; running all the possible scenarios through my head on the six-hour drive to Hilton Head, South Carolina.

I’d been told he did not want to see me, but when my name was mentioned as I stood by his door, I saw him lift his head and say, “Katrina? She’s here? Where is she?” I heart the excitement in his voice. It was clear that I’d been given false information.

He did want to see me.

When I held his hand and said, “I’m right here, Dad,” he broke down in sobs. “You came,” he said. “I’m so sorry, Katrina,” he said. “I’m so very sorry. All my life, I’ve missed you. I love you so much. I always have.”

And I said to him, “It’s over, Dad. It’s all in the past. You can let it go. I just wanted to say goodbye, and to thank you for giving me the best mom and your blue eyes.”

A lifetime of waiting was over in five minutes. I didn’t cry. I didn’t break down. I just let go. He’d taught me the necessity of letting go. I was good at it.

I don’t yet know if my dad is dead. I may never know exactly when he leaves this earthly life. But he left me decades ago, and I learned over the course of many hard years not to expect anything of him, not to give him my heart or soul, not to surrender myself to a promise that would never come to fruition.

It’s interesting that I said goodbye to my biological dad in the midst of this election chaos. My visit with him took place three days before our country said no to a powerful, qualified black woman and said yes to a racist, divisive, felon-rapist instead.

I cried the entire week after the election. I woke every morning with this heavy sense of dread and foreboding on my skin and in my bones. I felt the weight of the world—and the fate of my children’s future—in the grieving recesses of my heart. And after I dried all those tears, I decided that this pivotal moment in our nation’s history was not the time for indifference.

This past week, I have been pouring my heart into a new job that I am so grateful for, and I have also been thinking about how to get more involved in this country’s future; how to prepare for the resistance. As a writer, I’ve always been an avid reader, so I decided to begin there.

With books. With education.

Knowledge is power, and I am arming myself with weapons of wisdom for the coming days, months, years. I am steeling my spine for the battles that lie ahead. And although the feelings of dread and foreboding still live in every pore of my skin, I am combatting them with words that I can turn into action.

First, I feather my nest with knowledge.

Then, I fight.

My mom was a fighter, too. Nothing ever kept her down for long. She taught me both the power of indifference and the necessity of standing up and speaking out—and the right circumstances in which to use both.

As a single mother, she taught me everything worth knowing when she wasn’t even legally allowed to apply for credit without a man. She persevered. I will, too. I will do it for her, in her memory, and in her honor.

Join me?