Bridging a 25-Year Gap

"Daddy's little girl" is a term that we hear often. I never understood its full meaning until I witnessed the relationship between my husband and our daughter. The bond between a father and daughter is very strong and that is why when that bond breaks, the pain leaves profound scars. I have attended a lot of Emmaus retreats and I have seen first hand how many women are carrying the burden of their broken relationships with their fathers. We may have issues with our mothers but because deep inside we always long to be "daddy's little girl," if there is a fissure in the relationship with our fathers, that pain tends to hurt twice as much.

A long time ago, I was also "daddy's little girl." I clearly remember the Sundays that I would spend with my dad. He would pick me up in the morning and we would either go to "El Vedado," where his aunt and uncle owned a school, or we would go to the beach or to the park or to walk along "El Malecon." I cherished those memories, especially after I left Cuba. Little did I know, on that November day, that I would not see my father again for 25 years.

During the first four years that I lived in Spain, I received monthly letters from my dad. I longed for those letters. They filled the hole that I had in my heart. Sometimes the letters would come with pictures of my two little brothers. I loved to see the faces of those two little boys I barely knew but whom I cared for deeply. And then one day, when I was eleven years old, I received a letter that broke my heart. The Cuban government had threatened my father and he could not write to me anymore. He told me that the biggest mistake of his life was allowing me to leave Cuba. Even though I was just a little girl, I felt betrayed. In my mind, he was choosing the government over me. I was angry, I was hurt and I let him know, in no uncertain terms, how I felt. In the last letter that I wrote to him, I told him that allowing me to leave Cuba was the best decision he had made because I lived in freedom, while he lived under the oppression of a government that could dictate to him even something as simple as writing a letter to his only daughter.

I probably would have wiped him from my heart, but my paternal grandmother made sure that I didn't. She took off where he left off. She began to write to me. She kept sending me pictures of my brothers. She kept open the lines of communication between our two distant families. She made sure that the fissure in our relationship would not be broken beyond repair. When her hand became old and frail, and she could no longer write to me, she made sure that my dad continued to write to me in her name. I knew it was my dad because I recognized his handwriting, but he never signed the letters.

I wrote back to my grandmother but I had erected a huge wall around my heart against my father. I wanted to protect my heart. I wanted to make sure I would never feel the pain of betrayal again. And then, 20 years after he stopped writing me, I received a letter from him. By that time, my grandmother had died, and I was a wife and mother with two small children. In the letter, he told me that he wanted to come and visit me. The decision was up to me. By this time, people from Cuba could come to visit their relatives in the United States as long as the US relative extended an invitation, the US relative paid all the expenses, and both the US and the Cuban governments gave their permission. The ball was on my side of the court. I could allow the pain of twenty years to dictate my decision or I could open a small door in the wall of my heart. I chose the latter.

Twenty-five years after I waved good-bye to my dad at the airport in Havana, I embraced him at the airport in Miami. To say that I was nervous is an understatement. When I saw him emerge from the terminal gate, I realized this was not the dad that I remembered. The young, tall, and strong hero from my childhood days had been replaced by an older version who seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He no longer looked tall and invincible. He looked tired and frail. My heart went out to him and I allowed him to hug me. I knew he had suffered more than I had, and yet, I still was not ready to tear down the wall around my heart.

He spent a month with us. I felt that he wanted to pick up where we left off, but I was no longer that 7-year-old girl that kissed the ground he walked on. I was no longer daddy's little girl. Every time he tried to hold my hand, I cringed. Every time he tried to talk to me about the past, I would change the subject. I made sure I was always surrounded with people. I was terrified of being alone with him. As long as I kept my heart guarded, I would be fine. A few days before he returned to Cuba, I took my kids to the park and he came along. I watched as he pushed Rafi and Chabeli on the swings, and I thought to myself, this is good. He is getting to know his grandchildren and they are getting to know their grandfather.

Then, he came and sat by my side on the bench, and he began to talk. He told me how the Cuban government had never forgiven him for signing off the permission slip that allowed my mother to take me out of Cuba. He told me how they threatened him about losing his job if he didn't cut off all ties with me. He told me how difficult it had been for him to write that fateful letter, and how for years, his biggest regret had been to allow me to leave Cuba. I allowed him to talk but I didn't say a word. My heart had been frozen within the walls of bitterness.

And then the day came when we had to say good-bye for the second time. This time was very different from that other good-bye, twenty-five years earlier. This time I was very much aware that this might be the last time that I would see him. I had no intentions of going to Cuba, and after treating him so coldly, I doubted he would want to come to visit us again. I hugged him good-bye, but I didn't shed a tear. I knew he was broken with pain, but I was incapable of saying a word of comfort to him. The airport was packed with family and friends that had come to say good-bye, for which I was grateful. In that ocean of people, I could hide behind the wall I had erected.

We left the airport in silence, well, except for the kids that were two chatterboxes full of questions: "When is abuelo coming to visit us again?" "Can we go to Cuba to visit him?" I had no answers. All I had was a knot in my heart. And that night, the walls that I had been erecting around my heart for over twenty years came tumbling down in a rush of tears. All the pain that I had securely hidden within came pouring out with only my hubby as witness. "What have I done?" I asked to no one in particular. "I sent him back without making amends." I could have extended his visit for at least another month. He had hinted various times that one of my brothers told him not to return. But I chose to close my ears as well as my heart, and now, it was too late. God had given me a great opportunity for reconciliation and I literally threw it out the door. We were on the Easter season and I did not show my father any sign of affection. And now he was gone.

But God had a bigger plan. It actually turned out that sending him back was the best decision I made, as I will share in a future reflection. Two years later my father moved permanently to Miami. God gave me a second chance at a full reconciliation. On this Easter Sunday, I can honestly say that my heart holds no bitterness whatsoever towards my father. He had two small boys that he had to feed, two elderly parents to care for and he had to make a tough choice. A choice that cost him a lot more than it cost me. When I hear daily on the news, everything that is happening now with Cuba, and the opinions from both sides of the gulf, I can honestly say that bridging that 50-year gap will not be easy, but it's not impossible. I made the decision to cross the bridge and remove 25 years of pain and bitterness from my heart. And I can walk a lot lighter because of it.

Every woman, deep inside, longs to be "daddy's little girl." If you still have the blessing of having your father alive, and your relationship is broken because of something that happened in the past, mend fences before it's too late. It's time to repair those broken bonds. And even though you may not hold hands the way you once did, you will feel much better once you remove all those old resentments from your heart. If he is no longer present on this earth, write him a letter or send him a prayer. Resentment weights too much, and it affects the person that carries it around much more than it hurts the other person. Find it deep within your heart to forgive. You will become a better person because of it and you will feel much lighter.

God bless you and have a blessed Easter!!!

The Joseph in my Life

"Listen, children, to a father’s instruction, and be attentive, that you may gain insight." Proverbs 4:1

I would not dare to compare myself to Jesus in any way, shape or form because I would always fall short. But I do have something in common with Him. Jesus had two dads and so do I. And I'm not counting God as one of those dads. No, I'm only counting my earthly dads. Remember that show in the 80s? It was called "My Two Dads" and I always related to it because I have been blessed with two earthly dads.

I know many persons that have a step-father but they never truly consider him a dad. Maybe it was because my step-father entered my life when I was only three years old or most likely because he has always been an amazing father, but I have never considered him my step-dad, he has been my dad as far back as I can remember. I actually recall the day that I started calling him "papi." I was eight years old, living in Spain. At that time, I still called him "Ramon," but none of my friends and neighbors in Madrid knew that he was not my biological father. One day, a neighbor heard me calling him, "Ramon, Ramon!!!" and she assumed that's how children addressed their fathers back in Cuba. She told me, "here in Spain children don't address their fathers by their name, they call them 'papá'." I went to my mom and I asked her, "do you think Ramon will mind if I call him 'papá'?" She told me, "why don't you go ask him yourself." And so I did. And that day I saw tears in his eyes.

My dad was the perfect combination of toughness and kindness. He was very strict with me when I was growing up but I knew that he loved me as if I was his real daughter. He never raised his voice or his hand at me but whenever I did something wrong, he punished me and I knew he meant it. If my punishment was supposed to last one week, he never cut it short. I am the woman that I am today because of that combination of love and strictness. He taught me always to respect, to be kind, to love and to give the best of myself.

Even though I was apart from my biological father for twenty-five years, my dad never allowed me to forget that I had another father. He never tried to replace him. Now that my biological father lives in Miami and I get to spend time with both of them in many celebrations, like Christmas, my dad always makes sure to let me know that he is very happy that I invited my father to be with us.

The past three years have been tough on him as he sees his health fail him. But he is one tough cookie. Rafael, my husband, claims that he has more lives than a cat and must be living now his 12th life at least. And he is right. He has been through more hospitalizations and surgeries than I can recall. Three years ago he almost lost his leg. Last year, he almost lost his life when both lungs collapsed. But thank God, it always stays in "almost." We have been celebrating the last three Christmases as if it may be the last one and thank God, we continue to have him with us. He even got to return to Spain last October, a dream that three years ago we thought it would be impossible. And I wouldn't be the least surprised if he goes back this year. That is my dad, the "energizer bunny," he just keeps going and going.

The relationship that he has with my mom is one to be admired. He simply adores her. I truly believe that he is grabbing on to this life with all his might because he is afraid to leave her alone. During all his hospitalizations, he was more worried about my mom than about himself. I remember one time, after he came out of the anesthesia, a little disoriented, he looked around the room and when he saw my mom, his face just lighted up with the biggest smile. My mom asked him, "what are you so happy about?" And he answered her, "I'm happy because I was afraid that I would never see you again." I thought to myself, "this is better than a romantic movie." When they told us that they may need to cut his leg, his response was, "I'm sorry for your mom." He wasn't worried about losing his leg, he was worried about becoming a burden to my mom. That's what true love is, caring about the one you love more than you care about yourself. And he's had that love for my mom for fifty years.

My relationship with him has always been strong but it has solidified itself in these past years. All those hospitalizations gave us the opportunity to spend quality time together. I learned things about his past that I never knew. It confirmed what I always knew. My dad has a heart of gold and Heaven has a room waiting for him. But he's not ready yet... And in the meantime, we get to enjoy his presence in our lives for a little longer.

God bless you papi and may He continue to give you the strength to carry on.

Into the Light

"The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined." 

Isaiah 9:2

"If anyone asks me 'Are you OK?' or 'Is there anything I can do for you?' then I won't jump." But nobody asked him and because he felt that no one cared, he jumped off the Golden Gate Bridge. He was just nineteen years old at the time, he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder and he had begun to hear voices telling him he had to die. He shared his miracle story of surviving against all odds with an enthralled audience on Sunday, February 21st at the Pullman Hotel in Miami. Kevin Hines, author of "Cracked Not Broken, Surviving and Thriving after a Suicide Attempt," was the guest speaker at the First Inaugural Luncheon of the Key Clubhouse of South Florida, an organization that helps persons that suffer from mental illness. His story touched the hearts of the almost three hundred persons that were present at the event.

The Key Clubhouse opened its doors in Miami six years ago to fill a big gap in our community. Florida rated 50th in the country at the time, when it came to resources and funding for mental illness. In six years we have moved up one space in the ranking which is very sad when statistics show that one in every four adults living in our state suffers from some kind of mental illness. The majority of our homeless population suffers from a mental illness and a large portion of the persons locked up in our jails suffer from a mental illness. Lack of funding should never be an excuse. And that is the main goal of the Key Clubhouse. The Key Clubhouse's mission is to afford people whose lives have been disrupted by mental illness the opportunity to recover meaningful and productive lives through reintegration into the workplace and the community. Their goal is a high quality of life for all members, ongoing improvement, and the ultimate elimination of stigma associated with mental illness. And they don't charge a penny for their services. Any adult, living with mental illness, can join for free and membership is for life. In the past six years, they have helped over three hundred adults.

When a person is diagnosed with a serious mental illness, they go through a period of total darkness. All of a sudden, life as they knew it, is no more. Accepting that they have a mental illness is usually the biggest hurdle. Sometimes they fall into a deep depression. Other times they hear voices in their heads that are telling them to do things that otherwise they would not even consider. Most of the times, these voices command them to hurt themselves or to take their own lives because that is the best solution since they have become a burden to their loved ones. When a person that suffers from a mental illness dies because of suicide, they did not do it willingly. They truly believed that taking their life was what they needed to do. It was their only solution at the time.

The Key Clubhouse stands in our community as a beacon of hope, love, joy and healing. They bring members out of the darkness and into the light. That was the theme of our luncheon, "Into the Light." And almost three hundred persons gathered together to tell Kevin Hines and all the clubhouse members that they do care and that they stand behind them. A person living with a mental illness can have a meaningful and productive life in spite of their mental illness. Kevin Hines is living proof that this is possible. And so are all the members that were present at the event. Many of them have found jobs and are now reintegrated in our community living a quality of life that had not been possible if it had not been for the hope and the help that they found at the Key Clubhouse.

So next time you see a person on the street that looks lost or broken, take the time to ask: "Are you OK? or "Is there anything I can do for you?" You may be saving a life.

To find out more about the Key Clubhouse, to donate or to partner with them for employment, please visit:

http://www.keyclubhouse.org or call 305-374-5115.