When I was 5 years old, my family, as they often did, went to the Paris Fair in September. Not at all unlike other fairs in SW Ontario, there were Ferris Wheels, Merry Go Rounds, Cotton Candy, Fun Houses, and other rides. I was walking along with my dad, going back to where the rest of my family was, when I got kinda distracted by the crazy mirrors just inside the Fun House. Now, if you've ever gone out in public with me, but especially at a store of any kind, you'll know I wander. I've never outgrown that . . . at any rate, there I was , wandering around. It occurred to me seconds after I tried talking to him that my dad wasn't around anymore. So I did what any knee high 5 year old would do. I cried. I remember running around, desperate to find my daddy. The whole ordeal couldn't have taken more than 3 or 4 minutes, but it was an eternity. I remember being swooped up into two of the biggest, safest arms my five year old mind could think of, and then burying my head in my dad's chest and letting the tears flow . . .
When I was 15, I started playing basketball at the high school I attended. I was a proud Norwich District High School Knight. I wasn't all that good at basketball . . . in fact, I rarely played. The two defining moments of that year for me were almost losing to a team from the elementary school . . . and , foreshadowing the rest of my extracurricular activities, waiting to be picked up. It wasn't out of the ordinary to be waiting 2 or three hours for dad . . . and pre cell phone, w no taxi service in Norwich, there wasn't another option. Also, the thought in the back of my teen aged head was - what if he comes while I'm walking home? What then?
I don't say this because I'm trying to lash out at my dad - I'm not angry or hurt about it anymore, and he's been forgiven of any wrongs. Rather, it's because memories like these, along with a number of deaths in my formative years and probably a few other things, have conspired together to create in me an acute fear of abandonment. It's probably my biggest fear, and one I don't readily acknowledge. I'm so scared that at any moment, everyone or anyone who matters to me will be gone, and there is nothing I can do to stop it. Most often, I feel like I'm the cause somehow, and though this could be true in some cases, it's hardly absolute. But that knowledge does little to comfort me most times.
So, though I've been blessed with some remarkable friendships along this journey, I rarely treasure them for what they are in the moment, and spend time mourning their eventual loss even while being immersed fully in them. It's weird, I know. I write this cuz I don't think I'm the only one who does it.
It's funny - I was gonna go a whole other route with that first story. Was gonna talk about how it's like how God is always searching for us and hears our call. Funny how things work themselves out sometimes. More thoughts tomorrow . . .
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