This is Part Three of a four-part series about my father’s life as I see it. (Check out Part One and Part Two.) In our last installment, he had officially renounced his daughters and denied them information, but it sucked to be him: they got it anyway – and found each other in the process…

You see, even in death, he had renounced his old families. It was his wish that his daughters be omitted from the obituary, church postings, or anything else related to his death. In fact, his wife wasn’t to let them know he was dead until long after he was gone. Unfortunately for him, he was trumped by the information age, and his obituary was delivered to his children via Google Alert nearly a week and a half after his death at approximately 11:30 PM PST.

Seeing the obituary with his name, face, and the word “died” in print shook up Daughter #4; she didn’t know what to feel. Like Morales in A Chorus Line, she had always imagined she’d feel nothing. But she didn’t. She felt something, but couldn’t articulate it. She couldn’t sleep that night, and cried whenever she thought about him being dead. She cried when she told her boss, her co-workers, her friends. Not a big cry, but the kind that is virtually silent, with tears welling up in her eyes and sometimes rolling down her cheeks. But why was she crying? She wasn’t sad, or relieved, or happy; she just felt odd. She didn’t know how she was supposed to feel. And not knowing was driving her insane.

Accompanied by her mother (who didn’t particularly want to be there, but who wanted to support her and didn’t want her to go alone), she drove 12+ hours round trip to attend the Memorial. She wasn’t sure why she was going, but knew in her gut it was something she must do. She didn’t ever want to wonder “what if.” She knew he wanted nothing to do with her when he was alive, and had no idea what he had told those who loved him. She was beyond apprehensive, and had no idea what she would walk in on, or how she would be received.

They entered the Church quietly, signed the guestbook, sat in the back, and took it all in. They listened to the Pastor compare this man to Martin Luther. They clenched their mouths in an effort to not let them hang open in shock as they learned of all the things the community thought he had done. In fact, by their estimation, the only true tidbits that described the first 60 years of his life accurately were that he was born to broken parents and he was in the army. As the Pastor reported how alone the man was when he was discharged from the army, the photos she had of the man with his 1st wife and her older two sisters burned in the Daughter’s mind. As he recounted the movies the man was in, the theater in Hollywood he owned for 20 years, and how alone he had been in those years, she thought about the family he had at the time – her family – who knew there was no theater, no movies, and who knew he wasn’t really alone – except when he wanted to be. And one word kept going through her mind: Seriously?

Then, they listened to his new family speak about the man they knew: a great man who made them laugh, gave them advice, and generally made their lives better. Their grief was real, their loss evident. Suddenly, something similar to peace settled over the Daughter. She was truly happy he had made a positive impact on someone in his lifetime. And, she was equally happy to be in her own shoes. It was far, far better to have not had this man in her life – armed with lies, mistruths, and pain. All the questions, the “what-ifs” seemed to fade away. She knew that, for her, it was as it should be.

As the other attendees, lined up to pay their respects to his family, the Daughter walked up to the altar made for him, looked at his picture, and quietly mouthed “thank you.” Because after all was said and done, the best thing he could have done was to have abandoned her and leave her free of the nightmare he created for her sister, of the hardships he caused her mother, and of the pain his new family would likely endure as they learned the man they loved had been lying to them for 20 years. To be sure, his absence left her with more scars and pain than she’d care to think about (and sometimes even work through), but it could have been so much worse. Given the alternatives, she truly got the “best” of it. Of course, the man’s staying away had very little to do with her and everything to do with self-preservation, but it just didn’t matter. No matter what the intention, the result was gold.

She opted not to speak at the service, nor even introduce herself to the new family. It would be too much for them to take in, too much to absorb while mourning their loss. What good would it really do? She left a card with her contact information and condolences, and they left the Church – and the small mountain town – as quietly as they came.

Stay tuned for the final installment, Part Four: Worlds Collide