Making Peace with a Dead Man

Hey there,

I hope you’re doing well wherever you are. Between traveling, resting, and writer’s block (from having too much to say), this letter has been written over three days and arrives very late to your inbox. I’m learning not to beat myself up over things like this. There was a time when I would’ve called myself lazy. Now, I just call myself a human being.

I’ve visited many new (and old) places in my pursuit of resting and resetting. Following my last letter, I spent a week at home in Atlanta before going on an incredible birthday trip to Mexico and Belize. It was my first time visiting both countries and my goodness, they were beautiful — not just the scenery but also the people. I love witnessing how other people live their lives. The ways that they create and take up space for themselves. How they interact, build, and sustain their communities. I wish that I experienced that more often here in the States. The closest to that is probably when I’m back home near my family.

Last week, I house-sat for my parents. It wasn’t planned, but spending time alone proved much needed. They live outside the city, and I forgot how quiet it is. At first, it was a bit eery until I started actually listening and realized I wasn’t alone. Nature was there with me—birds, rustling leaves, crickets, and Ginger, who had the time of her life eating the berries that had fallen from the Mulberry tree in the backyard every day.

Yesterday, before sunrise, I started my drive back home, giving me an open road and plenty of time to collect my thoughts for this letter. I’ve been writing and reflecting so much these last few weeks that I’m struggling to connect the dots in a way I can translate into focus work. While driving, I began reflecting on life and how events trigger connections like little invisible strings between the past, present, and future.

You see, I didn’t know it until recent years, but for most of my life, I’ve been making peace with a dead man. And by making peace with him, I’ve been making peace with myself.

My parents divorced when I was three, and my father was murdered when I was four. His killers have never been brought to justice. It’s painful losing a parent twice like that — first, by his choice and the second time by others. And during a time when grief counselors and child therapists weren’t easily accessible for a single mom trying to process the loss herself, that meant that I had to make sense of his death as best as I could. My mom would probably describe me as resilient, and I suppose I would, too. I always excelled in school, (mostly) followed the rules, and was (mostly) kind.

When you lose a parent that young, your memories of them are few and fuzzy. I only remember brief phone calls, though I don’t really remember his voice, and one time, riding my tricycle around our apartment parking lot while my parents lovingly watched. That memory may be real, or I may have created it in my imagination. I should probably ask my mom about it.

Most of my knowledge of him comes from other people’s stories. He was a funny guy, the glue of the family, loved my grandparents’ banana pudding, and was a huge Chicago Bulls fan.

Those were their stories. By the time I was a teenager, my story went as follows:
My father was a selfish man who abandoned his family to start a new one. He decided he no longer loved us and, therefore, I am not worthy of being loved. And because I am not worthy of being loved, I have to work hard to become worthy and validate my existence here in this world.

I was angry and felt the need to prove that it was his loss, not mine.

If you’ve been here long enough, you know I’ve talked a lot about the work I’ve put into growing and healing. Until today, I’ve never shared that much of my healing has involved him.

I’ve been taking what many would probably consider an unconventional path to make peace with him. Yes, I’ve cried on my therapist’s couch, but I’ve also gotten active. Like an anthropologist, I’ve been following my intuition and curiosity to gather fragments of the past in order to create a kind of mosaic artwork of the present and future. To understand myself more, I needed to understand how we got here, which meant learning who he was by quite literally following in his footsteps.

• I’ve spoken with the detectives who worked on my dad’s case and received case files to learn about his life after my parents’ divorce and leading up to his death.

• I’ve reunited with my little sister, who was only a few months old when he passed away. I spent years being intensely jealous of her, but now I realize that we all lost something the night that he died. I didn’t know it at 18 when we first met, but she was the catalyst to the healing journey I hadn’t even realized had begun. I’m thankful to be forever tethered to her.

• I’ve traveled to Chicago to meet that entire side of my family for the first time, visited his grave, and forgiven my grandmother, with whom I’ve shared an icy (this is truly an understatement) relationship. From that experience, I’ve learned that forgiveness doesn’t just free you in the present moment but also sets your future free.

• I’ve seen where he grew up, his handwriting in the greeting cards my grandmother has saved for 30+ years, and countless photos of him throughout his short life.

Several childhood memories have started coming up in recent years that I’ve never thought anything of but now realize were his little signals that he was still around. As an adult, I’ve also experienced events—a dream so vivid that I’m convinced was a visit from him, songs randomly playing at the exact moment that I’m thinking of him, and just sensing his presence in an unexplainable way from time to time.

There was a time when I would’ve chalked all of these strange experiences up to coincidences, a bad lunch, or flat-out imaginations. But I now recognize the power of love, and that love transcends time because when I think about the children I will have in the future, I already feel a love so strong that it’s as if they are already here with me. I believe it works that way for our ancestors, too.

By embarking on this journey of making peace with my dad, I believe that I’ve broken generational curses and healed generational traumas — some that I’m acutely aware of, but also others, I suspect, that I don’t know and may never know of.

On Friday, I came across this video on TikTok of a man talking about how he spent much of his life working so hard on his career to validate his own existence. I’ve been thinking about it constantly ever since because that’s what I’ve done for much of my life. When I turned 18, I practically ran away from my hometown at the first opportunity and spent years working, strategizing, and networking to prove to “them” that I was worth something and deserved to be here! And even though I’ve been digging up the parts of myself that need healing, the feelings still resurface from time to time.

I share all of this because many of us carry burdens and traumas, some of which, like mine, go all the way back to childhood. We’re operating our lives as if we’re still there. I’ve been on this path for 10+ years, and while I’ve made it a long distance, I’m still traveling. I’ve had to push a few boulders out of the way. Sometimes, I’ve even paused my travels, deciding to set up camp for a while. But regardless, I’ve stayed on my path because when I look back at where I started, it’s not nearly as appealing as the possibilities of what’s ahead of me.

Our paths toward healing, making peace, and forgiveness are all non-linear. There’s no standardized timeline for them and no guidebook you can purchase at the bookstore. Our only responsibility is to have the willingness to embark and the courage to take the first step.

I hope you grow the willingness and courage to embark on whatever path is set before you. The tools you need will appear, but only when you decide to take the first step.

Your fellow traveler,
Kashara

KasharaJohnson.com | TikTok
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