A FORK IN THE ROAD

What do I do?

What do I do?

Life Is A Fork In The Road is a book in the making by author, Don Shapiro. Fork, a term to describe a crossroad or period of time when we have to make a major decision, that will impact us dramatically. It’s a turning point and the choice we make will lead us to success and happiness or failure and misery. Making the choice weighs heavily on our hearts and minds and we worry about making a mistake. It’s like being a nervous contestant on a game show. While biting your fingernails, you’re trying to choose which prize you want, and the decision is overwhelming you.

Do you remember Monty Hall and the game show, Let’s Make A Deal?

Monty would ask the contestant: “Is it behind door #1 or door #2?” Depending on the door selected, the contestant would win a trip to Paris or a bottle of ketchup. You never knew what was waiting behind the door and you could see the anxiety on the contestant’s face.

Life is “Let’s Make A Deal”

We never know what is waiting for us in the future and no one will be able to tell us which door is the winning pick or which door we should close quickly before that dreaded buzzer goes off. Something inside of us determines what we’ll do. We make the choice, by following our heart, or listening to our intellect. We either continue making bad choices or begin to follow the advice of a trusted source. Maybe we just roll the dice and hope we’ll land on our feet. But we have the power to choose and when we face a fork in the road, it can be scary.

What is it that influences our decision?

Don Shapiro is looking for an answer. He’s collecting stories from strangers and friends on his website and analyzing them to see if he can find any patterns or similarities. Is there a sudden urge, premonition or strong inner voice calling us to change direction on the road of life? I don’t know the answer, but I will be interested in learning what Don’s opinion is. I’ll be in the check- out line at Borders, buying his book when it comes out. It should be fascinating to read.

Sharing my story with Don

I was introduced to Don Shapiro on Twitter. His tweet was looking for a story about one such fork. I sent him a message that I was interested in sharing. I initially thought the fork in my road was when I found the strength to leave an abusive marriage, after working with EMDR, a therapy used with trauma patients. Don seemed fascinated by EMDR and shared with me that he was very unfamiliar with it; but he quickly researched and discovered another Shapiro, Francine Shapiro, was the mastermind of this technique. We scheduled a time to talk further on the phone; because he told me he was sure he wanted my story for his book.

Later that week, we spoke on the phone for almost 45 minutes. Initially, I had believed I was helping him with his book project. I didn’t know at the time that Don would be the one helping me.

When our conversation ended, I remember hanging up the phone and feeling like a light bulb went off . It was an “Ah Ha” moment that floored me. I always had believed EMDR was my saving grace, the tool that made me strong and able to rebuild my life. But EMDR was only the warm up exercise for facing the fork.

Don read my FA LALA story on my blog before calling me and he had a different impression of what influenced my decision when I stood at my crossroad. He shared his view and asked pointed questions. At the end of our discussion, I had a new understanding and it gave me goose bumps.

It was the moment right after my father died.

Here is my fork in the road (and to fully understand, you might want to read Fa-La-La first).

My Fork In The Road

(The following is an excerpt taken from FA-LA-LA)

That night…

She thinks about the night …the night she took her life back… and the last night she spent with her Dad, the only man who had ever truly loved her… One week after she sat with her dieing father, remembering a sad conversation …their last… Her eyes water as she remembers…

She remembers….

gently touching , stroking, kissing swollen cheeks of a man, now only a shell….saying goodbye to the man who brought home dolls after business trips…the man who was ticklish under his chin…how they both giggled as she ticked him, a little girl adoring her father on his lap….his arms that rocked her after a boo- boo… The man who carried her giggling up to bed, on his back…and sang to her, off-key, bedtime lullabies…the arms that wrapped around her, protecting her…keeping her safe…

Her dad….her protector …since the discovery of her secret, her hero…and a final goodbye…

Sitting alone with the only man she had ever loved…a true love… a beautiful love between a father and his daughter…

Sitting with her protector, now clinging to life, attached to tubes, machines…and her last question…the one he couldn’t respond to, but she knew he had heard…

Their last conversation…

”Daddy…it’s okay…you can go now Daddy…we’ll take care of Mom…But Daddy…When you get to heaven….will you ask God to let you be my guardian angel?…Watch over me and Johnny, Daddy….will you do that for me?…”

His last breath….

her tears…

sitting alone …without a protector…only his shell…engulfed by emptiness…

But That Night…

His spirit gave her strength… courage … Her Daddy was watching….The night she set herself free….Her Dad would be proud

Hindsight is 20/20

Why did I hide such a terrible secret? Why did I stay? I guess like most victims of domestic violence, you feel frightened and paralyzed. But when my father was dying, and I was telling him it was okay to cross over, something came over me. I remember hugging him and listening to the sound of his last breath, and then it was as if a switch turned on. It’s hard to explain, but I’ll try.

Think of sitting in a dark room for 15 years and you don’t know how to get out and you don’t see the door. You start to believe you’ll never figure out a way to leave and it’s like being in a prison. Over time you become numb in order to survive. So picture yourself in that room feeling trapped and not thinking it will ever change.

Suddenly, someone turns on the light, takes you by the hand and leads you. You have no idea where you’ll end up, but you don’t care because you finally “get it”. Anyplace would be better than this dark room that has held you captive.

Exactly three years ago on this very night

I was holding my dad, saying goodbye and didn’t realize how dark the room was. When he took his last breath, a switch turned on. I stopped crying. I felt like I was hugging an unfamiliar thing, like a tired old cocoon belonging to a beautiful butterfly that needed to float away because it was his time.

I looked at what was once my dad and I felt numb. I was in disbelief. And yet I felt relieved that it was over for my dad. He didn’t have to suffer anymore. Floating away, he would be at peace and find beauty in his new world that I couldn’t see.

Driving home from the hospital, I kept seeing my dad in images throughout our life together, happy and sad. I could hear his voice telling me “C’mon Luanne, you can do it, what are you afraid of? C’mon little girl, where’s spunk?”

I could hear his voice so loud and clear.

That night I had a dream about my dad. He was painting a room in a different house and telling me that I would be happier with the color and change is good. He told me over and over, that I’d get used to the new color of the room. Then, I woke up. I sat up for a while, not being able to fall back asleep, just thinking about the strange dream.

Morning was announced by the buzzing of my alarm clock. At the same time, a canon fired inside my soul.

Just like in the old black and white John Wayne movies, I heard a trumpet sounding. It was time to mount my horse and ride with the courage of a soldier into the battle field. This force was making me strong. I was being pulled and it was powerful.

Something had changed me overnight.

For the first time in 15 years I didn’t feel like I was walking on eggshells, around my ex. He didn’t scare me. I knew what I had to do and I was determined to do it. I felt invincible. Like Helen Ready sang in the seventies “Hear me roar, I can do anything.”

That week I found a lawyer, went to a women’s shelter to make a safety escape plan (incase my ex discovered what I was up to, before I was ready to leave, I needed a plan to insure my safety.)

Within 6 months we were divorced.

To this day I don’t know why the divorce went so smoothly. I figured my ex would be impossible and fight me the whole way. It’s like an angel was guarding me. I continued to have dreams about my dad throughout those six months.

One dream stands out

My brother in law and ex were trying to keep an inheritance from me. They didn’t realize I could care less about the money. I only wanted my freedom. In the dream, my father was sitting at a school cafeteria table and the cafeteria was empty. I walked up to him and he just stared at me. Then my ex and his brother appeared and stood on the other side of the table where my dad was sitting. They were whispering to one another and glaring at me. My father never took his eyes off me. I remember feeling uneasy in my dream because the two men were plotting something, but I didn’t know what. I was distracted by the men and said to my father, “I don’t want to fight. I’ll lose. It’s two against one and I’m not as strong.” My father didn’t say a word, but kept looking at me and then he slowly nodded.

It made me think of preschool

It was like the nod a parent gives his child on the first day of school. Imagine a four year old moving in line. The class is following the teacher into the school and the parents are told to wait outside. The four year old is anxious. He doesn’t know what lies ahead and not knowing frightens him. The child is following his classmates and almost reaches the door, when he looks over his shoulder to find his parent watching him outside the playground gate.

The parent and child lock eyes but the distance between them is too great to speak. The parent slowly nods at his child to signal that everything will be alright. Without speaking he was sending a clear message to the child to keep going, there would be no turning back now.

The child sees his parent nod, but still is doubtful. The child’s eyes are questioning the parent. The parent knows the child is saying without words, “Are you sure? I’m scared and want to go home? Do I need to go to this place?

The parent reassures the child with a second nod. That’s enough for the four year old who trusts his parent, turns to face the line leader and slowly walks into the building.

With words unspoken, they understood

In my dream, I became annoyed with my father because he wouldn’t speak, but I understood what he was telling me. His nod was telling me to keep moving forward, even if it scared me.

I asked him again; “Are you sure?” He gave me a second nod and disappeared. At that moment I woke up startled. Sitting up in my bed, I became aware it was only a dream. Then I remembered my father had died and really had disappeared. I began to sob into my pillow and never fell back asleep. The dream seemed too real.

March 7, 2007

I’ll never forget that moment. When I was at the fork in the road and I didn’t even know it. Hugging my dad and saying goodbye. He had been my protector. He was the only one I felt I could go to when I didn’t feel safe. When he left me, I initially reacted with tears, but what was strange, in a minute or two, I stopped and felt calm.

The day following my father’s funeral, I hired a lawyer, went to a woman’s shelter to make a safety plan and began walking on the new road. There was no more fear. When my dad left, the fear left. I can’t explain it but it’s true.

I believe in my heart that I was led to the new road by a gentle giant who once played for the NFL. My dad was an original leather-head, 1957 – line-backer for the Chicago Bears. He taught me to throw a football before I ever played with my first Barbie doll. He was my hero, larger than life, but a gentle man with a giant heart of gold.

Exactly three years ago on this very night…

My father crossed over and in a way I crossed over too. I know he was there holding my hand in the beginning. I couldn’t see or hear him, but I felt serenity during the storm and strength to face my fears. It was as if he patched my brokenness, filling in the holes with what was missing to become ready for game day. I became as tough and determined as any NFL player taking the field. EMDR was just the training.

As certain as I am that there will always be fireworks on the 4th of July, I’m confident that if there is green Astor turf and a football stadium in heaven, he’ll still be the Middle Line Backer for the team. And when it’s my turn to face that final fork, he’ll stop the game before the blitz because he’s been waiting patiently for me. As I run across the field to hug him, he’ll be smiling and nodding. His nod will tell me once again that everything will be alright.

It’s been three years since that Black Monday; I’ll be forever missing you daddy.

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