by Kara Sundlun
I felt the sting of tears, and Dennis squeezed my hand. My father was finally saying all the things I’d wished he’d say—and he was saying it in front of the most important people in our lives. It was the first time he had ever acknowledged all that my mother had done, and even expressed gratitude for it. The guests clapped like crazy, and Mom’s face had a renewed glow as Dad finished his remarks. I stood up to hug my father, “Thank you so much, Dad…” I whispered. “…for everything—and especially for what you just did for Mom. I love you.” I gave him a big kiss.
“Love you, too—but I need to sit down,” he said, pointing toward his chair.
He had rallied for his mission, but now that it was complete, he was fading fast. I helped him back to his chair as Mom moved toward him.
“Bruce, that was such a great speech. Thank you. Aren’t you happy that we ended up with this amazing daughter?”
“Yes, I am,” he said smiling.
Before he could say anything more, Soozie and Marjorie walked over to give my Mom a hug, “Congratulations, Judy!”
Suddenly, my father was surrounded by three women whose lives had orbited his over the years. They all gathered around his chair and planted kisses on him in unison. The photographer snapped away while Dad scrunched up his face like he was being attacked.
That picture pretty much says it all—they’d loved him in spite of his flaws. It was all so bizarre, I still can’t quite wrap my head around it. The picture is hysterical, and I keep it framed in my family room today.
After the photo, Dad started to fade; it was about all he could take, and he needed to leave.
“It’s a wonderful party, Kara, and I hate to leave—but I need to go home and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“It’s okay, Dad. I’m just grateful you made it. I love you.”
I gave Dad and Soozie one last big hug and kiss and headed back to the dance floor.
My father had used every ounce of strength he had to be at my wedding, and now it was time for him to bail out. He did his job well. The New York Times reported, “Remember those two from ten years ago? They really are father and daughter now.”
Soon after the wedding Dennis and I decided we wanted to sell his condo in Newport and buy a vacation house together so we could begin building more memories in the town that gave me my father and my husband. I joked about wanting to move back to my father’s street, Cliff Avenue, where the journey began, and Dennis mentioned he knew a house was for sale there, and it was on the affordable side of the street before the private end where my father’s estate had been. We made an appointment and decided to buy the house after only ten minutes inside. I have spent longer picking out a sweater, but this felt so right. Our little three bedroom cape style abode would be a place to create a new family life with all the love that had grown from this special spot.
18 Dad Becomes Poppy
I knew children were the next step in my life, but I was worried that my unusual upbringing would leave me ill-equipped to be the mother I wanted to be. I still thought of my friends’ lives as the gold standard and thought I might need to do some more healing before I could be the great mom and wife I wanted to be, so I decided to go to therapy.
Aimee Golbert, a therapist in West Hartford, had a calm voice and razor sharp intuition, which I needed since I found it difficult to access my feelings sometimes. Like my father, talking about my feelings didn’t always come naturally. My ability to detach from my emotions in times of crisis made them hard to retrieve, and even harder to talk about. I reasoned there could be some cracks from growing up fatherless and helping Mom battle some tough times, and I wasn’t sure how they were affecting me. My new life appeared perfect from the outside, and I needed to feel assured it was equally perfect on the inside. I wanted to learn more about who I was and heal anything still buried down below, so Aimee had me use a sand tray to help show my inner state.
She asked me to choose several small objects and figurines from the shelves in her sunny office and place them in what looked like a small sandbox. When I was done she asked me to tell her what each represented. I had chosen an egg, because it was hard on the outside and jiggly in the middle, which is how I often felt. I also chose a rubbery skeleton that looked ill and put it at the bottom of the tray. To me, it represented how deep down I felt like a part of me was damaged. Even though my father had entered my life and his love for me was genuine, there were old parts of me that were scarred and resistant to heal—those were the parts that still erupted in anger when I felt overwhelmed, or when things got too chaotic. Aimee explained that my goal was to be aware of my feelings so I could understand how those parts of me affected my adult life.
Though I had forgiven my father, my old fear of rejection and abandonment was still imprinted on my soul. Living in an unstable environment with Mom had only compounded the problem. But I’d learned I didn’t have to live with my old wiring—I’d already proven my ability to upgrade my system when my father entered my life. But I needed to be aware of unhealed wounds before I could release the old patterns that no longer served me, and create new pathways to peace. My huge “ah ha” moment came when I realized that it’s never too late to heal, and finding my father— regardless of my age—was transformational. My bruises didn’t have to define me. My parents were flawed, like we all are, and now it was my job to heal myself and pave a better way for the next generation. My bruises had made me strong and, once I learned how to love them, I felt better about setting out to love a child. I started to see my tough lessons as gifts that made me a survivor, instead of as defects that made me less than whole.
While on my journey to self-discovery, one of my favorite books had been Sacred Contracts by Caroline Myss. She wrote about how our soul makes a contract to learn certain lessons on earth, and the biggest relationships in our lives play out to help us heal and grow. This was cathartic for me because I believed that my father and I cosmically agreed to take this journey, through the fields of hurt and mountains of joy, so our souls could come out stronger. Myss says orphaned spirits are often leaders, which really resonated with me. Regardless, I am grateful for the strength of the journey. Maybe I’ll never know why it had to be the way it was, but I trust in the perfection of the lessons.
My father loved to say life is all about just the facts: “Who, what, where, when, and how—the why doesn’t matter.” The “why” has always mattered to me, but I’ve learned it will only be revealed when the timing is right. Until then, it’s faith that has to lead. My faith helped me follow our sacred path to wholeness, and I have learned to surrender to my still, small voice that always knows the why.
Aimee liked to compare my psyche to a house. The window dressing was what I showed the world, and the basement was where I was digging for answers. I wanted to open up my old boxes to see what was in there and do some housecleaning before I brought anyone new home. I wanted to take my time, and make sure I built a solid foundation for my children, since I didn’t want my little ones to feel wobbly like I did.
Of course, it didn’t take long after we got back from our honeymoon from Italy for our parents to start asking about babies. Mom had moved into my old condo that was across the street from our Hartford brownstone, where we would start our new life. She had hopes of being close to us and any future grandchildren. Dennis and I wanted kids, but I was still building my career and working weekends, so I wasn’t sure how being a mom would fit in right away. I was only twenty-eight, so my biological clock wasn’t ticking. But Dad’s clock was. He was now eighty-three years old, and I was worried if we didn’t start a family soon, he might not be around to become a grandfather to my kids. We waited a year before trying to start a family.
Dennis was beyond excited to become a father. We couldn’t wait to tell our parents I was pregnant, but we wanted to do it in person. Unfortunately, before we could even get anyone together to share the happy news, I started cramping, feeling very sick, and bleeding. I called in sick to work and spent t
he day crumpled up in a ball in our bed crying. Dennis looked helpless as I spoke to the doctor on the phone, waiting for the official word he’d feared.
“They say I’m probably having a miscarriage,” I said, choking back a sob as I hung up the phone. “Since I’m only six weeks along, there’s nothing to do but let it pass.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said, hugging me as we both cried.
My innocence of being a happy new mom had dissolved. Even though doctors told us miscarriage was common, it didn’t make it hurt any less.
Instead of sharing happy news, we called our parents to let them know I’d suffered a miscarriage. Dad felt awful and started calling me every day to ask how I was doing. Since we decided not to tell anyone at work, I looked forward to my phone ringing during the day, knowing Dad could bring a smile to my face, even if the conversations were always brief,
“Hi, just calling to touch your base.” This was Dad’s unique phrase for checking in. I felt his constant care through his daily calls and quick voicemail messages asking “Can I do anything?” His little pokes of love helped me heal, and I was even more excited for a baby to arrive someday.
Someday seemed to be taking too long, and I went to see my obstetrician, Stephen Fishman, M.D., for a consultation. He told me the silver lining was I had gotten pregnant before, but since we had been trying for more than a year, I was now classified as infertile, even though all the testing showed we were normal. I feared that deep down my broken childhood was preventing me from becoming a mom. What if something deep down in my basement was blocking a baby? Could old fears prevent me from giving into motherhood? I told my doctor I would see a specialist, but that I also wanted “something else.” I didn’t know what that was, but I knew a deeper part of me was asking to explore the meaning behind these disappointments. My soul wanted to know the “Why?” Dr. Fishman referred me to his wife, Doreen Fishman, a holistic nurse, who was also an energy healer.
I had no idea what to expect when I arrived for my appointment. Doreen guided me to a massage table that was covered in a blanket of silken jewel tone patches with a round pillow to support my knees or lower back. I lay down and tried to just relax.
“Are you comfortable?” She asked as she laid the soft blanket on top of me.
This was all so new to me, and I felt a bit awkward.
“Just relax while I guide you through a meditation.”
Doreen’s soothing voice brought me to a beach where sunlight poured in through the top of my head, what she called my crown chakra. She asked me to focus on the center of my chest and imagine a white pilot light expanding throughout my heart and filling every cell in my body. As Doreen laid her hands gently on my feet, I slipped into a void of utter peace. It seemed like I fell asleep, but when I came to, she said I had done great work.
“What do you mean? I don’t think I did anything.”
She brought me to her couch and poured me a cup of herbal tea. “What did you experience?”
My mind flashed on a scene of angels at a brook of bubbling water on a beautiful sunny day. They gently washed my back and told me, “We have been waiting for you to wake up.”
As I told her the story, I didn’t for one second consider my “dream” to be a real place. “I’m not sure what that means, but it felt very peaceful.” I hoped she would enlighten me to any hidden meanings.
“Yes, that is what they wanted you to feel. I don’t get the feeling you have any medical problems, but you do have a lot of anxiety, and that can prevent women from conceiving. Emotions can and do affect our physical bodies in very concrete ways, Kara. Just relax and surrender to the journey of being a mother. I feel an energy around you, and I think your dream of being a mother will happen soon, when the divine timing is right.”
“An energy around me? You mean a soul?” My rational brain had a hard time grasping all this, but on a deeper level—a level I didn’t know existed—everything she’d said felt right.
According to Doreen, we all have a spiritual support team who is always trying to guide us to the lessons our souls need to learn on earth. It was a lot to take in. Angels? Unborn spirits? As strange as it all sounded, I left her home with a strong sense that I would get pregnant. That same voice that told me to find Dad was telling me I would have a baby, but I needed to surrender to the waiting. I couldn’t script having a baby any more than I could script the happy ending with my father. Once again, I was learning to just have faith, even when the answers didn’t make any sense.
I was never the same after leaving Doreen’s office, and I started to realize my quest to have a baby was a spiritual journey, just as all the big things in my life had been…especially finding Dad. I wanted to know more about the world on the other side of the veil that Doreen could so easily access. If everything that happened in my life was part of my soul’s contract, then I wanted to better understand the terms.
I left feeling happier and lighter than I had in a long time, and it was only a few months later that I got pregnant. This time, I had a good feeling it would stick. I was more relaxed and sensed I’d learned a valuable lesson about surrendering—something my soul wanted me to understand.
We announced the pregnancy to our parents telling them they couldn’t say anything to anyone until I was at least twelve weeks along. Later, our mothers treasured the first ultrasound pictures of their first grandchild, looking at them with oohs and aahs, already dreaming of the baby shopping trips.
Not surprisingly, Dad couldn’t figure out what the little black and white blob was supposed to show him, and was surprised at our decision to be surprised about the gender of the baby. “Can’t they tell you if it’s a boy of girl nowadays?”
I nodded. “Yes, but we want to wait. It’s one of the last big surprises left in life.”
“I don’t understand how two reporters don’t want to find out crucial information. That’s just crazy. Who, what, where, when, and how is all that matters. The why is subjective and irrelevant.”
“Um, Dad, we know why I’m pregnant,” I said, teasing. Bless him for only dealing in facts. Some things would always elude him. “You’ll have to wait for the other information.”
Mom, on the other hand, loved to speculate and kept telling me her vibes told her it would be a boy with blonde curly hair. “You know your Mom is psychic. I was right about Dennis, remember that?”
“Yes, Mom.” That was hard to refute.
“If it’s a boy, are you going to name him Bruce?” I could tell she wasn’t crazy about the idea.
“We’re not sharing any names, so you’ll have to wait until the baby arrives.” The last thing I needed were more opinions from our overly opinionated family.
She needn’t have worried. Dad told me he didn’t like his name anyway. However, he did have to get in on the act, and promptly mailed us a copy of Town and Country Baby Names. I think it was his way of ensuring we would choose a name that was “appropriate” according to Newport standards, and not follow the latest Hollywood trend of naming babies after fruit.
And he didn’t stop at names. He wanted to buy something for the baby, and I suggested a baby blanket he or she would always have. In typical Dad fashion—because he never did anything halfway—he took me to an exclusive trunk show for fancy French linens by Leron, hosted at an oceanfront home in Newport, and ordered a white pique baby blanket monogrammed with an aqua gingham “H” for House. It was obvious Dad wanted to continue his tradition of monogramming everything. The custom-made heirloom was so nice I was scared to use it, fearing it would easily be ruined. Instead, I decided to drape it over the crib in our nursery as a decoration. I wanted to preserve it so one day I could tell my children this was a gift from Poppy.
With everything going on, I made time to go back and see Doreen. I was excited to tune into what my soul had to say about the soul that was coming soon.
”I can tell you the baby feels very wanted.”
“You mean you can tell I want the baby?” I asked.
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br /> “That too—but this soul told me it feels very loved.”
She said she saw beautiful, luminescent light from the angels all around me and the baby.
“Hmmm—um…wow.” I was unsure of what to make of this.
I was aware the little soul I was carrying had the power to transform us as a family. They say raising children gives us an opportunity to heal old wounds, and I sensed my own soul was trying to make me aware of this divine opportunity. A baby was a new beginning that allowed Dad to become Poppy, and heal me all over again by giving the baby the love I missed out on in my early years. It was also a chance for Mom and Dad to become grandparents, instead of just ex-lovers.
As the baby grew inside of me, so did my spiritual curiosity. I started to make time for silence each day so I could feel my own inner guidance more. At first I was demanding. I wanted to touch it, talk to it, ask it how it spoke to me, give it a megaphone and ask it to talk louder. Being a reporter means I’m nosy and impatient, so it’s natural I wanted answers. Yesterday. I thought if these mysterious universal forces helped me find Dad and now have a baby, I wanted to know how they work.
Okay, soul, just talk to me and make it quick, I have stuff to do.
Doreen taught me that Truth moves at a slower frequency, and it starts with tuning into yourself and slowing down—not something I wanted to hear but earnestly gave it a try. Even today, it’s still hard for me to slow down, but I know that silence is a requirement to have peace. Ever the restless reporter, I’ve tried to ask my inner voice to speak up and talk louder, only to remember that it’s my job to quiet down. One of the reasons I do stories on mindfulness and healing is because we tend to teach that which we need to learn. I’m happy to say that after eight years of reporting Kara’s Cures for the mind, body, and spirit, I have mastered a bit more patience.
The day I went into labor, we were anything but patient. Dennis called our parents right away so they could race to the hospital, only to wait, and wait some more. While I was pushing, Dennis tried to keep tabs on our parents by checking in from time to time. Since the baby was taking its sweet time of making an appearance, I worried about any fireworks that might happen with my parents locked in a waiting room together for hours. At least Soozie was there, too, and she was a calming presence for Dad. And thankfully, she and Mom got along great. Plus cousin Fenton was there, which always meant we’d be assured of some comic relief. He had never witnessed a baby being born and couldn’t wait to be part of the action.