The Room of My Father’s House
I have always been fascinated by the concept of memory. Memories are unlike video recordings. They are not always as accurate as we might want to believe. This, of course, explains why two people might remember things differently even if they have experienced the same event. Personally, I have learned that the way I remembered something can be more telling than the actual memory itself. The memory itself might seem quite insignificant or irrelevant to my current life, yet will resurface seemingly at random. For many years whenever I felt especially alone or broken, my mind was suddenly transported to one poignant memory of my youth: me standing alone in the closet of my childhood home.
When I was about nine years old, my parents told us that we were going to move to a new city which was about five hundred miles away from our current home. It would just be me, my sister, and my mom moving, and our dad, we were told, would join us later. Our parents explained that it was important to them that we move closer to our family and attend a Catholic school. I remember being completely shocked, not only by the announcement that we would be moving but also by the revelation that we had family in Texas, for I certainly did not know them.
We would attend a brand new school in the middle of the school year and were told to only pack essentials, since the new house was significantly smaller. Our current house had four bedrooms, walk-in closets, two living rooms, a pool, and six bathrooms (yes, you read that correctly). It truly was a house of many rooms. We were of the belief that once my dad moved and joined us, we would find a new house, and he would bring the rest of our belongings. We left our dad in that house and moved to our new house sometime in January about seventeen years ago now. As you might have guessed, my dad never did follow. It was difficult to accept that this promise of reunification was broken. Perhaps even more difficult for me was to acknowledge that my parents might have never intended to keep that promise in the first place. The premise that we were to move in order to be closer to family while separating ourselves from the only family that mattered, my dad, was a contradiction that my younger self did not recognize. I can understand why the term “childlike trust” is often used to describe the type of trust that is innocent and unquestioning. I held onto that promise that we would one day soon be together again despite all of the warning signs that a divorce was looming in the future. I carried around the tension of someone who was living a transitory life, one that was temporary and subject to change at any moment. That life lacked a real type of grounding.
After the divorce was finalized, we split up holidays and spent parts of our summer at my dad’s house (our old home). Although our belongings remained right where we left them, life certainly moved on without us. Soon, two new children lived in our home. My step-siblings, who were also victims of their parents’ separation, now occupied our old rooms. My step-brother moved into my room and my step-sister resided in my sister’s room. My sister and I would sleep in the guest room when we visited. We were, quite literally, guests in our own home. Despite the abundance of space in that house, the nagging feeling that I did not have a place there could not have been stronger. While the guest room lacked any personal touch, my old room still contained all of my old clothes, toys, and pictures. Even my half-empty shampoo and conditioner bottles were still in the shower. Every time I would go back to that house, after ensuring that my step-brother was not around, I would silently walk into my old closet. I would spend some time there staring at all of my clothes which seemed to shrink as the years passed. During the first few visits after the separation, I would try on my old shoes or jackets, items that I was once excited to wear, some even with tags on them. At some point, however, it became glaringly obvious that I would never fit into those clothes again. My closet became a time capsule, a glimpse into a life that I once lived. Time was frozen there, seeming almost as though the clothes waited for that little nine-year-old girl to return.
It is difficult to put into words how going back to that house and seeing my clothes year after year furthered a drastic identity split in my head. I could not identify with the little girl who lived there once. Her life of play and familial unity was too foreign to me. It ceased being a past memory but instead became a life I had never lived at all. It was no longer me standing in my closet, rather it was me standing in someone else’s closet, intruding. I did not belong in my own home, and there was no longer a place for me.
Yet despite not belonging there, I often found my adult self there, in that closet. Anytime life became difficult or my relationships felt unstable, I returned to that closet in my mind. This time, however, I was there behind that little nine-year-old girl. I watched her as she looked at her clothes and her shoes. I knew the grief she was feeling, but I dare not comfort her. After all, I was a stranger to her.
After attending a Life-Giving Wounds retreat in the Fall of 2023, I felt that I was finally given permission to interact with that little girl in the closet. I walked with her into that closet, which once seemed so sad and daunting. She showed me the clothes she never got to wear, and the memories with her family that would not be had. We were not the only ones there either, for indeed Christ Himself stood with us, offering us the most gentle understanding. He invited us to finally speak the unspoken words of sorrow and wanting, to cry, even to feel angry. Being able to grieve the loss of my childhood in this way helped mend the disconnect I felt in my head. It became clear to me that it was Christ who all those years brought me back to that room. He knew there was healing that needed to be done. He wanted me to mourn the life I did not have, the life which possessed my parents’ love together. I finally began to feel a tremendous amount of healing from this wound that felt too deep. The wound that made me feel displaced and unwanted, that always led me to despair, slowly began to close.
The Lord also gave me a deeper insight into the Scripture passage of John 14:1-3 where Jesus tells his apostles, “Let not your hearts be troubled; believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms; if it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And when I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may also be.” In contrast to my childhood home where there were many rooms yet none belonged to me, Christ has promised that He will prepare my own space in eternity, where I am most wanted and welcomed.
Though the road to healing is a long path that lies ahead of me, I can honestly say that in difficult moments I am no longer transported to my old closet of my childhood home. Instead, I find that I more often anticipate the room that awaits me in my Father’s house.
Prayer:
Jesus,
You are good. You have prepared a room for each of us in your Father's house, where there is an abundance of space. Accompany us as we journey on this earth and seek deeper healing for the wounds of our parent's separation. Let us be comforted by the knowledge that we belong to You and that we are each called by name to join You in Your Kingdom. We can trust that you keep Your promises and that You hear the longings of our hearts. Help us to be faithful to You and to always seek what is above.
Amen.
About the Author:
Micaela is a wife and a stay at home mother to her two children. She attended a Life-Giving Wounds retreat in the Fall of 2023 and was greatly impacted by the speakers’ testimonies. In her spare time she enjoys exploring large antique malls and spending time outdoors with her children.
Reflection Questions for Small Groups or Individuals:
Do you have a particular memory to which you return? If so, what is that story and why does it play such a prominent role in your memory?
How does Micaela’s story speak to your heart?
Do you have a child version of yourself that needs healing and reassurance? If so, what would you say to him or her?
What does Jesus’ message to His apostles teach you about God the Father? Do you view God as a father who welcomes you with open arms? Why or why not?
Has your parent’s divorce or separation made you feel displaced or unwanted? How has this affected your relationship with others and with God?
Do you feel like you have been able to grieve the loss of your parent’s love together? If not, what are some ways you might begin this process of healing? Who are some trusted friends you can share your story with?
Healing happens when we journey together.
If Mica’s story resonated with you, consider joining one of our sponsor organizations' upcoming Catholic Story Group for ACODs where you can better understand your story in a loving and supportive environment. You do not have to carry the darkness alone.
Or join us at an upcoming Life-Giving Wounds event.
Together, we can walk into the light.