I did not know that day would lead to writing the novel series “Sardis Journey.” During the last year of his life Da turned on me. He had a form of dementia that was associated with those that were on kidney dialysis and who may have had cysts in his brain. Whatever the cause of it, it was not consistent in that he had sometimes weeks where his mind was clear as a bell, and then he would slide into darkness again. He had it for years but that last year was a nightmare.
Each time my brothers came to visit and brought their guns to go shooting, Da would get it into his head that he needed his gun because he feared for Ma and me. She told me one night after he had gone to bed that she needed to hide the gun we had at the time because she feared he would kill us. We hid the gun in my underwear drawer. He would never look there. If I was in the office, I would call home, and if I did not get an answer, I felt fear rise in me. One night I stayed at the office until 9:30 PM afraid to go home. They had been to Ma’s cousins for a visit.
I had heard of things like this happening, but living it was something far darker. I loved my father deeply. I knew in my heart that he loved us still. I wanted to tell my brothers or anyone, but Ma told me not to do it.
Da also turned on me. Telling my brothers crazy stories which were not true. One of them believed everything he told them. He could appear normal when they visited. I get why it was easy for them to believe. Ma tried to tell him that Da was confused. He chose to believe the crazy tales my father told him. The pain of this was a deep betrayal that maybe secretly he had not loved me, but I always tossed that out the window. He loved his only daughter.
In the spring of 1987, Da asked me to go out to the old Todd house. I didn’t want to be alone with him. Finally, one Saturday morning, I took him there… the wisteria was blooming as was the vinca and the daffodils. They were planted by my great grandmother. When Da bought the property back from his sister in the mid-60s, he got a bulldozer down to the old house, and had it bulldozed down. There was a lot of pain connected to that house and the reason he destroyed it. The only thing left was the chimney.
Da leaned his head against an old walnut tree. Tears began to trail down his face. He was broken at that moment. I had learned when we moved back to South Carolina that my grandfather had murdered a black man, but Da always said it was a set up when he spoke to me about it. He said his father had worked for the state on the chain gang, and that was why he grew up in tents. I was about to learn most of that was a lie.
He said in a voice a little louder than a whisper, “They thought I didn’t understand what I heard them say. I was five years old, and they thought I didn’t know. I have told you lies about my father, Mary Elizabeth. I should have told you the truth. Papa Frank killed that man for protecting his daughter from him.”
I felt like that gun that was fired in 1920, had rammed that bullet into my heart and started it to bleed. I felt the chains of hate and bigotry clinch on my wrists and the weight was unbearable. I suddenly understood why my father felt so degraded despite the fact that he had been successful in his life. He was well respected, but upon returning to South Carolina I had witnessed a subtle disdain some had for my father. He was no longer the respected man who built beautiful roads and wrote poetry and was an expert on wildflowers. He was again Frank Todd’s son. I realized that my mother had a strong courage to marry my father. Her belief in him changed the course of his life.
My father treated people with dignity. He listened to people, and he never called them names. He was tough because we, his children, were expected to do more than other children. We were expected to be honorable, to be honest, and to have integrity. If I brought a low score home on a test. He would ask, “Did you study hard for it?” If I said yes, he would say then you did your best, but if I said no… he would say that the grade was my fault.
But here he was telling me that he had lied, he wanted to tell me the truth before he died. I realized after he told me that he was also telling me that he was dying. It also made certain things fall into place. Papa Frank’s photo was never on display. I did not know he existed until I discovered that photo when I was twelve years old. He had died before I was born. I am connected to him by genetics but not by love. When my brother Gary called to say his son Frank was born, my father cried as he begged Gary not to name his son after Papa Frank. I was fifteen and remember my father saying, “You don’t know what you are doing to your son if you name him after my father.”
I learned also that day that we stood in the walnut grove, that Papa Frank was a binge alcoholic. It explained a lot as to why my father did not drink alcohol and when he did he never drank more than one drink. Papa Frank was drunk when he went looking for his mistress. It doesn’t excuse his behavior. He was a criminal.
I knew something was up. Da had said Papa Frank was a trustee when he was working on the chain gang. I knew from my job that being a trustee meant he was a prisoner. I remember my cousin Tommy telling me that he had worked for the state. Tommy was a deputy, and I said to him simply, “He was a trustee.” Tommy shook his head, and said, “He was a prisoner.” I had asked my father about that years before he died, and he told me how his father was set up. It was a lie. Most of what he had told me before that day was a lie. I suspect fabricated by the family to protect themselves.
I got Da back to the house, and he slept most that day. I didn’t speak to Ma about what he said. She would tell me to forget about it and go on. My good father was seen as less than a man because of who his father was.
A few weeks later, he took his last turn into dementia, and I was cussed out often. My brothers he was kind to, but me, I got the brunt of his anger. It was so bad Ma told me to take off work and take a trip. I did to visit two dear friends Sybil and Mike. I talked about his behavior to me, and Sybil said to me, “Hon, he knows your brothers might not come back to visit if he treated them the way he is treating you. He knows you will stay.” She was right. I stayed.
I did not realize this, but that day was the beginning of story of Sardis Journey. I found after he died, I wanted to heal his life so that he did not bear the weight of his father’s sins on his shoulder. It would take a few years to get to that point.
Love ya,
MET
June 26, 2021