Reflecting on being fatherless for 4yrs

and a past life regression for dear old dad

Today, 3/9/22, is the 4th anniversary of my dad’s death. The amount of time it took me to pass through the University of California at Berkeley, is how long Mr. Ronald David Guest has been off of the planet.

Early this morning, I reached out to my long-term bestie KM. She has brought much salve, inspiration, and understanding; immeasurably helping me live this life and walk my path on this road. She’s the one who was a bridge for me to my younger brother when he died almost 29 years ago. She then taught me how to communicate with Steven Alan Guest a few years later.

My dad and I had been close when I took his advice. A dear guide in my current life got me to realize Dad steered me off my “internal compass.”

I was born introverted. He and mom teased me about how I always dipped my toes in the water and never jumped in with abandon. In my tweens and teens, I learned how to be extroverted.

HE encouraged me to run for office. I ran and won. Not the first election in 6th grade, but ever after. I held the Presidential position in 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades. As student body president, I was voted by the other student body presidents in my district to be the FIRST STUDENT REPRESENTATIVE to the Long Beach Board of Education. Four years later I was president of my sorority at Cal.

After that last office, I vowed never to run for office again. I also promised myself, to no longer indiscriminately join activities and groups I wasn’t 150% committed to. By 22, I’d learned that if I give in to leadership roles, I don’t hear my deeper thoughts or connect with my dreams and the subconscious and unconscious parts of myself. I learned in the busy externalized life, that when one is successful, people add more responsibilities to your plate you either consciously or unconsciously accept. They do this because they know you can handle it.

Yes, externally I was successful but internally I became ill at ease with myself. I couldn’t hear myself think those deeper thoughts I had before I got so busy. I lost a connection with myself while I was acting a role I’d promised to play. I felt like a failure. I acted out with an eating disorder. One that wasn’t talked about for twenty more years but was prevalent, none-the-less. I started self-destructing.

I stopped following Dad’s advice. He wasn’t as comfortable with me when I wasn’t hanging on his every word. When I chose to listen to myself, instead of his opinion, the rift became stronger.

Now, looking back, I understand what happened. My dad had a plan. He wanted me, with all my leadership experience, to take over his insurance agency so he could run around the world with my mother and play. I thought insurance was boring. I knew I wanted to write, but the writing wasn’t a guaranteed economic choice for independence. He wanted me to take over so he didn’t have to be as responsible anymore.

My father was a prince. Even though dad’s dad needed to live on the west side of Los Angeles, closer to the coastline because it was a “damper” environment, his parents moved to Eagle Rock when little Ronnie was born because he had asthma. Dad was a “sensitive, caring, intelligent kid.”

This friend I wrote about above also helped me discover exactly what was the problem in my father’s youth. Dad wanted me in therapy, so we could get closer again, but he refused to look at his own past.

Today, I looked back into the diaries to find out exactly when Dad and I drove to Norco to visit KM and discover this key to his past. May 14th, 2010. We’d made the date a week or two prior, and he’d agreed to it. KM said my baby brother on the other side needed to communicate with him. She was willing to be the go-between, for free and bypass her normal $225 fee for a past life regression.

That morning, Dad tried to cancel. “I’m going to play cards with the guys instead.”

My loving response? “You can play cards with Jerry and Walt any time. You agreed to this. We need to go.” It wasn’t that easy, but I got him to KM’s door.

She noticed he was in more pain than he let on, yet, he was willing to go with her on a guided meditation. The nugget of pain from his youth, he consciously was determined not to face again, was suddenly safely in view.

We were in KMs living room where this reading was taking place. Dad was comfortable in a big brown leather chair. His eyes were closed. Suddenly, he was describing, “At the Yoder Boy’s Monrovia Health Camp we experienced corporeal punishment. If any of us were bad, they had all of us boys, lined up on our bare knees on the hardwood floor of the dining room, for 30 minutes at a time. Often we were on our knees for hours at a time. I don’t remember any of the reasons why.” This was for their health?

Dad had been taken to this camp when his father was becoming very ill with his Polycystic Kidney Disease. At that time, there was no cure or treatment. He begged his mom to bring him home. He said, “I shouldn’t be here. Please, get me out of here.” His mother Pearl was dealing with losing the love of her life and she had a brand new baby girl at home. She probably didn’t research this camp too well, but she couldn’t handle dad’s inquisitive budding testosterone in addition to what was already plaguing her.

So this was it… what made dad as sometimes cold and hard as he was capable of being…

Z had been my paternal grandmother’s caregiver. She told me four years after Pearl died and three years before she died, “Pearl let him cry for hours because she wouldn’t give him what he wanted because she didn’t want to spoil him.” I thought early in his life, he’d been the prize. Pearl didn’t think she could be pregnant at all. Dad had his parent’s attention until his baby sister was born 9 years and 10 months after he was born. But perhaps not only was it the camp that affected his emotions, but also something he experienced as a baby.

Before this regression, Dad remembered only, a happy childhood. He refused to dig down deep and question what really happened in his past. It was a big issue for years. He wanted me to fix myself but he refused to do the work to go inside and fix his own unconscious issues. This guided visualization KM gave us changed my life. Finally, that dark hidden nugget came into the light.

Now he remembers.

One of the biggest gifts I received from my father was being able to objectively look at something we subjectively have numerous opinions about.

An argument we had when I was 26, bothered me until I was 46. It isn’t even worth mentioning at this moment. Now I understand. During those two decades, he would say to me, “Someday you’ll understand.” And I do. Reading his and mom’s Marriage Encounter journals to each other illuminated that whole unexplained thought process to me. I hope someday to share some of their beautiful writing with each other.

Dad was the prince. Mom was the survivor. I’ll tell Mom’s story soon. I’m the survivor princess. TBC. To Be Continued.

Dad wasn’t a great one for being in touch with his emotions. Mom cried during Mary Poppins and as a Scorpio, her tears were a resource. Dad always would ask her when they were having trouble communicating, “Diane, what’s a feeling?”

Hey Dad. I miss you in person and I’m glad we can still communicate.

Much love,

Yiddle Wisa