For the sake of the children.

I was only four years old when my father died. I don’t remember anything about him yet he’s affected my life probably more than anyone else. Growing up I used to think I was lucky not to have him in my life. You see my dad wasn’t the kind of father a little girl misses. He drank like a fish, smoked like a chimney, and used my mother as his physical and emotional punching bag.

He was jealous to the point of insanity and she often had to run from our home to save her life. Most of the horror stories I heard from her when I was old enough to understand. To a lesser extent he was abusive to his four small children but I’d thought we’d escaped a lifetime of pain due to his unexpected death at twenty-six. He just went to bed one night and never woke up. He had a weak heart which was weakened even more by drinking, smoking, and constant stress.

Growing up my childhood was okay but I found more happiness in books and movies than in real life. In my daydreams I was happy but that didn’t count because it wasn’t real. I existed in this happy medium between make believe and reality for a long time. I guess it was during this time that the writer in me came alive. But as a teenager I slipped into a depression which lasted for almost twenty years. I think dating triggered those long buried fears. I couldn’t trust any man not to hurt me so it became easier to stay home. But I got hurt anyway because my life was stunted by my past.

When I finally found the courage to examine my life I realized how much of it was spent avoiding being happy. Despite what he’d done to us at four years old I loved him, I was his little girl. When he died I concluded that bad things would always happen. When he died it changed my view of the world. I convinced myself that whenever I was happy something bad would happen so it was easier not to strive for happiness.

I thought I’d escaped when he left me when I was so young but I carried that pain with me, in some ways I still do but it doesn’t define my life anymore. It took a long time for me to trust not only myself but the universe to bring me some good as well.

It still amazes me how deeply he affected me in such a short time. Now I speak candidly about the issues of domestic abuse and bad relationships. So many people stay in them because of their children but in more cases they’re doing more harm than good.

I like to think that maybe he would’ve changed. Maybe he would’ve dealt with his demons as I’ve dealt with mine. I’d like to believe that people can change. But don’t make your children wait around for that to happen. Give them the space to work on themselves. A lifetime of saying sorry doesn’t help if the actions do not change. We owe it to our children to give them the best lives possible.

I don’t know what my mother would’ve done had he lived. It’s scary to think about the person I might’ve been today. But a larger part of me believes I would’ve been strong enough to still become the person I am today. I sometimes try to seek redemption for him through my stories. I’ve forgiven him in order to move on with my life and finally be happy and hopeful for all of our children.

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