If it's any consolation...
Jun. 29th, 2025 02:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
legalpad819My father died eighteen months ago, and it's an odd sensation when someone estranged passes away. We didn't speak for about three years before he died. I blocked his number sometime during Covid because I'd finally learned that you can love someone but also have that person be so toxic to your existence that it outweighs your love entirely.
The truth about my father is complicated. He was a liar, a cheat, a criminal and a registered sex offender. He had terrible habits and a superiority complex unlike any other. There were times he declared himself a god, and I couldn't tell you if that was truly in jest or if he believed it to some extent. Anywhere I find myself lacking, I see himself shining through.
My father ruined us all both financially and in the eyes of the community. Even after he died, we were picking up the pieces of the debts he left behind. Each one of these a deception he left in his wake. He used to brag about his successes (all within his own mind), and tell his children that it was too bad his generation would be the last to exceed the success of their parents. In his mind, we were doomed to fail by virtue of the fact that no one could measure up to him.
My father spent most of his adult life significantly overweight- stuffing himself with fast food, sugary drinks, and finding vegetables beneath him. I remember being a child and begging him to change his diet- crying at how we didn't want to live without him. How naive I was, that sad child putting her heart into a man who did not deserve a morsel of it.
When my father went to jail, we were asked not to visit him. My mother only went once and he told her not to return because the strip searches to meet with visitors were humiliating. He complained about the food and the population he was being subjected to, but he did make one friend. I suppose sex offenders have to stick together. My brother and I though we would be done with him forever once he was locked away, but my mother eventually let him move back home. It seemed our prison would endure.
Years later, I was practicing at my own law firm and my father introduced me to a client who needed some assistance with his brother's estate. I spent many days at this elderly man's home- he and I sitting at the kitchen table and sorting through bank statements while he ate bologna sandwiches. It wasn't until much later that I learned this was my father's friend from prison- that he sent me (a young lady) to this man's home by myself without any warning. That the house had firearms hidden all over it, including wedged between the couch cushions oriented behind my seat at the kitchen table.
You see he never worried about our well being the way we worried about his. My father had no idea how to love or care for anyone.
Usually, when a loved one dies, you go through the seven stages of grief. My grief for this death is skewed. Some of my siblings smiled when they heard he was gone. I couldn't blame them. There's no right emotion for this situation. What I felt was a delayed relief- like a long acting pill. It was a relief that only started in a trickle. Each day, I tell myself "he can't hurt you anymore." Each day, I believe it a little more. It's been eighteen months and in some ways, I feel like I'm still learning to breathe.
It may have been easier if I didn't see his face when I looked in the mirror, if there wasn't a glimpse of him in my children's contours. It may have been easier if I fully outright hated him.
Today, I'm trying to find the consolation in having him as my father, because I have learned quite a lot, albeit at my own expense. Monsters look like regular people. They can be quite charming. The greatest liars can be very difficult to figure out. Bad guys aren't bad all of the time. My father taught me to love live music and how to catch a softball. He was also a terrible person and a terrible parent. He taught me more of what not to do than of what to do.
And now it's my turn to figure out how to live the rest of my life without being under his shadow. I can and will be happier, healthier and kinder. I daresay, against all of his advice, I will be better off than he was in every way that matters.
The truth about my father is complicated. He was a liar, a cheat, a criminal and a registered sex offender. He had terrible habits and a superiority complex unlike any other. There were times he declared himself a god, and I couldn't tell you if that was truly in jest or if he believed it to some extent. Anywhere I find myself lacking, I see himself shining through.
My father ruined us all both financially and in the eyes of the community. Even after he died, we were picking up the pieces of the debts he left behind. Each one of these a deception he left in his wake. He used to brag about his successes (all within his own mind), and tell his children that it was too bad his generation would be the last to exceed the success of their parents. In his mind, we were doomed to fail by virtue of the fact that no one could measure up to him.
My father spent most of his adult life significantly overweight- stuffing himself with fast food, sugary drinks, and finding vegetables beneath him. I remember being a child and begging him to change his diet- crying at how we didn't want to live without him. How naive I was, that sad child putting her heart into a man who did not deserve a morsel of it.
When my father went to jail, we were asked not to visit him. My mother only went once and he told her not to return because the strip searches to meet with visitors were humiliating. He complained about the food and the population he was being subjected to, but he did make one friend. I suppose sex offenders have to stick together. My brother and I though we would be done with him forever once he was locked away, but my mother eventually let him move back home. It seemed our prison would endure.
Years later, I was practicing at my own law firm and my father introduced me to a client who needed some assistance with his brother's estate. I spent many days at this elderly man's home- he and I sitting at the kitchen table and sorting through bank statements while he ate bologna sandwiches. It wasn't until much later that I learned this was my father's friend from prison- that he sent me (a young lady) to this man's home by myself without any warning. That the house had firearms hidden all over it, including wedged between the couch cushions oriented behind my seat at the kitchen table.
You see he never worried about our well being the way we worried about his. My father had no idea how to love or care for anyone.
Usually, when a loved one dies, you go through the seven stages of grief. My grief for this death is skewed. Some of my siblings smiled when they heard he was gone. I couldn't blame them. There's no right emotion for this situation. What I felt was a delayed relief- like a long acting pill. It was a relief that only started in a trickle. Each day, I tell myself "he can't hurt you anymore." Each day, I believe it a little more. It's been eighteen months and in some ways, I feel like I'm still learning to breathe.
It may have been easier if I didn't see his face when I looked in the mirror, if there wasn't a glimpse of him in my children's contours. It may have been easier if I fully outright hated him.
Today, I'm trying to find the consolation in having him as my father, because I have learned quite a lot, albeit at my own expense. Monsters look like regular people. They can be quite charming. The greatest liars can be very difficult to figure out. Bad guys aren't bad all of the time. My father taught me to love live music and how to catch a softball. He was also a terrible person and a terrible parent. He taught me more of what not to do than of what to do.
And now it's my turn to figure out how to live the rest of my life without being under his shadow. I can and will be happier, healthier and kinder. I daresay, against all of his advice, I will be better off than he was in every way that matters.
no subject
Date: 2025-06-29 08:54 pm (UTC)"[Y]ou can love someone but also have that person be so toxic to your existence that it outweighs your love entirely."
This was really powerful, and both beautifully and carefully written.
no subject
Date: 2025-06-30 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-06-30 02:40 pm (UTC)That has to be one of the most difficult lessons for anyone to learn, especially a child learning about a parent.
Thank you for sharing such a personal story with us.
Dan
no subject
Date: 2025-06-30 08:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-06-30 06:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-06-30 08:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-06-30 10:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-01 07:01 pm (UTC)You can rise above it all, but of course it’s in spite of that parent or without reference to them at all. It’s the periodic ghastly realisations about them and separating it from yourself somehow. There is, always, inevitably, the trail of destruction that these people leave in their wake, from legal rubbish to kids who don’t know what normal is.
Well and bravely written.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-01 09:58 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-02 03:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-02 05:22 pm (UTC)This line hits hard. This one really resonates with me.
I very much appreciate this glimpse of your survival and endurance. I'm sorry you had to live through such a toxic stew. What you went through is unimaginable. But I am glad to see that you came through it so well and so determined to be everything he was not. That matters.
And this... yeah. This is such a difficult (but necessary) thing to learn.
Difficult piece to read, for sure. But also a very compelling read at the same time.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-02 07:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:20 pm (UTC)My kids aren't perfect, but they're spurred onward with love and compassion at every turn. I never want them to feel like less than anyone else, much less, somehow beneath me.
At one point, my father thought he was dying and he took each of his children for a chat. You would think this would be the opportunity for him to say how much he loved us or how proud he was...
He told me "you have no mind of your own"
He told next brother "you are deficient"
My middle sister was spared, because she was the favorite
He told my youngest sister "you wasted all of your potential"
And my baby brother "you are a waste"
Can you even imagine saying any of these things to your own children?
no subject
Date: 2025-07-02 11:56 pm (UTC)I am glad you stayed safe even through the visit of your father's friend!
My mother isn't as "bad" as your father, but I know a slight touch of feeling so conflicted about one's parents.
You have done great, becoming a successful person and a wonderful parent who is nothing like your dad.
These lines you wrote are so, so true:
'Monsters look like regular people. They can be quite charming. The greatest liars can be very difficult to figure out. Bad guys aren't bad all of the time. "
no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:22 pm (UTC)I strive to be the polar opposite of that man, and it's scary that someone like him can exist and take advantage of other people.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 03:18 pm (UTC)It seems he was the virus that makes vaccine though... Because it sounds like you're doing splendidly. Congrats on finding the strength to overcome and persevere
no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 04:58 pm (UTC)This is truly an apt description for who your father was and how he affected your live. Cutting yourself off from him must have been hard, because the love is still there, but it seems like it was in self-defense.
And there's nothing like grief mixed with fear or anger or resentment. I don't think you can really understand it unless you've been through it.
no subject
Date: 2025-07-03 06:25 pm (UTC)Sometimes I will talk to my kids about some of the things I went through, and they look at me in complete disbelief. The abuse seems so foreign to them. They can believe that monsters exist, but it's so hard to think that your own parents were their victims and for such a long period of time.