Dear Dad

Dear Dad,

I felt free when you died. I didn't feel like there was someone out to get me anymore. My paranoid of being "in trouble" by you diminished. I felt like I was finally free to be me, whatever that may be. I felt undeniably lighter.

The first time I visited your grave, I forgave you. I said out loud "I forgive you." I forgive you for the atrocities that happened under your roof, at your hand and at others who were supposed to be my "protectors."

Dad, I want you to know that I love you but you never showed me Love in the ways that I needed. I always felt ashamed for never living up to your standards. Anytime I followed my heart, led to disappointing you. You never accepted me for who I am. You shamed me for desiring a college degree in Art, something that I was not only good at, but also extremely passionate about.

When I was hospitalized for my mental health, you shunned me. When I spoke out about the experiences I endured, you silenced me. I was labeled "the Crazy one." You went out of your way to hide my Truth. You went out of your way to protect your ego, your reputation as a lawyer, as a prosecutor and a judge. I stood beside you, even after years and years of mental, emotional and physical abuse.

I am still ashamed for silencing myself for so long. I am continuing to work through the trauma of being "the Good girl," as anything less was unacceptable. I nodded my head. I wore the right clothes. I made the right friends. I worked at the right job. All things that you expected of me. I excelled. I was silent in a room full of men. I was attractive and dressed according to the societal standards of American Beauty. I made friends of those you approved of (and those you didn't but I dare not mention those to you). I was the best employee and everyone talked highly of me and my capabilities.

I dimmed my light for you. I let go of myself. I shut my heart off to joy and played the role you expected of me. I was silent and studious. Always listening, never speaking out. On the few occasions I spoke against you, I was demonized. I was sent to an Evangelical Christian camp to address my sins. A place where there was brainwashing for the Greater Good of the Lord. This was a strong attempt to erase the parts of me that existed.

I never gave up on myself. I stayed small while it was not safe to exist freely. By no means is this an attempt to discredit the good you have done in this world, but this is MY time. This is my chance to write the wrongs that happened to ME.

When my sister died, you silenced me. I was met with anger and aggression when I expressed that I missed her. In hindsight, I see how deeply hurt you must have been, losing a daughter to cancer. However, it doesn't mean that you handled yourself with Grace and Compassion.

You were a terror of a father. In my Ethics class in college, I came to the determination that you could not be a "Good Person" professionally if you were not a "Good Person" in the home. I stand by that belief today. There were times you bent me over and beat me with your hands, welts rising, and you never slowed down. You rarely used the belt, probably because you knew you could not control the depth of the wounds. It wouldn't look good for an Assistant Commonwealth's Attorney to show up on the Juvenile and Domestic Relations docket, now would it? This was the beginning of my suppression journey. Silenced before I was five years old.

I stopped speaking out about my sister and how much I missed her. I lost connection with my best friend and was expected to just move on.

Whenever my behavior was out of line... Rather when my behavior was childlike, and developmentally appropriate, but you didn't know how to handle it maturely, I ended up with either a beating or I was sent to my room.

Whenever the beatings came, I learned to laugh instead of cry. It was my way of control. I was controlling the outcome. You wanted me to give in, you wanted me to cry. I learned at an early age that I wouldn't succumb and give you that satisfaction.

You were a sick fuck. You threw tennis balls at our dogs faces. People at work called you Jekyll and Hyde, and for a damn good reason. You could flip faster than you can turn a light switch on and off.

To this day, I feel you were a nefarious character. Yes, nefarious. Yes, my mind still tries to debate with itself... you did good here, and you did good there but that just goes to show how conditioned I was to believe you were always right. You were the head of the household. You made it clear that you were CHIEF Law Enforcement Officer in our hometown.

When I was acting out in High School, you drove me to the Juvenile Detention Hall. I had a personal tour of the facility. You used your strings once again to place fear into my heart. In reality, you just taught me to be better at hiding things from you. You used your Professional status to your advantage. Not your first or last time pulling strings in your favor.

Your favorite quote, which you repeated often was "The scales of Justice are tipping in your favor." A quote you said originated from a movie. (I'd love to know what movie, as context matters.) However, after working in the Criminal Justice Arena, I now translate that quote to Tipping scales of justice in your favor, meaning YOU tipped the scales whenever you damn well pleased.

If it was a friend, a church-member or a child of a person in your circle who was in trouble with the law, you offered them leniency. In cases of child pornography and child abuse, a domestic violence, you let MEN off the hook, because you believed they deserved it. Or, was it some weird brotherly-love thing? Well, I believe in the heart of my hearts, on a multitude of occasions that you were in the wrong. You allowed people who had immensely hurt others loose, for what, the "Good ol' boys club?"

Makes sense that I was never loved and accepted by you. I was never one of the Boys. I was your first born daughter. You had no desire to play catch with me. You were solely interested in your cars and golf game when I was a young child. Sometimes you would take me out on Saturday mornings. We'd get a donut and look at sports cars. Since Mom bought you one every six months for a whilet. That was a lot of trips to exotic car lots. (Is that where y0u were illegally transporting guns? That's certainly a rumor that never left my memory...) Or, at the golf store, I'd wait patiently, waiting for you to pick out another golf club. Your golf game, as important as Church on Sunday's.

Ironic, that you, a church member, and raised in the church - demanding we attend numerous times a week, while you were off living a life of lies and sin.

An adulterer.

An abuser.

I have no doubt losing your father at a young age affected you deeply. I have no doubt your upbringing affected your ability to parent your own children. But, by no means, does that make how you treated your children acceptable.

I tired my entire life to please you. I sacrificed my happiness for you. I wanted to make you happy. I wanted to make you proud. But Dad, there came a time in my life when I said no more.

I certainly didn't speak about the horrible things you did to us while I was alive. The slamming of doors, the walls being busted beneath me, the yelling, the beatings.

When I was being sexually abused under your roof, I was too ashamed to speak out. I certainly didn't tell you as I was beaten as a child for speaking about things you didn't like. I simply said I didn't want to go to your house any longer. I was the one put on trial. I was entered into therapy. I was the one who had a problem. No one, not ever the doctors looked into my environment under your roof because you were an upstanding citizen. You were law enforcement, you were a church member. BLAH BLAH BLAH.

When I overdosed at a pre-teen, I told the doctor's I didn't want to see you. Too scared and ashamed to say that I was being sexually abused in your home. You demanded entry into my hospital room. I was never safe with you in my life. I always had a target on me when you were alive, because your Ego was more important that my precious Life.

That is just one reason I was happy when you died. No only was your body riddled with cancer, you body in pain, unbearable to witness somedays, because I loved you, despite how poorly you treated me.

I have had many therapists over the years, and I will never forget telling one therapist that I was afraid to speak out in fear of retaliation. HIS response was that I should stay silent. It was safer for me to keep quiet. I was beyond confused. Did he really just tell me that I should avoid speaking the Truth? In hindsight, I am grateful. My life is valuable. I wholeheartedly believe the Truths I've witnessed, as the Prosecutor's daughter, could get me killed.

So, thank you Dad. In your life, I learned discernment. In your death, I have found freedom. Freedom to express myself. Freedom to be me. Freedom from oppression.

You have visited me on several occasions in my Dreamland. I watched your crippled body decaying, still attempting to prove yourself, even in my dreams.

I hope you find peace. I hope you see me, for me now. I hope you see how badly I was hurt when I was in your care, by you and others. I hope you see how disgusting it was to experience grown-ass men sexualizing your teenage daughter.

I hope in the afterlife you find solace. I hope you stand up for those being oppressed. I hope you are castrated, to be truthful. I don't think you deserve to have another chance at Fatherhood. I hope you find peace from your demons, from whatever was keeping you from becoming a gentle and loving human.

In your fifty some years, I never saw you apologize to anyone but God. God forgave you. You told me that on numerous occasions. You were forgiven by God for your mistakes. You somehow made your adulterous decisions our Mother's fault. Did you ever apologize to her? Or, just to God? Still a confusing time to me.

You certainly never apologized to me for abandoning your children for another woman. You never saw how deeply I was affected by your absence. A teenager, still yearning for your love, even after all the physical and emotional abuse I endured during my childhood. You truly never cared because your profession and your playtime was more important than my existence or my feelings.

So, I forgive you. I forgive you for all the hurt and shame I endured.

I am resilient because of you.

I am strong because of you.

But Dad, more importantly, I forgive myself for dismissing my needs for most of my life. I forgive myself for dimming my light so yours could shine. I forgive myself for silencing my Truths.

While I still have a high level of discernment, I most certainly am not ashamed of my past. I no longer hide my Truths. I choose when to share and I choose when to stay silent. I do not succumb to pressure to act a certain way according to societal standards, because it was those standards that kept me in harm's way.

The Patriarchal beliefs you instilled within me, are slowly but surely crumbling.

I am not bonded to your agenda any longer.

I stand in my own Power.

I shine my Light.

I am me, so mote it be.

Goodbye.