I didn’t care either. He was letting them take my mom from me. He helped them. I found out when I got older, that he actually called them to come get her. He committed her. Time and time again. Over and over throughout the years I was growing up. I don’t think I ever ever really forgave him for any of that. Not until now, at least. Not until i put myself into his shoes. Not until I stopped long enough to think about why he did what he did. Why he had to do what he did. Honestly, i didn’t care why he did it. Do you want to know why? Because my dad actually told me it was my fault my mom was sick. He blamed me for it and he told me that the whole time I was growing up. Here’s the bad part though, I believed him. I thought for years and years I was really the cause of my mom’s illness. I was an only child and I didn’t know any better. I guess he needed to blame someone. Maybe he tried to get me to behave better, to get me to do what he wanted me to do by saying I was going to make my mom sick again. I don’t know. But he had no right to do that to me. I was a child. It wasn’t anyone’s fault my mom was sick. She just was.
So now I am learning forgiveness for my dad by writing this book. I had therapy for a few years after I enrolled in rehab for drugs and alcohol, but nothing came close to the power of empathy. Putting myself into his shoes. Looking at the way his dad treated him and probably blamed him for everything wrong in his life back when he was growing up. He just didn’t know any better. He learned this behavior from his dad. At least he never hit me or kicked me like his dad did to him. Emotional wounds run deep though. What he told me about myself when I was growing up helped create a monster. Until I almost died, that is.
Sure re-living my life through writing this is hard, but it’s also teaching me. It’s allowing me to grow and learn new things. Some are hard to swallow. Yes, I was emotionally abused by both of my parents at times, but they always loved me. They loved each other deeply, as well. All the way until the day they died. Their story is not going to be untold. I’m telling it, and i’m telling it from my point of view. The love that I saw, the love that I felt. No matter what happened back then, I can understand why they did it, and I forgive them for it, as well.