When I was in late grade school/early junior high, my Dad used to come into the bathroom and pull the shower curtain aside while I was showering.
He'd look me up and down and say, "I like to see you growing." He was always smiling, the same smile he'd have when eating ice cream, talking to a friend, watching a good show.
When he'd kiss me like I thought all Dads did, he'd kiss me like my Mom, hard on the lips, hand in the middle of my back. I still remember the feel and smell of all of it.
I've spent forty years trying to understand why this happened to me.
My Dad had brain surgery when he was 20, in 1950. Brain surgery at that time was not what it is today. He almost died and had to relearn all of the basics: eating, walking, functioning. At his funeral in 1996, his brother said he knew two versions of my Dad: one before surgery, one after.
I used to think this surgery changed him enough to where he didn't understand what he was doing to me. The first counselor I talked to about this said no, he knew exactly what he was doing. For some reason up until now, understanding why has been more important for me to understand than getting healthy.
What I do know, he was traumatized by his surgery and traumatized in a different way by being the center of attention he'd always been in his family, even more so after his surgery.
Over the decades, he slowly lost his health and vitality. He was plagued by a myriad of physical and mental health issues his entire adult life. He died young at 65 in a nursing home, unable to care for himself by my mother.
The question for me has always been, "What did he know?" Why would he do something that so deeply traumatized me, changed the course of my life in almost every possible way.
Signs indicate he was overwhelmed by the trauma of his surgery, unable to fully recover, make good decisions, live a vibrant life. Signs also point to a selfish, narcissistic man who lied to clients, controlled our family, and misled people about the truth with his still-present charm and charisma, right up until the end.
I've spent too many years wondering what he knew and what he could have done differently. The only difference could have been we might have still had a relationship. The abuse happened and that unfortunately doesn't change.
But this week, I am beginning the process of rewriting this story, so I can finally be free. I may never full understand why, but I will finally move on and put this behind me, get it out of my body, for good.