Dear Abusive Dad. I forgive you

Dear Dad,

I would love to say that I hate you right now. I would love to be a mixed up ball of anger and hatred over the way that you have treated me all through my life. I’d love to scream, “Go to hell, you didn’t deserve me as a Son” whilst flipping the finger at you.

But you’re dead now, and hating you would be more than you deserve.

I remember the times that you raised your hands to me when I was only trying to figure out this new life you had given me. When you hid in the dark corners and beat me senseless. People knew what you did. What you were like. But you didn’t care. You did it anyway. And people were too scared to approach you.

That didn’t matter. You knew how to scare people.

I was only 4. I had no idea why being myself angered you so much. Whatever I did seemed to send you into a frothy-mouthed fit of rage. I remember my Gran telling me that every time you looked at me angrily I would run away holding my bum, crying.

That’s no way for a four-year-old to live.

Luckily Mum saw sense in the end and left you. For my sake. And hers too. You see it wasn’t only me that you abused it was my dear, sweet mother too. It took her SO many years to get over the abuse, the torture and the silence. But she was stronger than you in the end. She left and didn’t look back.

It took me many more years to learn that what happened between you and her was none of my business. None whatsoever. Isn’t it strange how much parental baggage we take into our Adulthoods? How we hold on to what happened between Mum and Dad and take it on as our own? I bet you had no idea, did you? I bet you didn’t think all of your problems would eventually be mine too. You couldn’t. Mentally you were a child, not much older than me.

But there’s a good side to this Dad. You did pick me up when I was ten. You actively chose to involve yourself in my life, and boy was I a proud son. “My Dad is high up in the nuclear industry and takes me holidays every year” I’d boast to my friends as I’d wave a 50 in their faces that I had come back with as a gift from you. I could see them writhe with envy.

And you did. You tried to make up for your past actions by taking me places and engaging me and making me feel like I had the best Dad in the world. For a good six years. A good harmonious six years with a lovely, generous father figure. I can’t complain. That’s more than others get.

Remember the time when we walked back from dinner on a red-lit dusk evening in the Lake District? Remember how we laughed, and jostled together as proper father and son? I was 14. That’s my favourite memory of you.

Yet you hit the drink again didn’t you? And even though you absolutely swore to everyone that you could handle what you were taking no-one could really see the demon unfolding before their eyes. No-one but those closest to you. And how we paid the price.

From then you only wanted me when you needed me. It’s horrible to feel like an on call servant. And you were my Dad. I SO wanted to please you. So I was your on call servant. You daren’t beat me though. 6ft 2” and well built, you couldn’t compete with that. So you manipulated me. You lied to me. You cheated me. You stole my Dad.

And then you died. You died on your own with no-one but the people clawing at the scraps around you. People that didn’t really like you for you. I think back to when you died, and you had such a loving family, but you isolated all of us. Luckily my wife is practically a saint and had organised everything so that you could die peacefully. She saved you comfort. Not me. I couldn’t bear myself then. I was going through turmoil.

But what you didn’t realise from all of this abuse, anger and neglect is that you gave me a unique gift. A gift that one day I would become so incensed at the way that I was living and by the way that people treated me I would actually go out and figure out why I hurt. I sought help. I sought BIG help.

And I helped myself, and I changed. I changed far more than you could ever possibly imagine. I remember you telling me on your death bed, dying with liver failure, after I had made my peace with you, that you were a proud father. I didn’t know what to believe. If that was you or the alcohol talking. But if you saw me now. The way that I stand. The way that I interact with people. My accomplishments, and my integrity. You’d be a beaming father.

I am the man you always wanted to be.

And Dad, I know, deep down, you were always a good person. You always wanted to do what was best for you and I, by the only way you knew how.

But you weren’t taught to love and you weren’t taught to value. You had a messed up childhood too. It’s a wonder you made it as far as you did with the hand that you were dealt.

I understand that. I understand it fully.

And it’s because of that I forgive you from the bottom of my heart.

Perhaps one day, on your cloud, you’ll write a letter like this to your parents. And you’ll forgive them.

All my love,

Raymond.