Dear 'Dad' Letter

Written by Roberta J. Hart

This letter describes the torment of suffering from all types of child abuse, from emotional to physical to sexual abuse, and the impact it had on the author.

Revenge is a dish best served cold. What an incredible powerful statement. What does it really mean? What is revenge? Does that word really carry the negative connotation that it has become accepted as? When one seeks revenge, do we not see it within the context of the action? Here is a story that begs to be shared, is it revenge?

Dear "Dad",

I am writing this letter now because it is the thirteenth anniversary of my father's death. Every year at this time, I am overwhelmed by sadness, regret and anger. This moment is long overdue. David James was my father. He died November 16, 1993 of suicide. He ran the exhaust into his old Chevy hatchback while he sat quietly parked in his own back yard. He died peacefully of carbon monoxide poisoning. He was survived by two daughters. Their names are Robin, and Melissa. He also fathered two sons, and their names are David and John. Melissa was only 15 years old at the time of his death, and John was just a baby, at 4 years old. The day that I buried my father, it was cold and raining. I remember watching John place his toy trucks at the head of his grave with tears streaming down his innocent face.

I had so many questions that I wanted to ask him. I will never have that opportunity. He never got the chance to see his grandsons, and they will never know their real grandfather. The things that I remember about him are his smile, his laugh and his incredible sense of humor. He had a gift of making people laugh, even when they didn't want to. He never made excuses for his life, or his mistakes. My father's life was long even though he only lived to see his 40th birthday. His choices landed him in prison several times, and he was at times completely consumed by drugs, alcohol, and women. He was adopted at a very young age by a couple who tried to love him despite his explosive temper that developed as a teenager. They did not have the skills or community support to guide their son through life. I have heard many stories of my father's life and wondered how much the loss of two of his children had an impact on his choices.

I saw my father the night before he died. This moment is one that would change my life forever. I went to visit him in his barely inhabitable home in the heart of Garfield. I saw immediately that he had been drinking, which is a violation of his probation. He looked so sad and utterly exhausted. He asked me to come and sit on his lap. I snarled at him, and told him that he was going to go back to prison. I just couldn't understand why he wouldn't change, even for me. He insisted again that I came and sit on his lap. I rolled my eyes, and walked over to him, and sat with him. He looked at me through his thick, tinted, broken glasses and said, "Baby girl, don't do with your life what I have done with mine. I love you." I regret this next moment with all of my heart. I told him that I would never end up a drunk like him, and told him to sober up before he called me again. He was dead the next day.

Now, at thirty three years old, I finally understand. He knew that the choices that he made in his life had made him what he was. He was warning me about the dangers of poor choices and telling me that sometimes, we just run out of tomorrows. I learned the most valuable lessons in life from a man that society would have deemed a waste. He was my father, and his memory deserves respect. His life and death taught me more than any sheltered suburban family ever could.

Imagine how much we may have been able to learn from each other is it wasn't stolen from us. I am HIS daughter, in my heart, mind and soul. You said once, when I was young, that I was like a wild horse, and that they are the most loyal when broken. How did that work out for you? My father didn't have to break me in order to earn my loyalty, he just had to love me. He accomplished in a fraction of the time what you had a lifetime to teach. My father's legacy ends with broken homes, three wives, and a criminal history, but it was real.

I have seen your legacy. You have passed closet alcoholism, disrespect of your wife, close minded bigotry, intolerance, and arrogance. The amazing thing, is that you were able to pass them along without ever having been home. I can only imagine what the people at the bar, bowling alley, flight club, and golf course were able to learn from you. Maybe I am giving credit to the wrong person. Maybe the credit for your accomplishments should go to your other half. After all, I credit her for so many things in my life. Allow me to give you a few examples. I credit her for my fear of being loved, the constant questioning of my abilities, my poor self image, and most of all, the emptiness in my soul where a mother's love should be. This brings me to another introduction.

Veronica Lynn is my mother. I am sure that you remember her. She was that child that you put on the stand in a courtroom decades ago. The child that you saw then still lives in my mother today. Her family consists of a long line of women who, in one way or another, betrayed or abandoned their children. For years, through your wife's teachings, I believed that my mother was not any different than them. I was wrong. Sir, I have the transcripts from my adoption. You, your wife, my maternal grandmother, and a gaggle of unethical attorneys stole her one hope at a normal life. You stole that hope from young woman who stood on the brink of a breakdown. As a result of yours, and their actions, that young woman has turned into a mentally unstable hypochondriac. She abuses drugs and abuses alcohol, and is void of the social skills necessary to function in life. The irony is that she now resembles the woman that I was forced to call Mom for sixteen years.

I was born to an alcoholic father and mentally unstable mother, and I was stolen by the exact same people. The one difference was age. My parents were still young and possibly, with the proper guidance and support, could have been more than they became, especially my father. You, and your wife through arrogance and selfishness that had been well established in you by then, stole something that did not belong to you. You have always justified your actions by asking things like, "where would you have ended up if we had left you there?" You have tried to convince me that you gave me more than they ever could have. Then your arrogance told you that you were more qualified than they to raise me. Who gave you that right? Sir, you were never able to steal me from the feeling that I did not belong with you. You cannot force a child to love you with guilt, shame and manipulation. Let me solve the mystery of how to "break me" and make me into "one of yours". The only thing that you ever had to do was respect where I came from, understand that I was different from your children, and most of all love me in spite of where I came from. You, and your family are incapable of these things because your intentions were reprehensible from the very beginning.