Writing is a form of therapy; sometimes I wonder how all those who do not write, compose, or paint can manage to escape the madness, melancholia, the panic and fear which is inherent in a human situation.

― Graham Greene, Ways of Escape

Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long in the land that the Lord your God is giving you.

― Exodus 20:12

Here is some music to listen to if you happen to trip upon my post and give it a read. It’s the same tune I listened to as I wrote this.

This is a hard topic to write about, fuck it, it’s time. Let me start with a little bit about my sad delusional Mother, I’ll get to my fucked up Father in a moment. Now that doesn’t sound like I am honoring my parents, does it. I guess that will just be something else that will contribute to my early death, so be it.

I do love them best I can, from a distance. Maybe God will give me a little credit for that.

My Mother is an Evangelical Fundamentalist Apocalyptic nutcase, like she is waiting for “The Rapture” every day. A Baby Boomer who went BOOM! Her fuse was lit by her stepfather and brother, both creeps. She was a very beautiful young woman and she attracted creeps galore. Creeps everywhere unite! We can’t even speak anymore without it devolving into her religion, insane politics, and judgment of just about every thing that moves under the sun. It’s her way or you burn baby! I grew up in her cult, but even as a child, I would tell her that there was no love in her words, just judgment. She loved that one. We could cut each other to the bone with our words. Needless to say, we had a rocky time and had fights like sun flares lashing into the solar system burning away all the planetary atmospheres. We didn’t like each other really. I was a brash shining star who burned all around me too in my way. Together, we were rotating Supernovae. Good times.

I do love her best I can, from a distance.

We need another groovy tune interlude.

I left my childhood religion behind in my middle age. Nothing could have broken my mother’s heart more than this. I didn’t do it out of spite. I really didn’t. I just found my heart and true will is all and it took me far from any beaten path, deep into the dark woods, eating locusts and honey. I came back a long haired bearded weirdo no one could recognize or understand. She will never forgive me for it. She calls this my wizard phase. Ha! That’s a good one. I will burn in a lake of fire forever I guess. So her God of retribution decrees, at least that’s how she sees it. She’s praying for me. Thanks Mom, I will take all the prayers I can get. Truthfully, all I did was find my heart again. I opened the cage and let the bird inside fly free. If that means I’m condemned, guilty.

After years of shunning by my Mother for my unforgivable act, recently I came to understand a bit more about what drove her into the arms of a vengeful punishing God. She needed a protector. She found in her own warped version of Jesus, a man who would never hurt her. She wanted her sons to be like Jesus. I think I have come to understand a little bit about my Mother. I don’t blame her for her iron grip on a vengeful god, her longing for salvation. Life can be fucking hard. She wanted those who hurt her to be punished. Little did I know how hard it had been for her and our little nuclear family when we were kids. Only trying to put myself in her shoes did I begin to soften my anger toward her for shunning me. This was triggered by some horrible family revelations.

When I was a young teenager, I came home one day to find my Father had left us. I cried my soul out upon the stairs for hours. My Mother gave us a little information, too much really. She was beside herself. It turns out my Father had abused my little sister’s friend who lived behind us. The neighbor girl had idolized my Father. He can be ever so charming. He draws you in, then like Gollum from The Hobbit, he can lash out to grab ahold of his precious ring he covets. He has a monster inside of him. The little girl lived in a broken home with her mother and brother. My mother and he had separated. Somehow he avoided jail with some counseling, which he never finished apparently. They later reconciled and he moved back in. I learned more details during my high school years. I came to loathe and hate him for hurting that little girl. No one had abused me in my childhood. That disease was not in me. It turned out other kids in the neighborhood had also abused her and her brother. My father was just another in a long line of creeps and abusers. I really hated him for that. God knows what came of that poor family. They moved away shortly after the incident.

A few years later, my sister got pregnant at 13. I had moved away to school by that time and found out when I was out of country.

I cried my soul out upon some stairs for hours when I learned this.

No one ever looked into what had driven her to that. We just thought she was rebellious and stupid. A few decades later I would learn more about the creep, my father, and his actions toward my sister. My Mother setup ground rules to make sure he never touched my sister’s little girl. She never knew he abused my sister until decades later. We never thought he could hurt his own blood. I had blocked that possibility out. You can probably guess what happened. Not only did he abuse my sister, he had abused my little niece too.

Supernova!

That god damn mother fucking animal had destroyed his own family and I never knew it until the wreck was long past.

I never knew what drove my mother’s misery and anger at me. That son of bitch creep Father of mine did. In my late middle age, while my mother was shunning me for leaving her cult, I had confronted my Father when I had found out he had abused my sister and niece. Ironically, this event brought me and mother back together, brief though it would turn out to be. My heart broke for my mother, sister, and niece. By my late 40’s when it all came out, I had no more tears left to cry, I was angry! So my father had moved out to the same city I was living in shortly before everything blew up. My niece had come out to visit me and she actually stayed over at his apartment a few nights and then she just bolted and left to go home with almost no explanation. Before she left, she got drunk one night at my place and was talking to my wife in the backyard. She told her what he had done. My wife had been charmed by him by this time as well. My wife told me and I can’t even describe what I felt. Like hot magma bubbling up from my depths. I wanted to kill him.

I pieced the story together and there had been a hint he had also done something to my sister. I spoke to my brother about it all and we formulated a plan of attack to confront my father. I would take the lead. So I setup a time to go to my father’s apartment and I would Zoom call my brother. We had just let him know we had something important to discuss with him. So I drove over one night and I sat in my truck for a good 30 minutes getting my story straight. I had to calm myself down a few times, I didn’t want to lose my cool. I wanted the details and he would shutdown immediately if we came at him too strong. So I stuffed the scorpion tail back down my throat and I headed into his place. I sat on the couch, I kept a calm demeanor, and I called my brother. The setup had gone perfectly. Then I began. I told him he had to listen and stay calm. I told him what my niece had told my wife.

Supernova!

I asked him what the fuck he had to say for himself?! So much for a calm demeanor. That room exploded with the light of a 1000 suns! My anger became a burning meteor of hatred and condemnation. I became vengence! I wanted his head. I would become my sister’s and niece’s sword of retribution. I swung that sword and I cut deep. He had no where to run and he broke down. My brother and I knew it was bullshit. He was just upset we had found it. Then I hit him with another swing of my sword in his stomach this time and I said, “You fucked with our sister too didn’t you?!” No no no, I would never he protested. I pushed the sword in deeper. He broke and said, yes yes, he did it all. I didn’t want specifics at that point. I couldn’t handle it. My brother stayed really calm. I was impressed by his control. I am the oldest and I felt like I had failed everyone. “How could you?!” I screamed.

“They trusted you, your job was to protect them!” I screamed again.

Then I want for the neck with my sword, and I asked him if he had abused his sisters, and he half confessed to something! It’s still not clear to me what he did to them. And who else?! Who else had he hurt? I didn’t want to know. I could have strangled him right there. This monster was my Father?! “Who is he, what is he?” flashed through my mind. He was not contrite. He was starting to get angry and I shut that shit down immediately. I was raving by this point. I had to leave. So I left it with my brother and I told the creep to never approach me again. Just slink off and die somewhere I urged him. Well, a year passed. I had spoken to my sister, brother, and mother a lot about all of it. I was so sorry for them. My sister urged me to forgive him, as she had. Wow, that blew me away. But she and the rest of the family cut off all ties to him, except for my brother. My mother had never known he abused my sister and her daughter. It destroyed her. This was the only reason she was speaking to me.

Fast forward a couple years to the present day. I had invited my Dad to some family events over the years and I tried to forgive him. I didn’t want to shun him like my mother had me. He never really even faced my sister and niece and wanted to avoid it all. I didn’t bring it up. The few times I saw him over the last few years I just ended up disgusted by him. His health had declined a great deal and recently after not talking to him for 6 months I got a call. He was was in the hospital. I thought, good, I hope he’s suffering. Well, after that flashed in my mind, I went into autopilot and went to see him. It was really bad, he had congestive heart failure, out of control diabetes, and had recently had strokes. He’s a tough bastard, he recovered over a week in the hospital. I pushed all the feelings deep down and did the best I could to help him. Then I had to help him setup all sorts of home services, get his meds straight and attend a few Dr. appointments. Every now and then I had flashes of anger and realized his body bore the burden of what he had done. He is a man suffering the collapse of independence and his body. His mind collapsed long ago with his heart I suppose.

Now he was experiencing…Supernova!

Part of me still thinks at times, good, suffer you bastard, as I smile my way through it all. But I don’t hold onto the anger. I let it flash and flow away. It’s poison. I am the one who has to help him to his death. He’s not there yet, but could be anytime. I have observed him closely. He’s just a broken pathetic man, a child trapped in a broken body. I watch him be a creep to the nurses and I am like, are you kidding me?! “Can you control yourself?!” I hiss at him, but he can’t. He’s a creep and he will be until he passes. I hate seeing parts of him in me. I’m no saint. I have had plenty of issues in past relationships, which I usually destroyed. God only knows how many lives he’s destroyed. But I am not his judge. And now, helping him recuperate, I have to help myself too, heal myself. My sister and niece have gone on to thrive and I am so thankful for that. My mother has remarried her old high school love and has made a good life for herself in spite of waiting for the rapture every day. My mother and I cannot communicate any longer. My sister, brother, and I have become very close. I love them very much.

My mother and I do the best we can to love each other from a distance.

In the end, what more can I say, you just have to find your groove, dry the tears, spit out the anger, mend the broken hearts with threads of forgiveness and empathy and just dance.