When I was 14 years old I walked into my house and realized that my father was beating my younger sister. For the first time ever
I stood up to
him and fought back.
At the time I thought this would make the nightmares stop.
Years later, in the fall of 1996, I got the call I always knew would come. The alcoholism had finally caught up with dad and he had died of septic
shock. A few hours later I was in my car ready to make a non-stop drive from Georgia to California... Non stop because my father had hurt many
people over his life - and there had already been a break-in at his house... a young woman he'd abused, looking for recompense.
Before his cremation, as I stood in the funeral home... I kissed his cold forehead and told him he was forgiven for all that he had done to me - and
added my hopes that fate, or God, or whatever comes next would be forgiving as well.
I thought that would stop the nightmares, finally.
Now, at fifty years old, I look back and understand just how much of my past was born in those moments, as a child, when all I wanted to know was why
my daddy was punching me, over and over again. So many fights over the years... so much blood and violence - all trying to prove, to myself, that I
could stand up. That I could protect myself. So many drunken nights, needlessly following my personal demon into the Hellish pit of his own personal
But that rage and hatred served a purpose... Eventually it was the catalyst that made me realize I cannot hate any longer. I cannot fear any longer. I
cannot let my demon dictate who I am any longer.
I still have the nightmares. But, these days, they no longer hurt me. They simply serve as reminders that I am finally the one who broke the chain of
violence in my lineage. I fought my fathers demons, for him and I both... and I won.
edit on 8/13/16 by Hefficide because: (no reason given)