This is a first draft.

I know very little about who my father was before he became my father. My sister has spent a lot of time collecting information about him. She's looked through all his personal belongings which were sent to my mother after he died. She's looked through all the photos he took while in Vietnam, and has even found some of the other soldiers in those pictures. Through those men she's found out tidbits about the Vietnamese woman in many of the pictures. She's looked at his death certificate and knows exactly where he shot himself to end his life. She's spent time asking my mother about him, about the way he grew up and she's learned a lot about the man he became through those stories.

I know very vague things about my father. I know he shot himself in a motel room on a road not far from where we lived when I was 16. I know he went to Vietnam but never saw actual combat, though post traumatic stress might lead you to believe otherwise. I know he was married before he married my mother at just 20 years old. He lived in a nice house in a nice part of the town I also grew up in and he attended a good Catholic high school. He was from a large family and they all had a tenuous connection which usually involved a lot of alcohol, a lot of reminiscing almost always ending in loud angry arguments over nothing I could understand. His mother died many years before I was born, in some way no one really ever talks about, and I'm not asking.

My sister has always wanted to understand our father, she was 12 when he died and 9 when my parents finally divorced and he was forcibly removed from the house. I have spent the 19 years since he died trying to forget everything about him.

My father read books to us and taught me to ride a bike. He made the very best root beer floats because he once drove an ice cream truck. Which, when you're 6, is just about the best job you could ever imagine. In fact I spent many hours wishing he hadn't given up that line of work for his career in computer technology something-or-other.

But then there was his temper he couldn't seem to control. God knows I understand how annoying the bickering of little kids can be, but I've never thought it a good idea to hurl my kids onto their beds because of it. The fact that he hated our bickering would be less surprising except for the fact that he often had screaming matches with my mother over things like the Little Debbie snack cakes she brought home from the market. That wasn't just bickering even, snack cakes were thrown, along with the contents of the refrigerator for emphasis. We didn't hurl him onto his bed. Though, we wanted to.

My father was also a little prickly because he liked to drink a lot. He had a refrigerator filled with beer in our dining room, where normal people might think to put a buffet or perhaps a china cabinet. Instead my father kept his beer in his special fridge and from Friday night to Sunday night he emptied this fridge. As he emptied this fridge the desire to argue about snack cakes was heightened. His desire to listen to very loud music at 2 o'clock in the morning was also heightened.

That's the difficult thing about getting to know my father: he wasn't all bad, but he wasn't very good either.

My family likes to reminisce about my father, often viewing him as an affable sitcom dad. If Lucille Ball starred in a movie of my life, she'd play my mother and call out, "Pete-errrr" (ala "Rick-eeee") as he threw snack cakes at her head.

Our sitcom dad was manic about the condition of his lawn and would, when planes flew overhead, have flashbacks to 'Nam and begin screaming "Incoming!!!" We laugh about the night he drove our family home from dinner with his family while drunk, stopping at Quarton Lake to show us his favorite little bridge. When drunkenly jumping on a rock to cross a small river, (cue the laugh track), he landed wrong and sprained his ankle resulting in 6 weeks of crutches. Hysterical!

I have an uncle on my mother's side of the family who loves to spend a reasonable portion of our Christmas Eve gatherings discussing my father and his uncanny ability to bring the room to tears at every family gathering. Not tears of laughter rather tears of sadness, confusion or perhaps rage. And we all laugh, "Remember that Christmas I cried myself to sleep! What a riot!!!" Then we collectively sigh, our spouses feel uncomfortable and we play a game of charades to change the topic.

I think we laugh because it's easier to remember it that way.

Some memories even I can't muster the strength to laugh at. In those memories, my father is something worse than a bumbling drunken blow hard carefully mowing his lawn in perfect rows. In those memories my father is bringing me cough medicine in my dark bedroom for a cough I never had and he won't leave. Or I am left alone with him on Friday nights while my mother works, my brother is away at college and my sister spends the night with those people one calls "friends". Friends are something, by that point, I don't have any more.

It went on for as many years as I can remember. In first grade I would eat dinner and spend the rest of the night crying and clutching my stomach. The doctor sent us to the hospital for tests. For a week I couldn't eat anything but jello after breakfast until the next morning when they'd take more pictures of my insides. One day I snuck a handful of Trix cereal before we left for the test and the nurse could see it in my stomach as she took the pictures. As she ran the test, viewing my insides, I held my breath praying she couldn't also see the badness inside of me.

Later there were nightmares, my mother would sit on the sofa in the middle of the night annoyed, tired and unsure what to do with me. After weeks of this she took me to a psychiatrist where I drew pictures, talked about my nightmares and carefully avoided telling the truth. The best part of seeing the psychiatrist were the small gifts she'd give me, a barbie, a pack of crayons and my favorite candy bar at the end of the session.

Years later, just before my parents were divorced, I told my father I was going to tell and I was going to go live with someone else. Though I didn't know who.

Only I don't think I would have told, I just wanted him to leave our lives and I knew my mother was close to the end of her tolerance for him in general. That night he shut himself in his bedroom at the back of the house and shot himself while my sister, mother and I watched television in the front of the house.

Don't worry though, he didn't kill himself, he only shot himself in the shoulder like an asshole. Was this action meant to buy more time before my mother divorced him, to keep me silent or was it an act of desperate sadness?

I'm not really sure, but those two weeks he spent at an alcohol treatment facility were a tiny taste of what my life would be without him. I faked illness many times during those weeks he was away and my mother let me stay home probably because she felt badly about the trauma of one's father attempting suicide practically in front of you. I wasn't traumatized, I was angry he didn't die and I was mostly happy to be in the house alone. I could eat what I wanted, watch whatever shows I wanted and I wasn't afraid.

Of course then he came back and that feeling was almost worse than if he'd never left at all. Every day when I walked into that house after he came back it felt exactly like dying. When he finally left for good, escorted by the police, the nightmares came back and that horrible feeling of the freedom being taken away felt as real in my dreams as it had in real life. In the dreams, I would come home from school and he would be back. My mother would shrug saying, "Sorry, I can't do anything about it" and that sinking feeling in my stomach would start to choke me.

I think my sister tries to heal her sadness about who our father was by looking for answers about why he was the way he was. I've tried to heal by pretending he was only a nightmare or simply a monster because somehow that makes it easier to understand. My brain can't seem to reconcile my father as a drunken idiosyncratic dad and the night time father who tormented me for as long as I can remember.

I spent a lot of time studying the fathers I knew while growing up. I studied some really good ones so hard I'm sure their wives started to wonder if this 10 year old had a crush on their husbands. I knew I didn't want to marry someone like my father, but then since that was the relationship modeled for me my whole life I thought I might be doomed to a life of dodging snack cakes thrown at my head.

My daughter happens to have the father I always wanted.

Watching my husband and daughter develop a relationship has been incredibly healing for me, it's also opened up so many deep wounds in my soul I've gone rolling back to therapy in a heap of sadness more than once since becoming her mother. I've spent time back on the couch because motherhood is really kind of hard a lot of the time.

Other times I've been on the couch grieving from the darkest part of myself. This deep pit of sadness I mostly keep covered by not thinking much about how I grew up with my father.

The last time I was in therapy my husband and I stayed up late one night talking about the pain. The next day he left me a note before he left for work reading, "No child deserves to be betrayed by their father in such a profound way. I can't imagine destroying my own child."

Of course, that's why I married him and that's the part of watching my daughter grow up that heals the little girl I was. When Maddie was a baby, Logan always explained to me in serious tones that she was gifted. At three months old he said, "She holds her head up like a six month old! That's double her age, she's twice as good at it as other three month olds!" As a two year old when her talking started and didn't really ever stop he listened intently and reminded me she was talking as well as a four year old. "She's twice as brilliant as other two year olds."

Now Madison is nine and has the sensibility of an independence loving thirteen year old. She makes me literally insane and we often butt heads so hard I spend days massaging my temples and wondering how I ended up with this daughter I am not so good at mothering. Logan looks at our daughter and admires her maturity and complexity. He thinks she's twice as mature as other nine year olds. He thinks she's absolutely perfect.

When Maddie was three years old she had some gross motor delays the doctors were attempting to diagnose. We had to take her to the hospital for an MRI. Because the MRI machine is very loud, has a very small chamber and requires complete stillness, we also had to have her sedated for it. I voted Logan into the position of holding our daughter while they put a mask over her mouth to breathe in the gas that put her to sleep, I couldn't even be in the room.

She struggled against the doctor trying to put the mask over her mouth and Logan held onto her arms and tried to keep her head from moving so she could breathe in the gas. All Maddie saw was a scary man trying to hurt her while her father held her down.

We thought she would forget about it, she was only three, but for months afterward she would ask Logan, "Why did you hold me down while that man put that thing on my face Daddy?" Even better, she'd say, "Remember when they took a picture of my brain and Daddy held me down so the doctor could cover my face?"

One night after the MRI, I found Logan standing over Maddie's crib crying. He couldn't believe she thought he'd been trying to help someone hurt her. He'd explained to her over and over that the doctor wasn't trying to hurt her but he couldn't get over the betrayal she'd felt toward him in those moments.

I'm so happy my daughter has a father who loves every bit of who she is, I'm so happy she knows he would never betray her trust, I'm so happy she can feel safe and loved by the most important man in her life.

I like to think watching my daughter and my husband grow up together is helping to heal that little girl I was. Watching my daughter, it's easy to see how none of what happened to me was my fault, that my insides weren't bad, that I was betrayed by someone who was mentally ill. I was betrayed by my father.

Sometimes it does heal me, watching my daughter grow up having what I needed and deserved.

Still, it seems the older she gets the more aware I am of all I missed out on. As I watch her grow up, I continually grieve for the little girl I was and the father I wasn't given.

Comments

[kimberly/tippytoes]

Maddie's draft is going to be very different. She has you to thank, not only Logan.

[mpotter]

wow.
that was sadly beautiful & beautifully sad.
i hope that writing it and living your current life is helping you to heal.
maddie is lucky to have such love in her lives.

[Lori]

I lurk here all the time but never comment. You are a brave person, deserving of the love you have forged with your family. It's really rotten that you had to have such a terrible excuse of a father, but I'm glad you have risen above it and found the polar opposite for your daughter.

This is a beautiful post. Thank you for sharing your life with perfect strangers on the internet.

[g]

Thank you for sharing this. It was so powerful...I'm speechless.

[HouseofJules]

Wow Melissa. This is so powerful.... you brought me to tears. I'm happy for Maddie, and I'm happy for you to have chosen Logan as the man to not only spend your life with, but to be the father for your children you always wanted for yourself.
Jules
House of Jules

[anna]

thanks so much. really. thank you.

[Missy]

I was wondering when you would write stuff like this. It's been a long time.

I hope it's healing to write. It's healing for the rest of us to hear. Thank you.

[katie]

another lurker coming out to say thank you for sharing this. you are incredibly brave and strong.

[Jenn @ Juggling Life]

This is sad and beautiful at the same time.

Congratulations for making sure the second draft would have a different ending.

[AmericanFamily]

This post took my breath away. THank you for sharing this with us.

[Liz]

Thank you so much for this. It hurts how much I can relate to this. I know that feeling of walking in the door when they're home and feeling like you're walking to your death.

[tami]

I'm so sorry your father hurt you. It's amazing that you don't parent as you were parented. There are many people who have had a crummy childhood; what I admire about you is that you don't let it stop you from having a good adult life.

[caroline]

Yet another lurker commenting on a beautiful and heart wrenching post. I'm so sorry for your pain - reading this brought tears to my eyes. I'm so glad you've been blessed with the amazing husband and children that you have - and know that they are so utterly blessed to have you as their mother and wife.
Thank you for the glimpses into your life that you share with us. Some happy and fun - and some, like this one, that make us stop and think and appreciate and care for you and for those around us. Please know your beauty, talent and heart are so very appreciated.

[chelsea]

Wow. Wow. Wow. You are such a talented writer. This post really spoke to me. I lost my father to suicide (gun shot) after a long tortuous downward spiral that lasted several years and has deeply affected our family. After his death, I decided that I was going to choose the path of a Survivor rather than that of a Victim and it has made all the difference for me. You are an amazingly strong, funny, intelligent, interesting, talented Survivor. Thank you SO very much for sharing your story with me. I understand the difficulty of trying to ensure that I raise my son so that he is protected from what I went through as a child. I don't know what else to say. Thank you!

[Kristin Owens]

You're pretty amazing. Thanks so much for sharing, you do it beautifully.

[Melissa (another one)]

I've been terrified to parent because I lack faith that I won't be as bad at it as the parents who raised me.

You deserve Logan every bit as much as your kids. Your kids are lucky to have both of you. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself.

[amanda]

Melissa, this is the most beautiful amazing thing you've ever written. I'm so grateful you clicked publish.

[Julie]

This was heart-stopping and gut-wrenchingly beautiful. Thank you for sharing these deepest thoughts; I am overwhelmed.

I've lurked here for a few years, never commenting, but loving your posts. You are funny, well-written, and charming. And today I learned how very, very brave you are.

Madison, Max, and Logan are lucky people. All the best to you.

[Jenny]

My parents used to say I'd been a teenager since the third grade; twenty years later they still don't know what to make of me. That's not to say they weren't incredibly devoted parents, but I wish they "got" me like you so clearly "get" Maddie. Your kids are so lucky to have both you and Logan for their mom and dad. Good luck with the healing.

[suz]

I'm so sorry you had to go through this.

[Elizabeth]

It is always so startling to me when women have good relationships with their fathers. It always reminds me of what I don't have, how much I have lost.
Sometimes being a parent is so healing, and sometimes it is so incredibly hard to look at my own child, to know how I feel about him, and to wonder how my own parents treated me, their child, as they did.
Having a terrible father is a lifetime legacy, but some days are better than others. And I think it gets a little better all the time.
Thank you for writing this. It really spoke to me.

[sumo]

I feel like throwing up but I had to read it again because it is so beautiful.

[j3n]

A teary-eyed and much deserved "thank you" for putting to words so much of why I love my own husband.

[Claire]

I admire you so for writing this.

[Hetty Fauxvert]

Thank you so much for having the guts and generosity to share this with us. I also had a family member (not my dad) who made life hell when I was growing up. You are lucky to have found Logan, but Maddie is very, very lucky to have a mom like you, who understands how valuable a daddy Logan really is.

Again, thank you.

[Lori]

Thank you so much for writing that. You have no idea how much it means.

[jenB]

Brave post Melissa.

peace to you.

[Jennifer]

Ditto at Missy's comment of "I was wondering when you would write stuff like this. It's been a long time."

Melissa, I grieve for the little girl I have never really allowed to have been, and this post makes me grieve for the little girl you weren't allowed to be, either.

I'm so glad you have such a blessing in Logan.

Thank you for sharing that.

[sarah]

thanks for sharing this. i am often caught off guard when i see a woman who has a good, healthy relationship with her father, and end up feeling like something is wrong with me... but deep down, i know it's not me and i know i'm not alone. and neither are you.

[shina hart]

another long time reader who had to say hello. May God continue blessing you and your family...you are amazing.

[bethany actually]

You say you are not so good at mothering your daughter? I say you decided early on that you did not want your kids to have a father like yours, and you gave your daughter a dad who is the opposite of who your father was. That sounds like EXCELLENT mothering to me. The foundation is so strong. You will work out the rest, I am confident you will. You have all of us readers and lurkers cheering you on and praying for you.

[amy]

this is such a beautiful, powerful story. thank you for sharing it with us.

[Sarah]

Thank you for sharing this - you wrote so beautifully.

[Anna]

What a strong and powerful story, and what a good writer you are.

Your story reminds me of my childhood. Now I'm 40 and I can't BEAR to see a man and a young girl together - I mean, it makes me physically ill. On some level I was quite relieved when I found out I was infertile because I would never have to deal with that in my own home.

Logan is obviously one of the good guys. I was profoundly moved by you saying "watching my daughter and my husband grow up together is helping to heal that little girl I was", and I send loving wishes to both the little girl you were and the woman you are. May you both find the peace you deserve.

[Betsy]

I can't imagine how painful this must have been to write, but it's just perfect. I'm sad and angry that you had to endure what you did, no child deserves that. Your decision to marry Logan and to choose a better life makes you a fantastic mother. Maddie & Max are lucky to have you both.

[Em]

In cases like this it's hard to know what to say because there just isn't a 'right' response.
I think you're incredibly brave to share this with us and you've done an incredible job in giving your daughter a safe and loving family life. I hope you go on to find healing with your family.
x

[Mary]

My childhood was awful in a different way. Those people who say "Man, what I wouldn't give to be a kid again" always surprise me, because I would probably kill myself if I had to live through it again. I don't say that lightly.
You write powerful stuff. I hope it helps you to be able to write it out. Your Logan and Maddie are lucky to have you.

[ashley]

Living with a parent who has mental illness is so hard for a child. I totally understand, sadly from my own experience. All I ever wanted was to give my children a better childhood than I had.

[Beth]

Wow. You're an amazing writer. I'm sorry for your pain.

[Molly Sly]

I can't begin to imagine what you went through. I hope the healing continues for you and that you continue to find strength and solace in your husband and children.

Molly

[amy]

i have been reading your blog for years and don't think i've ever commented before; i don't know what to say except thank you, thank you for this post

[Rayne of Terror]

Oh Melissa. I am so sorry for what you went through. You really are breaking life wide open for Maddie. My mom did for me what you are doing for Maddie and I greatly appreciate her doing what was right and difficult.

[canknitian]

Thank you for sharing this part of your story. I'm sorry for you pain.

BIG HUG,
j

[jessica]

thank you for writing this. Though my step-father disappeared rather than have the decency to kill himself, I feel like I could have written this (though nowhere near as well)

My daughter is two and there are days when her little personality has me on the brink and I'm seconds away from loosing my shit and I've really got to talk myself out of getting THAT worked up over a 2-year-old, and those are the days I MAKE myself remember what life was like in my house so I DO NOT put my daughter through even a second of what was my life from the time I was 2 until I left for college. Everyday I too am grateful for finding my husband, a wonderful, giving, lvoing STABLE man who would give his life for our baby. The way his eyes light up when he sees her, the way he brags about her to anyone - I'm so happy my baby and I have this wonderful man in our lives to love us.

Your kids are going to have the childhood that you wanted and should have been given. Giving them that, I think, is the very best thing you can do for you and them. Thank you for writing this, Melissa - thank you.

[HomeSlice]

it's hard to share things like this but for me it's miraculously cathartic.i hope you also found some catharsis through the writing of it.

[Krys]

You and your family are equally lucky - you for having the wonderful husband and children you have, and them for having the mom they have.
We all know what you've gone through wasn't easy; sometimes I wonder though, what was harder: your childhood or dealing with the leftover cr*p as an adult. I'm sorry you didn't have the father your daughter and son have.
God bless you and yours.

[S]

Thank you for being an inspiration as a devoted mother and wife. My childhood was similiar with my father, but my mother died in a car accident when I was 13 and I was stuck in the house with my father (and brother--don't know what I would I would've done without him). When I was 17 (approximately 2-3 months from turning 18) I left because my father tore the side of my shirt out from hitting me for mowing the grass too fast and then too slow. Social services got involved and I never went back. Father's Day three years ago he went into the woods and shot himself.

I have been with my now fiance for 7 1/2 years, engaged for 4 1/2. It's hard to know you are making the right choices. It's taken me every excuse not to get married because I think my father is going to come out in me and I won't be a good wife or later a good mother. I have put myself through college and have been driven to be a strong person because of my past. I am getting married July 19, 2009! Finally! I think I have talked myself into the fact I control my actions, not my past. With this thought in mind I'll hopefully be able to report children after I get married!

Keep up the good work with your family and writing!

[Rebecca]

Another lurker who comes out to say thank you so much for sharing this.

[Molly]

Melissa, this is really amazing and sad. My father drank too, but my mother threw him out when I was four and he didn't kill himself and I've spent the last 28 years alternating between trying to forget that he ever existed and trying to figure out who the fuck he is and why he's like this.

Like you, the most healing thing I've ever found in my life has been watching my husband be the father that my father wasn't. The name "Dad" has never been a part of my life until my son learned to talk. It used to be a question mark to me. Now it's like music.

Thanks for writing this. It's beautiful.

[cindy]

thank you

[Becky]

You just wrote about my childhood too.
I still don't have much a relationship with my sister because she blames me for much of what went on in our house. Years of therapy have helped me see that's her burden, not mine. Our mother followed that act up with an even worse representation of a man that insisted she cut all ties with everyone that knew her before him, including her children.

When I married my husband, he knew kids were not a given. I knew he really wanted them and we discussed the subject for years. I even made him go to therapy with me, I made him promise to take on more than his fair share of parenting because I was terrified I'd screw up. My own mother walked away from 4 kids, how did I know I wouldn't end up doing the same? And bless his dreamy heart, he agreed to every last one of my silly demands. Today everyone I know says I'm a spoiled little princess living in a dream world with a perfect princess daughter and prince charming as a husband. And I let him know every day how grateful I am for him. For our life and for our beautiful little girl. And I also know I have earned every last bit of it.

[Pamela]

That was the most beautiful thing I've read in, well, since I don't know when.

[Holly]

I'm so sorry for what your father did to you. You didn't deserve any of it.

My therapist told me years ago that as my daughters got older, I would start to feel seething anger toward my parents (one deceased) over my childhood. I dismissed it when she said it, thinking I'd already dealt with all that and was certainly past it all now, in my happy adulthood. But she was right, as my daughters reach the ages of certain "milestones" in my own life, I am overcome by raw anger that my parents failed their children.

It's a terrible tragedy what happened to you. I pray that your heart continues to be healed and that one day you can have total peace. Bless you.

[Kris]

Bless you, Melissa. I, too, gave my daughter the father I wish I'd had. I consider it my greatest accomplishment.

[Janene]

I understand your pain. My mom went through a similar situation. She married a man better than her own father, but my dad had his own baggage which made it hard for him to be a good father. One of my heart's desires has been for my daughters to have a better relationship with their father, and it has been very healing watching that play out. I just wanted to encourage you that you are breaking the chains of the past and changing future generations of your family. You have a lot to offer other hurting women, and sharing your story is going to bring much healing to others.

[ExSchutz]

Melissa, Thank you for sharing your story. I think sometimes the strangest thing about being an adult is working to reconcile your childhood with the person you have become.

[alice]

We love you, Melissa. You're the best.

[renee gillette]

Wow. What an insightful and beautiful post. Thank you for sharing.

My mom had a similar childhood.

It's fairly impossible for a daughter to come to terms with that kind of reality, but if there's an upside, it's that it has made my sisters and I warriors. There are three of us girls, and we'll be on the alert for our girls, their girls, their friends' girls, and so on.

I'm sure it will be the same for Maddie, and all the little girls she'll one day be in the position to watch over.

[Sarah]

My mom had a similar childhood.

It's fairly impossible for a daughter to come to terms with that kind of reality, but if there's an upside, it's that it has made my sisters and I warriors. There are three of us girls, and we'll be on the alert for our girls, their girls, their friends' girls, and so on.

I'm sure it will be the same for Maddie, and all the little girls she'll one day be in the position to watch over.

[t]

I never comment either but this was as everyone else said one of the most healing, beautiful things I have read either. I think we all have grown up with "stuff" that's hard to let go of and this was a big, cleansing breath for me. Thank you!

[t]

please disregard "either". I should learn to proofread.

[HeatherK]

A truly amazing piece of writing. I keep typing and deleting trying to find the write words to say thank you for sharing. For all the eloquence of your written word, it isn't lost on me what you went through. I know. Do I ever know. Would that I could share as you do. thank you.

[am]

I don't have the words that could really say anything profound or provide any comfort, and I'm sorry.
I'm sorry that you had to grow up feeling scared and sad. I wish I could go back in time and erase it; I really, really do.
I don't know if it makes any difference hearing a stranger say how proud they are of you, but I'm going to say it anyway: I'm proud of you. I'm proud to see you have chosen a better man than your mother did. I'm proud you broke the cycle. I'm proud for Maddie to have such an amazing father. I'm proud you have such a supporting and loving husband. I'm proud that (like another commenter said) even though you had a terrible childhood, you didn't let it stop you from having an amazing adult life.
I'm proud of you for writing this.

I'm sorry I don't have the words to provide some comfort. I just...I don't know. Thank you for writing.

[Kelly]

I really admire you for being about to write about this. I hope it was cathartic for you, it certainly was for me.

How ironic that I received a phone call from the Veteran's Hospital yesterday looking for my father. I'm listed as his next of kin which is ridiculous when you consider he all but abandoned me when I was a child and I have seen him maybe 3 times in my adult life. I wanted to tell them to say "hi" for me if they found him, I'd been looking for him for years when I was younger.

I hate him for affecting my life the way he has. I know you can relate.

I too feel blessed to have found not only a father for my daughter, but a "Daddy."

[Imanitsud]

This gives the saying "you are your very own superhero" new meaning... look what you've done! You've risen and created the best possible life for your kids by choosing the right person to partner with. You've faced your fears, you've given yourself the opportunity to both grieve and heal. You are amazing. You are courageous. You are strong. You are beautiful. You are a superhero.

[Barbara]

Your father did none of that on purpose in that he didn't have wonderful parenting/relationship skills and purposely withhold them from you. He had no parenting skills (left to wonder about his childhood...). He, too, was terribly unhappy, tormented, and acting that out in horribly hurtful ways. I'm sorry. I think this is where "Forgive them for they know not what they do..." applies. We do not forgive the acts but rather forgive the human being being human....and unfortunately in this case...yes, ill. In everything we do we teach how to be or how not to be. By your being what he wasn't and you wanted in a parent, that right there sets your children's childhood worlds apart from yours.

[Wood]

a hug to you. you are very brave, and a tremendous mother.

[Jennifer]

I am profoundly moved by this amazing post. And sending you a might big virtual (and therefore un-awkward) hug.

[A]

I read this all the time but have never commented.

Thanks so much for such a brave and touching post. I understand the feeling of feeling so happy and free when one scary and unpredictable parent is gone for a bit of time (travelling in my case). I always thought it was how everyone else must have lived all the time.

Thanks.

[Xdm]

I want to go back in time and be your friend. I want you to sleep over. I want to roller skate around in circles in our basement, sit on the cold cement floor with the skate wheels digging into our heels and make beaded friendship barrettes. Later, in our crayola sleeping bags we see who can remember the most and grossest Guinness Book of World Records facts. Fock. Come over and we'll do that this weekend.

[Robin]

I don't know what to say. So beautifully written, so touching, so heart breaking, but also so full of hope. Your power to overcome is truly inspiring. Thank you for sharing this. You are remarkable.

[Katie]

That was a beautiful post. You are not alone. My Dad molested me and my sister, was a drunk and ultimately killed himself when I was 18. It's hard for me to reconcile it all together too...
I'm glad he's gone, though. Thank you for writing this.

[getsheila]

I hear you.

I feel your pain.

I wish you well.

[amy]

Oh Melissa. Thank you for sharing. You are an amazing, strong woman to have persevered through all that.

[suziMN]

Your post left me speechless. I am so sorry for what you have gone through and am so grateful for the family you have now.

Thank you.

[Ariel]

Holy shit.
I'm in tears. There are things no child should have to go through.
I'm sorry.
I'm so sorry.
You are a wonderful person.

[Andie]

I should NOT have read that at work. I should not have read that at 12 weeks pregnant...Sniff. Thank you for sharing your story. I hope that your daughter knows every day what a brave mom she has.

[Kim]

You are a very brave woman. Thank you for sharing something that is clearly very heartbreaking. Best to you.

[Meg]

Thank you for being so brave and sharing this with us. I can't imagine how long you sat there looking at the screen, debating whether or not to hit publish.

[Derek Giromini]

While I can imagine this was painful for you to write, thank you for sharing it with the world. As a father of a near five-year-old daughter and a near two-year-old son, I struggle with periods where I slack and don't give them enough positive attention. What you wrote is a strong reminder of how much effect any of my actions (or failures to act) have on my children.

[linda woods]

Thanks for writing this. It was beautiful and you are BRAVE!

[Kristen]

This gave me goose bumps and made me cry. Beautifully written. I hope that Maddie (and Max) realize and appreciate the wonderful parents they have. You are a wonderful person and I'm incredibly sorry that you didn't have the dad that your children are lucky enough to have.

[The Other Dawn]

Each time I write about my father on my blog, I hedge a little close to the truth. But I am still not even in the same neighborhood as the full of it.

I am in awe of you.

[Pauline]

Lurker needing to comment to let you know that the tears are welling up in my eyes. You are incredibly brave to share all this. I am so sorry - there just aren't words.

[Lia]

Damn you Melissa! I am sobbing and now have to take my kid to school.

You are so very brave and you have grown so much. I had a childhood much like yours and I can only say, "I understand." I wish we were friends and I could come by and hug you when you need it.

((((((HUGS))))))

[Lisa V]

Oh Melissa, I'm truly so sorry you endured this. I've lived with parents with alcoholism and anger, it's scary. Then to add abuse on top of it, so sad.

You have made incredible, incredible choices to change the course of your life and your children's. You are the perfect mother for Maddie. Truly. She is lucky to have you.

[darcie]

everyone else said it, but wow.
even after twenty years, two beautiful kids and one lovely husband, i can see how raw this is for you. no one could ever hold that against you. and someday if you decide to share this story with your daughter, i imagine she'll look back at her life with you and be eternally grateful for the wonderful, loving, careful and doting mother you are.

not that we needed any proof, but this is it.

[Carrie]

Sometimes I think blogs are cheap therapy. And, I mean that in a really good way. There's just enough anonymity that we can share what's darkest or most deeply buried in our soul. We can reach out, vent, speak our truth and make an amazing connection with other people. I've always enjoyed your blog because you're not afraid to put it all out there in a true and raw form. Thank you for sharing. And, yes, your children are very lucky to have their father, but also to have YOU.

[karla]

melissa, thank you for writing this today. It has touched my heart. I too, have an alcoholic father who betrayed me in my childhood by not keeping me safe. The fear and colossal disappointment with his erratic behavior was and is exhausting (dad is still alive and drinking).

I have spent many years in therapy seeking healing. I am not a mother but long to be - yet I haven’t broken the pattern of dating my father (I’m learning). Thank you for having the courage to say your truth.

[Peggy]

I've been reading you for years, but never commented. This was a beautiful piece of writing, but I ache for you that your childhood was what it was. I hope that writing this helped you on the road to healing. You deserve a lot of credit for the two wonderful kids that you have and for choosing their father wisely.

[kimblahg]

You are breaking the cycle and using your experiences to give a voice to children who survived abuse and didn't self destruct. He didn't destroy you because you ar still here and making a difference. Thank you for sharing and I guarantee your horrific experiences will impact other's lives in a positive way because you are sharing- maybe another Mom will recognize her child's stomach aches mean something else, maybe you will prompt an abuser to get help. I hope that knowledge can ease your pain.

[Imfayedunaway]

Don't make me cry at my desk. That was the most touching, poignant "first draft" I've ever read. Beautifully written from your soul.

[Kim]

Thank you for sharing this Melissa. My daughter also has the father that I never had. Sometimes I am jelous.

[monica]

Thanks Melissa! This makes me want to be a better parent to ensure my son looks back at a happy childhood.

[kate]

Wow. That was so brave of you to write this post.

My father also visited me at night. He died when I was 16. I was relieved. My sisters, who were not abused, think he was the perfect father and I don't have the courage to ruin their pretty picture, so I keep it as my secret.

Like you, I heal through watching my daughter grow up with the father that I deserved, a father who loves her unconditionally and would die to protect her from harm.

Thank you, Melissa, for sharing your story. You didn't have to, but I'm glad you did so that we know we aren't the only ones.

[melissa]

You are very brave. You have chosen better for your children than what was provided for you. I'm happy for you. I'm sorry this happened to you. But, most of all, I wish you well.

[Cole]

I'm so sorry for the loss of your childhood. It is unfair.

[Velma]

I hope peace someday overtakes the pain.

[Elise]

You are one brave woman. This post was an amazing gift, thank you.