03/28/2025
I was adopted but by a rough family, and there is a legacy of dysfunction that follows them. I distanced myself as much as possible, often using education to distinguish myself from them.
My absent father was often physically and emotionally abusive, and spent more time chasing women than he did paying attention to me. When I was young, I didn’t know how to hold a grudge and he was my dad and I was fiercely protective of him.
But as I grew older, I began to look at life differently and at 30 years old I had to accept that this was not a family that I identified with in the slightest. I made lots of strides to ensure that I did not follow in their footsteps.
The last time I saw my dad, he was a crack user living in a scary motel that was frequented by prostitutes. He was so far gone that I left an absolute dismay. He refused any treatment. When I went through my last international divorce, I completely severed ties with my dad because there was just no way I could cope with that emotional drain, transition back to the US, and deal with him.
But that decision always haunted me and it defined me as a person who is fiercely protective of my own values, sanity, and well-being. I realize I will do anything within reason to protect myself and use legal means when necessary. This often includes severing ties with people who I never wanted to lose.
I got a weird call from my mom years ago telling me something about my dad passing away. She offered no clarity, and there was no way for me to confirm this. I just assumed it was true because of the drug use; he had been in bad shape for a long time.
But this past January, I got a phone call from the hospital telling me that my father was in a critical state and asked me to intervenene. I was in shock and I stepped in, systematically cleaning up the mess that my family often leaves me. They are the reason I did not want children. I knew I did not have the energy after all they took throughout my life.
But now that I am here and seeing my frail dad for the first time in over 10 years, as I am a middle-aged parent to a stepson and a goddaughter, I am oddly grateful. I’m glad that there may be an ending to the story that I will help shape. I’m happy to know he didn’t die alone on the streets or in suffering. It is a gift for me to have this closure; and it is purely for me, not so much him.
I married someone completely opposite of him. I wish I could tell all the people who suffered under their parents, “don’t give in. If they dont give a damn, then you must.”
