part 39

My dad is dead. He died two days ago, apparently of a heart attack.

When I first heard this news, I was very relieved. Then I was happy. Then I was relieved some more. I felt so safe, and I felt like my kids and husband were safe, too. I have been waiting for this day because I have always wanted to know what it would feel like to not have to be afraid of him.

It feels really, really good.

He’s dead. The bastard is dead.

I keep checking with myself to see if maybe I am just in shock or something. I had anticipated feeling good about him dying, but I keep wondering if I really am happy about it, or if perhaps I am in denial of my grief. I feel pretty confident that I am just really happy about it.

I’ve been grieving for that asshole for my entire life. I’ve been in therapy for years learning how to grieve for him and for the father he never was and for the innocence he took from me and for the love he never had for me. I feel pretty satisfied with the grieving I have already done, and am now just really, really glad he’s dead.

There have been a couple of things that have come up in relation to his death as far as other people who knew him are concerned. One of the things other people have felt is anger that he was never held responsible for the pain he has caused, and for the carnage he has wreaked in people’s lives. As much as I would have liked to see him judged in court or thrown in prison or stoned by the masses or whatever, I know that it would have been very painful and difficult for a lot of people to go through the legal process and everything else getting to that point would entail.

I can imagine how difficult it would have been for me to go through all of that, and I know I am not his only victim. I would not be the only person to be considered in that circumstance. But he’s dead now, so nobody has to even worry about it.

The other thing that has come up for other people is the fact that I will never be able to confront him now. I won’t be able to look him in the face and remind him of all of the horrible things he has done. I will never have the opportunity to see him react to how I have survived and how much stronger I am than he is – I won’t get that satisfaction.

As far as that goes, though, I don’t think I ever would have had that opportunity anyway. I haven’t spoken with him in years, and I don’t even know where he lives. Even if I was able to get in touch with him, I very seriously doubt he would have responded, or even acknowledged I was attempting to communicate with him.

Also, even if I did get in touch with him and he did acknowledge I was trying to communicate with him, the chances of him hurting me even more (emotionally, mentally, whatever) would be much greater than the chances of me getting any satisfaction from confronting him face to face.

He already knows what he did to me, and he always has. That is enough.

As far as the need to see him suffer, I wouldn’t be distressed if I knew that he has experienced a lot of pain, or if I was the cause of it. However, I don’t feel a loss having never seen him suffer – I don’t really care. He is gone, I am safe, my family is safe, and there really is not much more that I could ask for than that. He can rest in peace or rot in hell – it doesn’t matter to me.

What matters to me is that he is gone. I feel much lighter – it is nice. I’m glad he’s dead.