Today I received a message on Facebook from my Dad’s girlfriend. This is what it said:
“I have a message from a friend that you are bad mouthing me. You do not see your step Dad because you walked away nor because of me. He is not your Father and wants nothing to do with you because of your behavior towards him. You took sides with a vicious wicked woman. Stay with her. You are a selfish spoiled person.”
Notice the word “step” before Dad and the words “vicious wicked woman.” My Dad is not my step Dad. He adopted me when I was 3 days old. My mom is many things, but she has never been anything near the description “vicious” and “wicked.” If anything, she is way too meek and mild.
If you can recall, my therapist assigned me the homework of writing my dad a letter. I have not done this. I have not known what to say and also… if I wrote him a letter he 1. wouldn’t read it and 2. it wouldn’t feel like an actual goodbye. A real goodbye would give him a chance… one final chance to say… something.
So today I decided to be done with it and I drove to his house.
He came out and said “I know we have some things we have to work out, but not now.”
“When, Dad?” I said. “It has been four years. I’m here to say ‘goodbye.’ I’m here to give you a chance to tell me you love me or you never loved me or you really think I’m not your daughter and I’m selfish and spoiled.”
He couldn’t look me in the eye.
“I never said those things.”
Then SHE came out. Standing at about four inches shorter than me, she put her face in my face and the screaming never stopped.
“You fucking whore bitch, I read your fucking high school journals. You slept with your fiance you fucking whore before you were married. Get off my fucking lawn, I’m calling the police. He’s not your dad! I hate your fucking guts. He’s not your dad! He’s your step Dad he Adopted you! Your own fucking parents didn’t want you you selfish whore bitch.”
And on and on and on. I stood there… in my dress suit and heels, just clocked out of work, standing there staring at my grey-haired, stooped dad watching this woman yell in my face.
“You should have been here a long time ago,” she had the audacity to say, “Your dad has been dying and where have you been?”
“I have been here.” I said. “I came here, I came to the hospital, you both yelled at me and told me to get the hell out. What was I supposed to do?”
Then she pushed me. She took both her hands and shoved me. She called my mom a whore bitch. She called me a fucking whore and then she pushed me. And I stood there. I didn’t react– I am not violent. I’m not “white trash.” I was raised with manners and a way to do things and never ever in my life have I encountered a woman like this. I have only seen stuff like her on staged shows like Jerry Springer. I felt like I was at the zoo, or the circus. She grabbed a phone and began rattling my name to the police. Then she lit into me again… all the while my dad just stood there, watching and mumbling to himself.
I just watched her go, mostly out of curiosity. At that moment I wanted a cigarette. I don’t smoke, but I think I could have lit the cig and burned the whole thing down before she was finished. Finally, I reacted. I looked her up and down.
“I’m not scared of you.” I said. “You don’t intimidate me. You are scared. You are so scared of me you can’t even control yourself. My dad said I couldn’t be part of his life unless I accepted you, but look at you. Why would I do that? I feel sorry for you, but not enough to let you in… never.”
I turned to Dad, “This is goodbye,” and I waved my hand over to his girlfriend who began running her mouth and blabbing at the cops, and I said “This is what you left us for. Goodbye, Dad. I’m gone.”
Then I looked at her, “You know, you are going to die some day.” And then I left.
I slipped into my car and drove off. I drove in a daze that my mere presence would cause such a ruckus. I did nothing. I absolutely did nothing but just… be. I had so much power over that woman. So much action jammed packed into my being there.
The crazy girlfriend yelling and flailing her arms in the air grew small in my rearview mirror.
And that was my goodbye letter. I’m done. It’s a new, precious life from here on out.
I just emailed my therapist. I’m in need of a session or two.