Thank you to everyone who left comments or sent email about my last post. I
appreciate your kind words and thoughtfulness. I debated posting that
experience, exposing such a personal scar. I'm glad I did.

My parents eventually divorced my senior year of high school. After we moved out
of the house, I experienced a kind of post traumatic stress for a while. I would
be sitting in our new living room and I would hear his truck pull up to the side
of the house. It of course wasn't it his truck and it was impossible to pull up to the
side of our house, but I would hear that sound so clear. I felt it. Every time this happened I would freak out a little.

That fall I left for college which was in many ways a huge healing experience
for me. It was a new environment and although only 45 minutes from where I grew
up, it felt like a million miles away from my life before.

After the divorce, I only ever saw my father at my grandmother's house. Each
time, it made me uneasy and I would usually end up hiding in the bathroom or making an excuse to leave. I always felt so small around him.
So frightened.

Over the years my father's health took a nose dive. Years of hard drinking,
smoking and unhealthy eating finally caught up with him. He had a heart attack and
later a stroke. By this time, my mother was living with my grandmother (my father's
mother) to help take care of her. She would give me updates on his health, but I
never went to see him or call. I was still very angry and scared of him.

The last time I saw my father was when I was visiting my grandmother one day. I
walked in the house and he was sitting in a chair in the living room. What I saw
shocked me. My father who had always been larger than life and a very powerful
presence was now very thin and frail looking. His clothes hung on him. His face
looked weathered. His hair was more salt than pepper. His eyes were tired.

I stood in front of him and for the first time in my life I felt very tall. I felt
powerful. I remember thinking, "I could kick his ass." Not that
I would, but it was a real turning point for me. For the first time, I no longer
lived in fear.

My father died of another heart attack a few years later. I chose not to go to
the funeral. I had already said goodbye to him in my heart a long time before he
passed.