Nobody puts baillee in the corner

Some people are probably going to get upset and/or mad at me for everything I’m about to say. But, I’ve never lied in my writing, and I’m not going to start now. 

Rick (my dad) passed away yesterday. And, I didn’t cry. 

I still haven’t. 

I know how horrible that sounds, but I want to explain. 

Yes, I do have some good memories with Rick, but he was also my abuser. 

He emotionally and verbally abused me until I was 19, and he was emotionally, verbally, and physically abusive to KP for the majority of their time together. 

He never wanted me, and he left when KP was pregnant with me because she didn’t want to have an abortion. 

(And, I’m STILL pro-choice. It’s not that hard.) 

My maternal grandmother made him come back in her third trimester, and the mounting disappointment grew further when I came out as a girl instead of a boy. 

There had been a knot in my umbilical cord, and that mistake could’ve been my saving grace. 

When I came out a girl, I was screwed. 

Now, I’ve spoken about how KP made my childhood special. She did. 

However, my childhood and formative years also came with a lot of trauma. 

Two things can be true at the same time. 

I do have good memories of Rick, like when I was five and scared to get my ears pierced. He let the girl at Claire’s pierce his ear first to show me that it didn’t hurt. 

He also cried when I found out that Santa wasn’t real, and he explained that Santa was more so the spirit of Christmas, and parents helped to spread that spirit by keeping the idea of Santa alive for as long as they could. 

He even took me coming out well and said it didn’t matter to him. He had made jokes at the expense of the LGBTQIA+ community my entire life, but when I came out, they stopped. I can’t speak to what happened whenever I wasn’t around, but they were never said around me. 

Two things can be true. 

I watched movies to deal with my parents fighting and to cope with the abuse. 

KP would send me to friends’ houses whenever things got physical. 

I pretended to believe KP’s stories about gardening accidents whenever she had black eyes or unexplained bruises. 

Two things can be true. 

Rick caravanned me around to band events, Camp Fire meetings, and sleepovers whenever KP had to work or the pain from her car wreck was too much to bear. 

He volunteered at concession stands. 

He took me to the skating rink almost every single day of the summer. 

There are people, to this day, that don’t believe he was abusive. 

Two things can be true. 

I don’t know how to feel about being parentless at 31. 

I do have a little sadness over the death of my father, but it’s not that simple. 

When KP died, I was devastated. 

I still am. 

But, this doesn’t feel like the same, earth-shattering event. 

I feel some relief. 

I feel some weight lifted. 

I feel some sadness. 

I feel it all. 

This isn’t a cut-and-dry scenario. 

I’m allowed to grieve while also feeling a sense of calm. 

Two things can be true.