Father's Day

Today is Father's Day. I've spent my entire day trying to avoid the subject... but grieving inside, for reasons I can't put into words yet.

I'm still reeling from the dream I had earlier in the week, about my dad.  I've had no other dreams since then, but that one is still dancing at the edge of my conscousness. Darting close enough to sting me now and then, and then flitting out of reach before I can identify why I'm hurting.  I just know that I AM hurting.

I am torn today over the silliest of things: Should I honor my dad on Facebook?  It seems wrong not to honor him... I grew from the intensity of him.  Through the love, the anger, the self-loathing, the laughter... I lived. These were the bed in which I was born, the soil in which I grew.  They impacted me in ways I am still discovering. 

He taught me to give
A broken life
Sharing the pieces he had left
To watch others smile

He taught me to hide
A broken spirit
Transforming as a chameleon
Disguising the unique attributes
the vulnerabilities
That defined him

He taught me to abuse
A broken heart
SCREAMING, begging for help
Clutching power as if it was a lifeline
Hurting others, breaking them
So they couldn't hurt me

He made me the person that I am, and through the good and through the bad, the handprints of my father are imprinted on every part of who I am. 

I see his fingerprints when I work in the garden... when I take joy in watching the new life peek through the ground, nurturing it, rejoicing with each inch it grows.
And I see his fingerprints when the pregnancy test is negative, and along with the sadness and exhaustion that every infertile woman feels, I feel a sigh of relief.  As a child, I learned from my father's example.  I watched abuse, and I became an abuser. I know what it is to be small and terrified, and I know what it is to be big, and to make others terrified. I know what it is to feel words break your spirit, and I know what it is to feel words leaving my mouth, breaking the spirit of another... to feel the guilt intertwine with the safety that comes from power.  I know that inside me rests the capacity to abuse, to hurt, to destroy another person so deeply that there is nothing left of them.

With each passing month, I am heartbroken and I am relieved.  I grieve over the emptiness of my arms, but relax knowing I am safe from hurting something so tiny and vulnerable.

I wonder if I will ever trust myself to control the part of him living inside me.