Bringing my father into the fold

I did something that has been 13 years in the making.

I gave my father the link to my LJ. It is a gift from me beyond compare. It took well over 10 years before I trusted Cassie to this. And no other family member has ever been given the offer to read this. (My mom somehow stumbled onto it, but given the choice, I would never have allowed her to see it.)

It makes fair enough sense that as he is now a stabilizing force in my life, that he deserves this. It is also the fastest way to check in on me. I told him today that I would be nothing short of honored if he were to read up on at least the last twenty or posts or so.

He got sober at 60, an age where most people give into their demons permanently. Against all odds, he somehow found the will to change. And it gave him this serenity that I never thought he would find.

I've told him he a single most inspiration in my life. It is never too late to turn the tides.

It's funny, for all the years he beat the hell out of me as a child, it turns out once you remove the alcohol, a very decent man lay underneath. He was just a mean drunk.

I warned him that my journal is raw, often ridiculous, and filled with dark places. He seemed to understand that, given the circumstances.

For the first time in my life, I trust him. He will not use these words against me. He will not read my words and run off on some wildly out of based (if not well intention) advice. I think he will be able to accept my feelings and react appropriate to them.

For the first time in my life, I feel safe about sharing what is the color and makeup of what makes me ME. That has to count for something.

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I'm finding out my dad had a neurological condition for decades that was causing him all sorts of behavioral problems. It's really easy now to piece together what was the real man and what was just the sickness.
Isn't it strange the things we find out about our parents as we age? It's part of why I'm more than willing to help with my father's eventual death but won't touch my mother's. I don't think I could stomach what I would find.