Trigger Warning! This post contains disturbing content dealing with abuse and death. Please don’t read farther if it is a difficult topic for you.
Before I get much farther into this blog, let me warn you. I am in the process of grieving. I had been trying to protect Dad from my mother for near 6 years now. I had adult protective services and the police involved especially this last year, but without much physical proof, I could not get any official help for him. You see my mother is a narcissist. I know there are folks out there that don’t believe that exits or that it’s just the latest fad word, but if you’ve lived through it you know it is VERY REAL. And she was the worst kind. If it was just mental illness, some of her behavior could be forgiven. But she knew how to turn on the sweet charm whenever she was questioned or whenever there were strangers around to impress. They are master manipulators. Hell, being the daughter of a narcissist, she knew exactly what buttons to push in me. It was pure mental and emotional abuse, with financial and occasional physical abuse as well. That was on a good day. The last year, and especially the last few months it had gotten much worse. It was non-stop and had taken a dangerous turn, hurting dad every chance she could. He was feeble, 20 years older than her, and was so thin and moved very slow and unsteady on his feet so he was easily trapped and cornered by her. She would trip him, pinch him, pull his hair and stab him with sewing needles then blame any little wound and bruising on his thin skin and the animals. If by chance he actually lifted his arm up to defend himself from the hurt and pain, she would scream he was hitting her and was being abused. She would booby trap the house in hopes he’d fall and die. She’d chant all day long and sing songs about how she wanted him dead, and how she would do it. It was like living in a horror film. I could not work, for fear that she would hurt him while I was gone. I could never leave them together alone. She isolated us. Didn’t allow dad to talk to any of his family members or even the mail person. She tried the same with me, going into a rage if I dared go see a friend for a couple hours.
Finally I was able to prove it and get a protective order for dad and the police escorted her off the property.
Dad was still afraid she would come back in the night and had trouble sleeping but at least he was able to sleep in a bed again. She hadn’t allowed him to sleep on a bed for a while and she had made him keep his clothes and shoes outside on the porch, throwing out everything he held dear like his old family bible and pictures and letters from his family members and his artwork and books. The next day, he and I had a quiet day. It was both amazing and sad. It was his 86th birthday. He waited all day for his son to call, because mom had hidden all his contact numbers and addresses so we hoped that he would do the calling. He didn’t receive the call and we ate birthday pie. The next day was also peaceful. It was rather blissful other than the worry that mom would come back and do something like burn the house down with us in it. Because at this point, it wouldn’t of surprised us.
Dad finished off the birthday pie that evening after a nice meal and went to go to the bathroom. Now being elderly, the prostate isn’t what it used to be so he was taking his normal long time. But I started to grow concerned when it was going longer then expected. So I knocked on the door to check on him.
There was only a mumbled response.
I had to bust the lock.
I had to call 9-1-1 and do chest compressions as he faded before my eyes.
They took dad away in an ambulance.
He did not survive.
My world turned upside down.
And once he was gone so was the order of protection.
It wasn’t my farm and land. Although mom had promised if I stayed there and looked after them and worked the farm it would be mine. I somehow knew it was a lie. She always hated the place. She always intended to sell it if dad went first. And now that I had chosen to protect dad from her, how useless that had been, I was sure not to get any kind of inheritance. I knew that when I protected dad. I would still make that choice. I only wish that the authorities could have lawfully helped us sooner. He lived this last year in terror and he was the kindest, most gentle soul.
Mom didn’t even care to get his ashes or even ask about them. The funeral home called me to pick them up. She’d been ignoring their calls. I was apprehensive about getting them at first because I thought she would pester me for them and I’d have to hand them over and see her. Honestly the thought of seeing her face again gives me a panic attack. But instead she just raged and demanded I come take care of her and get the house ready for sale and at the same time tried to get a protective order against me, despite me leaving the day after he passed to live elsewhere with a total of 69 dollars to my name. I had to block her phone number and texts because despite not responding to them, she kept calling constantly. I want nothing to do with her. I got a job within the week and trying to put my life back to order narcissist free. My brothers, who have had no contact with her for years (I was the only dumb one to have contact) are now reporting that she is harassing them, demanding they come and take care of her. Wisely they are not responding.
So Dear Dad, I am sorry I could not get you help sooner. I am sorry you had to live your final times like this. You were so kind and amazing and I miss you so much. I have your ashes and I promise to take you wherever you wanted to go that mom wouldn’t allow you to go because of her control issues. And I’m sorry you had to face that abuse. I tried my best to protect you and shield you from it, even if it meant she broke my arm and hit me with things. I did my best of what I knew how to do. I hope you are in a peaceful place now.
And to my readers, if you’ve made it this far, I want to apologize. I have been so busy trying to survive that I really didn’t have time to grieve and only now am able to start reflecting and doing the work that healing entails. Getting it down and acknowledging all this for me is part of the healing process, as ugly as it is.
So I will do a section of Dear Dad posts whenever I can take a little bit of his ashes to the places he wanted to go. He loved nature as much as I did. When he was young he was a back country ranger. He was too nice for his own good but that was just his nature. He cared so deeply for people even if it meant he allowed them to abuse him. I can’t change what happened. I can only heal myself and keep his memory alive. I miss you Dad. You deserved so many more good experiences.
And mom? You deserve nothing. No more of my time in my life. You will probably die alone because I was the only family member left willing to look after you. And if you had shown even an ounce of true kindness I would have made sure your last years were good too. But no, you don’t deserve that. It’s time I get back to living my life, even if it means starting from scratch again. I would be sorry that I ever left my life in Indiana to come out here to help you but again, I am sure Dad took some comfort in me being there to help shield him from you. This is the first and the last post I will ever mention you again. Because you just aren’t worth the energy of my thoughts. Don’t feel too sorry for her. She has plenty of money to hire care if she wants. My friends (who she had been harassing as well through messages) even gave her some references for caregivers. And she promptly told them to “**** off.”
Climate Wary Homesteader 