And she lives. But he does not.

It’s been a while.

A long while to make a lot of decisions on how life is going to be.

I realized that I can’t always say what I want. Sometimes it gets me into trouble.

But I can think the way I want and also, I can be me. And I don’t think there is anything wrong with being myself. Not changing for others.

Adapting is a different story, but alas.

——–

Recently, I have had a big weight lifted off my shoulders. Now, the argument (well there is no argument really) is that we shouldn’t be dancing on other people’s ‘graves’.  In this case though, I did.

I have not been a big advocate of telling the world about my life, because sometimes you tell the wrong people and they use it against you. This is not going to be something that can be used against me though.

On to the story. My awful horrible Stepfather was an awful horrible person. He did awful, horrible and yucky things to me.  For many years I’ve wondered if he was still in Seattle (where I grew up, where my Mom married him). I would always google his name. Nothing came up, ever. Finally something did and it was on a website where you can look up public records.

Well, I looked up his criminal history last week (yes I paid for it, sometimes curiosity is the best satiation one can receive in life). And I noticed a lot of charges that didn’t surprise me.

Domestic Violence charges (which got dropped by his baby mama because he was going to anger management classes.)
DUI’s up the yingyang!
Criminal Traffic offences (driving without a license – SHOCKING!)
Drug Trafficking!

Basically, there were 47 charges against him in some form.

And then the charges somehow trickled away.. the last one was in 2006. So I thought, okay it’s not up to date.

The next morning I thought there is no way he’s still alive. He’s dead. He’s gotta be dead. All of this has killed him. My intuition is pretty good.

Then I did some more digging, I found his name listed in one of the papers. An obituary. He died November 7th, 2011 in Tacoma, Washington.  His age & birthdate matched. It was him. OH MY GOSH IT WAS HIM AND HE IS DEAD.

I cried out of closure and relief. He will never be able to hurt me again. He’ll never find me. I’ll never have to track him down. He’s dead. Joy of all joys, he got what was coming to him. He still haunts me in my dreams (nightmares).

I never wished death upon anyone. And maybe in his life he asked for forgiveness. But you know what? These are things you will never forget. You can never forget the child you hurt. The pain you caused families. The threats, the lies, the drugs, the everything. You can’t forget that.

One thing I will remember is the day he died. It’s etched in my brain. I don’t know what he died from (and I don’t care, though I can only imagine what…), but all I know is that there is a part of my life that has been a little bit better because he won’t be ABLE TO HURT ANYONE ELSE. No, I’m not healed because he’s dead, but I’m relieved. There is a difference.

Now, I can only imagine that people that will need to be healed from the pain he caused them. Including me. I’m still dealing with it, 15 years later. This is why therapy is necessary. This is why talking about it helps. This is why I wrote this blog post. This is why I hate rape jokes (they aren’t funny, AT ALL). This is why… a lot of things.

As Socrates once said:

“Death may be the greatest of all human blessings.”

RIP.

p.s. if you ever feel like referencing, look up this blog post: In A Nutshell