My F.

[Heart]

When I was born my father was happy. He wanted to have a girl. He had actually fathered nine children including myself. But he never had been a father. So I think that this was his chance to.
He had already been robbed by his own history. Losing his father at 17 and subsequently married of to a woman chosen by his mother. She (my grandmother)had the nickname "Pikku-hitleri" Little- Hitler. When he became a drunkard I don't know. Just that it was early.
Except for not keeping me clean, not feeding and not keeping me safe... My father was my hero. My first memories comes from him. Walking my hand gripping his pinky.

The summer of -73 was "eventful " - I had been raped (I was 6 years going on 7) and I thought to tell my father what had happened. So I walked down stairs to the kitchen and bathroom where he was. And for the first time my safe place was not safe anymore. He became furious with me because we had to be in bed at 18.00 ( including my older siblings) at this time it was passed 20.00. He turned into a monster. Grabbing my hair and carried me three stories up. Shaking me holding me by my hair and shouting at me. I was terrified.

However I did meet my real father.  It was on his deathbed. After having no-contact for...? 19 years I stepped into the hospital room.  And a clear-eyed man with the bluest eyes looked at me with love in his eyes. And I spent about three weeks with him.  Caring for him day and night up until he passed. One day when I came back from having changed clothes and caring for his wife. He said "Where have you been?  I missed you so much! I love you! Do you know that?  That I love you? "

He died early one morning when I was getting a cup of coffee.
But with all the bad memories I have. These three weeks of being with my father is such a great treasure of pearls, shaped through the moments collected.

Needed to share this with you. I don't know if my father also had cptsd...perhaps. I know that he was lost until three years before he died, then he finally stopped drinking.