So this week, I have had a few things happen that have inspired me to write. The sad thing is that what has affected me enough to actually write was a bad thing.
I was at work and a co-worker gets a phone call from her oldest daughter's school. No on has come to pick her up. Turns out dad fell asleep and her daughter was so upset. I immediately feel the worst anxiety and fought back what could have been a panic attack.
When I was in the first grade, a girl named Shae used to walk me home from school. I think she was in the fourth grade. I don't remember why she didn't walk me home that day, but I remember panic setting as I ran from her classroom back to mine, only to find no one was there. I made my way to the front of the school and waited at the crosswalk. The guards let us cross and I ran the two blocks down Lincoln Avenue to the townhouse my parents rented. The door was locked. My mother was a stay at home mom during those days and should have been home. I went to the neighbors house and knocked. By this time I was petrified and crying so hard i could barely see. No answer. I crouched down in front of our front door and sobbed.
I heard a car horn, unmistakeably belonging to my parents 1964 Ford. I run to the car so thankful that they were there only to find my parents laughing. They had followed me home and watched me break down and let me sit in front of the house for a good 5 minutes and laughed.
This wasn't the first time they did something that would still effect me so strongly. My father thought it would be funny to throw me in the trunk of the 1964 Ford and leave me in there. He sat on the trunk lid listening to me scream for help. Thinking about it now makes my heart race and I am fighting off tears.
From what I understand, my father's dad used to do similar things to him. He would drive him and my grandmother to random places and drop them off and let them find their ways home. My mom told me there was a visit my grandmother had with us when I was a baby where they laughed at drugging my grandfather so they could go to a movie. My grandfather abused my father mentally and physically. This wonderful trait was passed on down to my dad. I missed a chunk of school and the police were called. He never touched my mom or my sister, just me. As an adult I understand that he was sick and it wasn't me that set him off. As a daughter, I don't understand why he hated me so much.
So this phone call my coworker received has given me two nights of horrible nightmares and I have this horrible fear that Derek won't come home. It's so stupid that things that happened to me 25 years ago can mess me up.
And even though this man who was my father was nothing but horrible to me, I still feel pain in my heart like i'm missing something. I haven't seen him since I was 12 and I haven't talked to him since I was 16. Apparently you can disappear if you really want to. I have looked for him, I even called the place my grandmother was cremated to see if they could tell me anything.
I just want 10 minutes with him, I just have one question. Why?