When my father died, I was full of mixed feelings. I had suppressed the abuse so much that it didn't really resonate at the time. I was angry that he killed himself through alcohol, angry that I would never truly know him for the man he could have been. I wanted to know more about my own origins through him. I was heartbroken that his life ended surrounded by only a handful of friends who were really waiting for handouts because they were addicts, too.

After the abuse memories have resurfaced, I don't really feel differently. I still miss him terribly and would give anything for the chance to talk to him again. I think it's because he was never really a father to me, more of a friend as time went on and the abuse stopped. I was a caretaker of my parents a lot of the time, especially after they were divorced.