Thank you, EJ. He was what he was. Being dead doesn't make him a saint. They spent a lot of years together and I am sure in their own strange ways, they loved each other around all the abuse. This is just one time I can't hurt myself enough to comfort her.

I was the one who stayed with her at the ICU the night he died. There had been a snow and ice storm. In fact, there was like 2 ft of snow. The governor of the state I was living in declared an emergency. No one was to be on the roads and I climbed into my little car and drove all the way to Charleston, WV to get to my Dad and the rest of my family. Everyone left, but I knew he wouldn't make it the night. I knew too much about "The Midnight Hour". I stayed and I was there. I was the one who took a four hour nap and my mother and brother went and made horrendous decisions on the funeral and visitation arrangements. I was the one who stood by the casket for hours receiving visitors, while my Mom and brother sat and cried. I was the one who heard time and again what a wonderful man my father had been, knowing all the time how he treated my family and not saying a word to the nice people who came to pay their respects. I was the one who was forced to sit on the second row because my brother and Mom had their people sit with them and there was no room for me, the daughter. I was the one who gave up her freedom to help take care of Mom. I was the one who watched in absolute horror when my Mom turned into the vicious, manipulative creature my Dad had been and sold the farm and home I had worked and slaved to earn, just because he trusted her enough that he didn't put them in my name.

I just can't do it anymore. I can't do it tonight at least. Right now I am so triggered I am absolutely beside myself.