The 9-year-old author is in the front yard of her family's home. The photo is courtesy of Tracy.
A notice from a court arrived in my mailbox seven months after my father passed away. The letter said, "To Persons Interested in the Above Estate."
The clerk told me that the death certificate was not available to the public. I was not a public person.
The letter was an obligation of the court. The clerk told me that I needed to challenge the legitimacy of my father's will in order to get my attention. My father left everything to his second ex-wife, re-termed as his domestic partner, and stated, "I specifically, intentionally, and with full knowledge fail to provide for..." We were to be excluded even if all preferred beneficiary choices were dead.
I was not good at her.
There was no information about his death found in a search. My father used to be a vice-presidential salesman, but there was no obituary or funeral announcement this time.
My father was a kind, generous, charismatic man. He made his will over others. He abused my mother for 25 years before divorcing her. When she died of cancer, she asked me not to print an obituary because she was afraid my father would see it and ruin her life.
My father stopped my mother from using their checking account when I was a child. She told me that I would have to ask him to give her money. I sat next to him in front of the bedroom where my parents kept their checkbooks. As I stared at the scratched gold-colored handle of the closed drawer, my father leaned across his thighs and folded his hands between his knees. I had to give him something in order to get the funds. I said I would.
He tried to convince me that what I was seeing wasn't reality and that he would see it my way.
I liked him very much.
My father was a bad person if the shoe fit.
About 4% of the population is made up of sociopaths. In her book, "The Sociopath Next Door," she describes people who don't have a conscience as "sociopathics." The distinction doesn't stop their behavior. Sociopaths, people who don't have a sense of obligation because of their attachment to others, devote their lives to domination for the sake of domination.
According to theClinicians and researchers, sociopaths can't know the words but not the music.
A daughter loves her father. She dreams in her dreams.
My father was a good man. He didn't intend to hurt me. He said he was kidding.
On the way to our family vacations on the east end of Long Island, he accelerated the car through steep hills as if we were at the beach. The tarred drops made my stomach fall. I was frightened and sick. My father looked at me in the mirror. I asked him to slow down. He replied, "Beg me." He didn't stop until I broke down.
The author wrote that her father accelerated the car as if we were at the beach. The photo is courtesy of Tracy.
My father told me we couldn't have a puppy because he was allergic. He offered to be my dog after I asked. He acted like a dog after getting down on all fours. He lowered his body onto me after pushing me over. No one was able to escape. I was his target.
I confronted my father after he was diagnosed with major depression as a young adult. He said, "I didn't do anything you didn't want me to do." You should not tell a father that he sexually abused him.
He wrote me a lengthy letter explaining his logic.
I didn't want to believe my father was bad but I knew he wasn't good for me. I told him to stop contacting me. He gave me a birthday card with a check. I went to the post office and asked them to return the card. I left the post office crying because I needed money and a dad.
I thought if there ever was a father to lose, I would grieve the loss of my father for a long time.
My father sent a card to me when I was in my 40s, asking me to reconcile. I didn't reply He sent a card to me on my birthday. I put it in the sink.
My aunt was better than my biological relative. She introduced my father to her best friend when they were both 14 years old. They hadn't spoken in decades. My aunt told my father that if he tried to contact me again, she would call the police. My dad was speechless for the first time. He had a stroke a few days after that.
My father didn't want to die. He was diagnosed with lung cancer at a young age. He told me that he saw the Grim Reaper at his door in the hospital. He stood there and then walked away. The treatment cured my father's cancer. He went into cardiac arrest in a convenience store more than a decade ago.
My father was a tough guy.
I didn't know how to feel when he was dead. He couldn't hurt me or anyone else, so my emotions weren't compatible. I had dreamed of a father like that. I didn't feel anything but weakness.
I had a dream in which I was at my father's funeral. When I was a kid, we went to the synagogue frequently and the service was taking place there. I understood that I was there to deliver a funeral homily. There was a crowd of people. I didn't know anyone and nobody acknowledged me as if I was my father's daughter. I was no longer her daughter, the one who loved a fraud, the one who lacked self-esteem, and the one who was terrified of life. Through years of therapy, I was able to rebuild myself after being torn down by my father. I had a dream in which I felt the death of my father in order to live. I felt sad.
The letter from the court brought an end to the case, but not in the way that I had been hoping.
The court-filed document of my father's will was a gift of clarity and punishment. The world saw who he really was. He no longer had power over my life.
I was unable to walk to the elevator after reading the court's letter in the lobby. A yellow lab mix with an anxiety disorder was standing next to me. My dog looked at me calmly as I held the letter in my hand. His look was different than my father's. My dog had a wisdom that seemed to overcome barriers of time and space. I wasn't the only one. He knew what I was feeling and what I was doing. He understood everything.
Love was present.
The author and her dog are at Harvard University in May 2022, where the author teaches in the college writing program. The photo is courtesy of Tracy.
Are you in need of assistance? The National Sexual Violence Resource Center has an online hotline.
The author of "I Just Haven't Met You Yet: Finding Empowerment in Dating, Love, and Life" is Tracy. Her writing has appeared in a number of publications, including Oprah Magazine, New York Magazine, and Ms. She is writing a memoir about her rescue dog. You can find her on social media when she isn't teaching a class.
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