Yesterday my dad died.

He also died the day before. Even the one before that.

He first died on his 74th birthday, on March 24, 2003. But since that day, every day I say goodbye to a little more of him.

How do you reconcile with someone who repeatedly tore a petal from your bloom, eventually leaving you a single stem adorned with only one thorn? I was his victim. He was my dad.

It doesn't matter what kind of abuse I suffered at his hands because all types of abuse affect us until we take steps toward healing. In my case, it should matter- because both my mother AND HE were partners in the crime we call abuse. Have I ever mentioned that my dad was a child and adolescent psychiatrist?

Even worse than my dad's emotional abuse of me was the fact that my mother abused me in the same way, even more horribly--- and he condoned it by not stopping it. Yes, when she searched, then found my diary, HE forced me to sit next to him while he read it back to me. Being judged and chastised by your own words do not exactly breed self-confidence or trust. That was the very day that both of my parents tore from me the last remaining confident I had left. Gone. Gone like the love I wished for but never had.

While I grieved for what my siblings and friends had, I reminded myself that it wouldn't and couldn't happen unless I changed. For me that would have involved two unattainable factors; to not have been conceived as "a mistake," and also to have been born a boy.

I blew it in more ways than one. While I was NOT born a boy, I REMAINED a mistake for my entire childhood into my adulthood. Emotionally they tried to silence, crush, and bury me but didn't know I was a seed. I was the one seed that would grow despite a drought that could have been remedied by love. Inside of me, there was a resilience I could neither control nor contain. I call this resistance a spark. This spark turned into a blazing and flaming bonfire each and every time they assaulted my soul.

We should ALL have a spark of our soul. At least those of us who have endured abuse.

The same spark that lit the path to my great escape also led to my healing. It spoke to me from a place of self-preservation. It was so loud and overbearing, and I just could not silence it. It knew. Just like a seed knows how to grow. It knew.

Another thing I knew was how wrong it would be to repeat this horrendous, heinous abuse onto my five children. I also knew that this would not be possible, as hard as I tried and despite my wanting to believe I could, without therapy. Often painful and heartbreaking, my counseling led me to wonder, why on earth would ANYONE choose to revisit the memories that were their living nightmares?

What I soon learned was this: the pain this incurred was from incising through layer upon layer of scar tissue that formed from my need to hide my wounds, and protect myself from further insult. Akin to what Maslow described in his hierarchy, we cannot move towards becoming whole until we have satisfied the previous level. There is no skipping over what is unhealed, nor is there moving forward to the next rung on the ladder to achieve wholeness.

Isn't that a dream we all share?

What I later realized was that every revelation, every tear, every dissolution of what "should have been," led to strength and celebration. While most often I left therapy with intense anger and the kind of "ugly cry" where you can't catch your breath, little did I realize at that time that I was revisiting those horrible incidents as an adult. As adults, we have more years and experience behind us; therefore we see how wrong our abuse was. In delving through our reaction at that time (even if it is recent as in abusive adult relationships) with a more experienced perspective, we regain the power that was stolen and invalidated with every incident.

But unlike our abuse that seemed like it would never end, I was successful in closing the final curtain in this fairy tale gone awry. I no longer needed to be an actor in their soap opera. They lost the victim in their plot. I was gone.

And so... You may wonder how their "Broadway Show-Wanna-Be" ended. Here's how: with abuse, when the abuser can no longer use their victim to mop up their sadistic needs, they look for someone else to fill that hideous, voracious craving. In my case, my dad took over that role. He substituted for a title no one would ever relish; "Abuser Blames the Victim." It was on his deathbed that he finally apologized and understood. There was no forgiveness offered. There would be none, ever. You see, the moment he first witnessed her first assault on my personhood, both he and she invalidated my responsibility for forgiveness. Beyond that, the first time he participated in her abuse sealed the deal. Am I angry and bitter? Not. What am I? Apathetic. I neither love nor hate either of them.

Mom is still alive, albeit not in my heart. Dad is gone, and all I wished for slowly dissipates with each day and every goodbye. But that's okay. It's more than okay. It is a healthy way of putting a stop to and healing from abuse. It is my fight song and the tune to which I sing and dance. It is the pen I use to write the rest of my story, and the illustrations that display the life I now lead.

As you see, goodbyes can be beautiful. They can signify the end to what scarred you like an iron and devoured you like a lion. They take you by the hand and lead you to where you were meant to be. They remain behind you because we don't need to look back when we are walking forward. They are our victory flag!

My advice to you is this: do not walk or limp across the finish line to healing. RUN! I will be there to cheer you on. Note this warning, however; I don't do cartwheels because I am the clumsiest soul you could ever meet. My heart is unfailingly loyal and it will be with you every step of the way. I know what it's like to fail and fall. I also know what its like when we cross that line to victory!

It's time my friends. Put those sneakers on and tie the laces tightly. There's never been a better time to race towards healing. Your prize awaits you. I will leave the celebratory cartwheels to you.

Holding on to hope will bring you happiness. Hold on to what is rightfully yours...