This morning I realized that my father of origin would be 70 today and even though he treated me horribly when he was alive, I shed tears. He was an abusive alcoholic who died from cancer at age of 62 and yet I cry because today is his birthday. February 1, 1952 - October 26, 2014. He never acknowledged me as his child even though I was the only child there for him at his worst and when he was sick and dying. I even forgave the abuse and I spread his ashes in a beautiful place. I also wrote and gave the eulogy at his funeral. And now I speak of him in works I put out into the world and have yet to put out into the world. Am I strange for immortalizing such a creature when he didn't love my Neurodivergent self and I am probably going to be forever affected by how he was to me? I am the exact opposite of him and yet I want to tell the story of him, his addiction, his abusive nature, and his choice not to love my flawed self. I especially wish to do this to remind myself not to become him even if life gets hard. Is that a strange want and need to do?
