To my dad, pity was love, which is why he loved it when people pitied… it meant they cared and also forgot to ask him if it was reciprocal. Yet, I found the quality annoying on him. As we walked through the Basilica, he proceeded to talk about these mysterious, suicide attempts without mentioning who, what, where, and why. They were just his whale calls for pity, and I did not bite. Instead, I had a much darker thought, ¨Well, you did not succeed?¨

When your abuser is in church with you, at a weekend trip to see if you can reconcile, and decides to invent suicide attempts….. it is annoying. First, my dad knew I had two of my own, and I had details. With that in mind, he tossed the line like it was Pikachu at a Pokemon match. I was instantly annoyed because the weekend was about him trying to prove that a decade without me, in his life, made him realize he should have been better to me when I was in it. Instead, he could not stop talking about either A) spoiling his other family B) childhood traumas that were so old and stale, they might have been at the inauguration of this Basilica 700 years ago. It was overwhelming me because my father only gave me around 20 minutes to say what over 20 years of his abuse had done to me before he felt too  uncomfortable and started making fun of a gardener that, accidentally, hosed himself. No JOKE! He, literally, interrupted me to laugh at gardener, and I was mid.way discussing the time he abandoned me Day 1 in my Masters program by cutting the first bank account he opened to fund my education. Yet, I digress. 

As we walked around, with families by the dozens lighting candles to saints, the thought permeated my brain. ¨What if he had succeeded? And done so, when I was a child?´ My conclusion was right but still tragic: my life would have been so much better. The facf that my dad wanted pity from me was another Red Flag for his lack of remorse. You do not want pity from your victim, if you are handing them a genuine apology. What you want is mercy: a form of love born from forgiveness that you humbly request. My dad did none of the above. Yet, my father oddly wanted me to talk him off a ledge he was never on, and, in truth, I had every right to push him off. This was the man that verbally, mentally, emotionally, and financially abused me for over 2 decades, and he was informing me I could have been rid of him sooner. Even if it was by his own hands, it meant a few less years of crying myself to sleep so much, eventually, I tried to end me. 

The moment stood out to me for two reasons. First, my dad forgot I had had my own attempts, and I was not going to bring it up. I have never once trauma bonded with someone and walked away feeling like they understood how I needed to be loved over how I did not want to be hurt. Second, it was a moment when we had no compassion for each other. I would have felt relieved to have had him out of my life, and it was so clear he did not care about mine. The thought felt dark and even sinful for a church. Within days my dad would be sending me a , ¨You deserved a better father¨ text. That was the last thing he would say and it pissed me off. ¨You deserved better,¨ is what you text your ex-wife after finalizing the details of your divorce: not to break-up with your daughter. It was such a cop-out  statement because I was the only child my father decided to abuse and not pity.