The man I called father.

The man I called Father.

He was so abused as a child that his grandma had him taking Valium at 5 years old. I was told his mother was abusive to the point of putting shitty diapers in his face. Makes me wonder what she went through.

There’s only few memories of this man in my Akashic- and those are times when he was an only option. I remember seeing him at age 4- my mom was dropping us off with him. He broke his arm moving a Piano trying to make some money to feed my sister and me.

I remember living with him for a short time in 3rd grade. Snow cones. He always bought me a snow cone when the ice cream truck came around. I remember thinking he had no clue what to do with my sister and I. He made us go to bed before dark. I remember watching Red Holland with him- at 5 am in the morning and being astonished he was drinking tea and not beer. I remember he took me crabbing- and I got bit. I remember him loving me. If for only a short time. He wasn’t around because my mother cussed him out. She was a drug addict and made him feel bad for not paying child support. She had us calling him out sperm donor. Irish and Native American- he got checks from the government for his native blood.

This isn’t my blood father. I learned this when I had my dna and was shown no Native American blood- and no Irish. The look in his eyes- when he didn’t know what to do with me was legit. I wasn’t his. And I see that now.

No matter though- before his death at my tender age of 17 I called him dad. I got to know him in his last few months- more than I had. He tried to tell me of the false truths that my life held- but he didn’t know how. I see that now. He came to me/ not long ago in a vision with my mom.

“We did exactly what you needed for your soul to wake up. When will you see we held our contracts?”

This hurt me and brought me peace. I forgive. Both the parents and the step parents who tried to raise me. I see now. It had to be this way. I love you Rickey- I love you like my father and I appreciate all you taught me.

One more memory before I go. Thanksgiving- 4th grade- my dad playing “where the green grass grows” on his guitar. I love country music but only in spurts.

I love this man. He died when I was 17, Oct 6 2003. We celebrated the life of my mother on the anniversary of his death. Both my parents have taken October’s memories and tied them up in their deaths. It’s anew beginning and I’m not crying. I’m celebrating. All I am. All I will become. I release both these people from any pain associated with their lives or deaths in my eyes. I appreciate the lessons they have offered me and I accept the life they gave me. I love you. I release you. ❤️🙏

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