66.

July 31, 2013.

My dad's 66th birthday.

The first birthday in 30 years that I haven't spent with him.

I thought today would be a bit harder than it has been. Or a lot harder.

Thankfully, it's been okay. The kids and I kept busy this morning by going to the library and I'm looking forward to a night with my family. Part of me wishes my dad would be there and that he didn't have to celebrate his birthday in jail this year, but I come to grips with this reality a little bit more each day.

I've realized it's the safest place for him to be. That he needs to be there and deserves to be there.

I'm coming to grips with other realities, as well.

Therapy has been extremely helpful in this respect. Cindy, my therapist, has helped me see realities that have always been present but that I never understood before. While it's important for me to see my life and this situation clearly, which is what therapy does for me, that doesn't make it easy. I've left therapy a few times feeling like my whole world has been turned upside down all over again. When you believe something as truth for 30 years and then are suddenly told it's all a big lie, you find yourself questioning everything else in life that you believed to be true as well. The farther we dive into the messiness that is my life, the more she begs me to keep coming back and to not give up on this process. I understand why... we talk about tough stuff and sometimes, it would be easier to just quit and live in denial. But I'm not willing to take the "easy" way out of this for myself, my marriage, or my kids. I'm here to be a better person and to see clearly for the first time in my life. I'm committed and I'm in it for the long haul.

We talk about a lot of things in therapy. Last week, my earth-shattering revelation was that domestic violence is not a direct result of bipolar disorder.

This seems logical, now that I think of it that way and in those simple terms.

But historically, I've always attributed my dad's emotional abuse to his bipolar disorder. Because people with bipolar often have a difficult time controlling their emotions and when you can't control your emotions, you're at risk of being more emotionally volatile.

My dad is the picture perfect example of someone who's emotionally volatile. We never knew whether he was going to be up or down and often, that could change on a dime. He said horrible, mean, degrading things when he was angry and when he wanted to make up for it, he spoiled us rotten.

I've learned that he's a sociopath.

Granted, I realized this a few months ago, but now those feelings have been validated. He shows no remorse for what he's done and has gone so far as to say that out loud.

I've learned that he truly cares about nobody but himself.

And that he tries to manipulate Brittany and I into believing that he does. We mean nothing to him. We're just a means to an end in his eyes. That's a painful reality for any child to realize about their parent.

He didn't even think about how his actions on February 15th would affect us. And he still fails, day after day, to think about how his actions still continue to affect us. He sits in jail and continues to make our lives miserable. He steals money from my mom left and right and he truly feels he's "owed" this money despite the fact that he tried to MURDER my mother, not to mention that he'll likely spend the rest of his life in prison.

We've tried to take care of him but time after time we've been greeted with a slap in the face.

It's just never-ending. His main focus right now is "winning" when it should be so vastly different. He should be begging for our forgiveness, trying to be a better person, trying to make up for what he did through acts of kindness, compassion, and regret.

For a long while, I deeply grieved the loss of my dad.

Through therapy, I've realized I'm grieving the loss of a dad. The fact that I never had one and now, that I never will.

We're working on my codependence. (See the definition of codependency here.)

When looking at my life in this context, it's been one "a-ha!" moment after another. I'm starting to understand why I am the way that I am and how my parents have shaped me into the person that I've become.

I've struggled a lot with anger towards him in these past three weeks. I've struggled more with my grief. I've realized that in the months following the attack, I was in survival mode. Now that I'm getting beyond that, reality has started to set in. I've realized the gravity of the situation a bit more. Like....

If he had it his way, both of my parents would have been dead right now.

He held weapons in his hand and tried to beat her to death. I think about how much hatred he must have felt to do that.

The events of that night have been flashing through my mind. The sounds of that night too. I didn't need to be there to understand (though not fully) what happened in that room. The sights, the sounds, the smells.

I cannot believe she survived that attack. And the flashbacks and memories she must have as a result of it.

I hate him for changing everything. For not only robbing me of my innocence when it comes to this stuff, but for robbing me of both my father and my mother too. Even though my mom is still here, she's not the same a she used to be. So when I mourn my losses, my "old mom" is still one of them.

But yet, there's still this part of me that loves him too. That wishes he would try and be a better person - if not for himself, for Brittany and I. I used to look at others with screwed up family relationships and think, "How can she/he still love them? Why do they still want to take care of them? Why do they keep giving them second chances?"

I get it now.

I guess the difference for me is that right now, he's not giving me any reason to love him, take care of him, or give him a second chance.

And as hard as that may be, I think it's the easier alternative. My life is easier without him in it.

But I will always, always, mourn the loss of having a "dad".

Happy Birthday, Marshall Scott. I know today won't hold much celebration for you and you're probably raging over the fact that you didn't get a birthday card, but such is life.