I am writing this as a therapeutic tool, for myself. If it also helps someone else, that would be amazing.
The past few days have been a challenge for me. My father passed away a couple years ago. It was an experience that I would not wish upon anyone, for various reasons. (I must preface by saying he did horrible things while alive, and hurt many people I love and care about. He was a child molester.) Nothing about his passing was “typical” and I am still haunted by everything I went through during that timeframe.
My father was found deceased in his home in July of 2021. This was after I flew to my hometown, to check on him. He had not answered his door, or phone, for several weeks. Due to what I mentioned in the above paragraph, I did not have a “normal” relationship with him, did not speak to him regularly, or interact with him. I had recently seen him, because I knew he was in poor health, and as his daughter, I felt I needed to help him. (Exodus 20:12 “Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the LORD your God is giving you.” It doesn’t say honor them if they have been a good person, it just says honor them.) He was extremely frail the last time I saw him, but refused to be seen by a doctor. I stocked up his pantry with food and water, enough to last a few months.
When the local authorities found my father’s body, it was evident that he had been deceased for quite some time. So even though his date of death is listed as July, I believe he passed away in June, shortly after Father’s Day.
And that brings us to why I’ve been struggling these past few days. Despite the horrific things he did, he was still my father. I can’t help but think about his final days, alone in that house. I believe he fell and was too weak to get back up. It had happened to him before. He was found on the living room floor, with a pillow and empty water bottles near by. There were a few other items on the floor, that weren’t there the last time I saw him. He probably spent several days there, before passing away.
I will never know what took place in those final hours. I do know that after he died, his body remained in that spot, for weeks. After his body was removed, and the hazmat crew I hired was done cleaning up, I went into that house again. It had been two months. It still smelled of death, though not quite as strong as before. Not as strong as the night he was found, or the day after when I opened up the garage door and was hit with the stench of my deceased father’s rotting corpse.
No child, no matter how old, should ever have to smell that. It hit me like a brick wall. A stench so vile, and I knew I was smelling my own father’s decomposed body. That was one of the worst days of my life, and I’m still not over it.
The house was a wreck, due to my father’s hoarding tendencies. It wasn’t as bad as the show Hoarders, but it was bad enough. There was SO much stuff in that house to go through, several rooms were filled with items, and the floor was not visible. Thankfully there wasn’t any trash or anything gross in there, just 50+ years of accumulated items, and lots of late night infomercial purchases that were never used.
All of my Mom’s belongings were still in the house, even though she had passed away six years prior.
Every day, I had to enter that house, smelling death, and step over the spot where my father’s body was found. It was surreal. I would leave there and break down in the car. I would shower immediately upon arriving where I was staying, trying to get the smell of death off of me. It lingered in my nostrils. Some days I just couldn’t go into that house. I was drained, emotionally, mentally, and physically.
Today, I am left with more questions than answers. I know the true anniversary of his death is some time this week. But I do not know the exact day, so every day feels depressing. And then next month will be the “official” anniversary of his “death” … so I know that will be another rough time for me.
The fact that he hurt so many, makes all of this even harder. Because in lots of folks minds, I shouldn’t feel anything for him. They can’t understand why I do. Not even sure I understand it. I can’t really share any of these feelings with them, because they do not want to hear it. So I’m writing it out.
I know I’ll get past this. It’s just gonna take some time.
