09/19/2014 by syrbal-labrys
Damn. I slept late, and wish now that I had slept later. My body is already dumping daylight savings time, thank you. Now I want to dump Friday. Because a headline alone, without the story, raised a storm in my head.
I still have not read the story. Not sure I can, because the headline alone is my personal nightmare. My father always had guns. He held my mother at gunpoint during arguments more than once. And as the oldest child, I heard the shouting. The shouting wherein he stated that “…when I’m ready to go, I’m going to take ALL of you with me.”
Even as an adult, having left home at age 17, every time there was a knock on my door, my pulse-rate jumped. Was this the day? Was my father standing on the other side of the door, armed and come to kill me? It was a hundred times worse once I had children, of course and being sure their lives would be as forfeit as my own.
I grew up seeing him casually kill pets that had pissed him off. He shot a dog that barked too much, ran over a dog that had killed his favorite cat, and other pets simply vanished. He ran off his “best friend” at drunken gunpoint. But he didn’t have to be drunk to be so threatening. I always tried to keep several states between his known location and my own in hopes I might hear something of a warning nature on the news in time.
He died, by his own hand, in 1997 in Sonora, Mexico. He had been angry with my stepmother and left without her from a party. He went home, stretched out on their bed in his best boots and party clothes and shot himself in the head.
But hey, guns don’t kill people, right? But drunks and convicts enabled to own plenty of them sure as hell do. And in Florida, a man like my own daddy decided to take out his daughter and her SIX kids, one an infant. Who knows why. My dad thought the world was going to hell in a hand-basket; and he thought it wrong to leave those he loved alone without protection — now isn’t THAT the capper for “twisted love”?