The Sex-Offender is Dead: The News of His Death Triggered more than Grief

How can you feel prepared for something that you’ve never experienced?

Trigger Warning: This is a darker post than I normally would write, but hey, I think this will resonate for many of you. Take care of yourself as you are reading.

Death is final.

It happens to all of us eventually, but when someone close to you dies, it hits just a little more than other deaths.

Have you experienced death of a close relative or a loved one?

We all grieve in different ways, especially if the person who died was a part of your everyday life. There is a five-stage grief cycle by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. Her research is often mentioned when we talk about grief.

Kubler-Ross’ five stage Grief cycle

• Denial
• Anger
• Bargaining
• Depression
• Acceptance

Source: https://www.healthcentral.com/condition/depression/stages-of-grief

These stages of the grief cycle happen to all of us when we encounter death, but the experience of each stage is personal and can take time. You might be stuck in the denial stage for a long time and go through the anger stage in the afternoon.

The experience of grief is personal, but I think it’s far healthier to talk about how you feel than keep it all inside.

Keeping quiet and holding everything inside almost killed me. I needed someone, anyone to hear me and what I had to say. I wrote The Sex-Offender’s Daughter, https://www.amazon.com/Sex-Offenders-Daughter-Story-Survival-Against-ebook/dp/B0BBSV97VF so that my story of abuse and trauma was out there. No one believed me until this book.

Death

Death is a huge topic, but not something I’ve encountered much until now. My experience with death has been through estranged relatives who have dealt with funeral arrangements and everything else.

This time, I’m next of kin, and the person who needs to decide everything about my father’s remains and his estate. Not only that, but I’m also the only one who must do it because no one else cares.

Do I want a funeral? (Hell no! Nobody would come anyway)

Where should he be buried? (As far as I’m concerned, in a hole of undetermined origin).

Do I want a gravestone? (Nope, why would I want one?)

There’s a whole fat can of worms of legal mumbo jumbo when it comes to the death of a person — Sex-Offender or otherwise.

This time, I’m talking about the death of my abuser. My so-called father. The man who was the source of my pain and that of other kids and women. There were so many of them who were affected by his fear and abuse, but here I am dealing with his death on my own.

The Sex-Offender is dead.

He died alone.

He had nobody coming to see him for years as he lay debilitated after a stroke.

I’m not sorry, nor am I sad that I was estranged from the man for decades. He hurt me in the most profound way, and he led others to do the same. He caused so much misery to so many kids and women, but most of all, he hurt me, his only daughter.

• I was broken because of him.
• I left everyone and everything because of him.
• I started my life again because of him.
• I’ve been living in fear all my life because of him.

The fear unlike no other fear

The day finally came that I’d been wishing for all my life. The death of my father. A man I have feared my entire life. I’m talking about the kind of fear that breaks through every thought and action. A fear so profound that it held me in a death grip all my life.

When I received the news of my father’s death, it hit me in the strangest way I’ve ever felt. No matter how much I’ve longed for the day, I was not prepared for the news.

I was about to settle in for the night after my kids had gone to bed. The news came via social media from an extended family member. I had severed all contact and yet this member of the family found me. Words that I had wanted to hear all my life were delivered as a matter of fact, and all I felt was:

Nothing.

I felt completely calm, and I remember saying to my husband “I don’t care,” and went back to my writing.

But my brain and body had other ideas.

In all that “fine-ness” that I was trying to convey to the world. I was definitely not fine.

The truth is, after a few days, that blissful numbness was no longer. I’m now going through a whole range of emotions. It’s a rollercoaster of deep trauma, moments of clarity, depression, sadness, exhaustion, anger, and a strange sense of inner peace.

All these emotions are rolled into an undulating energy soup that rises and falls like waves inside of my head and chest. It changes every second of every day like a kaleidoscope of light fluctuating in the wind.

So there, Kubler-Ross. I’m an anomaly. I don’t go through those five grief stages. They take over me all at once and more.

Maybe I should invent my own grief cycle that matches what I’m feeling?

Each day is different than the last, each hour, each minute. They all hold some new memories, recently revealed thoughts, or glimpses from my past. A new truth formulating from an adult viewpoint about what was going on. The sudden realization of what it meant.

It consumed me and crushed me. The weight of knowing what he did to me and so many others. I have no words to explain these feelings coursing through my blood.

• Am I feeling “Denial?” No way. I know what happened loud and clear. I’ve lived with the horror all my life.
• Am I feeling “Anger?” You bet, I’m a raging tornado of anger.
• Am I “Bargaining?” Bargaining for what? That he be more dead?

Do I have “Depression?” Well I see the way I’m feeling as normal. Yes, I’m hurting but I’ve come a long way to live my own life free from trauma and abuse. Do the memories still follow me? Yes, but I don’t think traumatic events can go away.

Do I feel “Acceptance?” Yes, I have accepted my life and moved on.

The memories hurt with the same force as they did when they happened. Conversations played out in my head, words that cut me deeper than a knife. Followed by past actions that were terrifying and horrific.

At the same time as these emotions, I must deal with the people who were in my father’s life. The ones who have no clue who he was. There are many legal issues on my shoulders as next of kin to a man with no known will. A dangerous man society had forgotten.

But I haven’t forgotten. I know exactly who he was.

To make everything worse for my head, this is happening in a different time-zone that I don’t live in. I don’t know the estate laws, and don’t want to be spending any time in that place again.

I’m never going back to that place.

My father was a sex-offender and a murderer. He died alone without any friends or family, and I’m not feeling bad that I wasn’t there. I don’t owe the man anything because he stole everything from me.

He took my innocence, my childhood, my trust, and my identity, but even in death he comes back to haunt me.

I’ve lived in a different time zone for decades, to get away from my father and his evil ways. Death is final and doesn’t wait for anyone. It can’t be ignored, which is what my instinct wanted me to do. I wanted nothing to do with it.

He had been “dead to me,” for years.

So, there I was trying to deal with everything and get back in touch with relatives who I had not spoken to in decades. Hearing those voices again and speaking his name triggered something profound within me. Something I thought I had left firmly in my past.

My body started remembering again, after hearing his name. This time the flashbacks kept on coming relentlessly. Each memory fired a bullet of pain into my present life. I developed a tremor, and felt the pain hit me in parts of my body where invisible bruises came to life. They reminded me of a past I had wanted to forget. Each pain brought a vivid memory of horrifying evil.

Then the crying started. I felt out of control of my own body. Giant tears escaped from my tear ducts and rolled down my cheeks in quick succession. I had to stop what I was doing and try to get through whatever this was.

• A panic attack?
• An emotional shut down?
• Some kind of break down?

The scary thing was that I had no control over my emotions. They took over as the memories hit me in waves after waves.

I didn’t grieve his death. This was something else. This was more than grief. But I have no words for it. My memories were focused on everything he did to me and others. A life of pain and abuse. The trauma of the deaths he had been involved in.

If this is what closure feels like, then I want no part of it. I tried reasoning myself out of it. That it was normal to feel sad and the memories would eventually go away. (I guess I tried the bargaining for a spell.)

It didn’t work.

I tried grounding techniques and drew on all the tools of coping with trauma triggers that I’ve mastered over the years.

It didn’t work.

I tried breathing techniques to calm my racing heartbeat from the intense fear from the memories.

It didn’t work.

If anything, the slower breathing made a giant weight bloom in my chest and I felt like I was about to explode.

I kept on crying and let a few deep sobs escape as the memories took over. The pain was way worse than anything I’d ever felt before. The only way I can describe the feeling is by having a lifetime of memories hijack my consciousness at the same time.

I cried so hard, my chest felt like it was going to burst from the pain, and yet the memories kept coming.

The Power of Abuse Lives On

The shadow of power my so-called father wielded over my life continued, whether I was in contact with him or not. I moved time-zones to put space between me and him. A chasm between the present and the past.

It didn’t work.

The truth was, he was alive in the world and carrying on with his evilness even after I left.

The constructed reality my father demanded of everyone around him. His dominating presence where no voice apart from his own was heard. The judgmental pronouncements of doom and gloom over the lives of others. The complete lack of understanding or empathy for anyone, or any life form around him.

I survived, and guess what?

My father was wrong.

I’m not stupid.

I can live without him.

Laughter does exist.

I could get away and make it on my own.

I did not get sick and die after breaking my silence when I published “The Sex-Offender’s Daughter.

It took everything I had to leave. I spent decades trying to understand what had happened to me and why I was feeling different from others. I spent years searching for the truth that seemed to dissipate into mist at the slightest negative. To quiet the dissonance in my mind, heart, and soul.

I used everything I knew and read every book I could get my hands on, but do you know what? I made it. I have started again, established new relationships, and I encompass integrity, honesty and truth in my everyday life.

The Bible says, “The truth will set you free.”

I can wonder at the joy in life, pursue dreams and goals I never thought reachable, and more than anything else, I can finish what I start and do well, leaving a legacy of peace, encouragement, and kindness to my own children.

I feel sorry for my mother and father. They never knew how wonderful life could be. It’s still hard sometimes.

I miss the role-models that a mom and dad bring. I’ve never known what that’s like, but I give it to my own children every single day because I love them.

Love has turned my life around.

I will always bear the scars from the trauma and abuse to a certain degree, but I made it. I made it out, and I am grateful for my own resilience.

I did not give up. I defied trauma and abuse and started again.

I embrace joy and the goodness in everyone I meet.

Life is worth it.

My name is Lizzy. I’m a trauma survivor, a wife, a mom, a teacher, and an author.

If you like reading my posts, then please follow me.

For more about me: www.elizabethwoodsauthor.com

Support your fellow writer:

https://ko-fi.com/elizabe69245484

• How to Explain Complex PTSD to Loved Ones
• The Restoring Ability of Nature
• Smiling is Fantastic…
• The 1% Ripple Effect

Photo Credit: Unsplash

Guest Post Disclaimer: This guest post is for educational and informational purposes only. Nothing shared here, across CPTSDfoundation.org, any CPTSD Foundation website, our associated communities, or our Social Media accounts, is intended to substitute for or supersede the professional advice and direction of your medical or mental health providers. The thoughts and opinions expressed are those of the guest author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the CPTSD Foundation. For further details, please review the following: Terms of Service, Privacy Policy and Full Disclaimer