Why I Don't Honor My Father on Father's Day by Terri Rimmer
(Parts of this editorial were originally published in June 2016):
Today is Father's Day but I don't acknowledge my father, Anthony John Persico, born in Brooklyn, New York, whose ancestors were from Sicily, Italy, though I am proud of my heritage.
A year ago, I wrote:
Tomorrow is Father's Day and I write this with tears streaming down my face.
Not because my father is deceased, though he is.
But because he lives in my nightmares eight years after his death and because his sexual abuse of me and my three sisters still affects me daily.
I had nightmares about him before he died but since his death I wake up every hour with them. Sometimes he's alive in my nightmares but sometimes he's not.
He's still very much alive in my life.
And now the flashbacks are back, too, as of yesterday, though they had gone away.
I want to make it clear to anyone who is reading this that thinks that when a child is sexually abused that it doesn't affect them when they're older.
Be certain - it very much does.
I just turned 50.
I've been in lots of therapy but my psychiatrist tells me that though I'm on five meds the only hope for me now is ECT, which I won't do.
So, I walk around exhausted, angry, bitter, for what my dad took from me and what he continues to take.
When he died I hadn't seen him in 20 years.
I always fantasized about killing him and used to drive around listening to that Aerosmith song "Janie Got a Gun." Thank God I didn't have the money, the means, or opportunity to travel or I'd be in prison now.
My dad died of natural causes - five strokes and was put into a medically induced coma. He had one stroke first and they thought he was going to make it so they were going to move him into rehab. But then the other strokes hit him and that was it. By the time I made it to the hospital he was already in a coma, which was good because I was terrified to see him.
I talked to several doctors and stroke survivors, asking them if a stroke was painful but was very disappointed to learn that it is not. I wanted to know that he suffered some pain.
My dad never served a day in jail for his crimes. He'd had two heart attacks and he did suffer some depression before his death. I was glad to hear the latter since I've suffered from depression since age 12.
But he was on his third marriage and leading a double life which included no one knowing a thing about his daughters and what he inflicted on us.
When we showed up to see him in the hospital all these people thought we were these horrible daughters who had abandoned him.
We had to sit there and listen to this minister who only thought he knew my dad talk about what a great person he was.
I always said when my dad died, I'd spit on his grave and dance on it.
Instead I cried like a baby at his death bed, at the viewing, and at the military funeral which I didn't think he deserved because of what he did to my sisters and I.
And I still cry - with anger, with loss, hurt, and
with fatigue.
And I wonder - when do I get out of prison?
Terri Rimmer
©
Today is Father's Day but I don't acknowledge my father, Anthony John Persico, born in Brooklyn, New York, whose ancestors were from Sicily, Italy, though I am proud of my heritage.
A year ago, I wrote:
Tomorrow is Father's Day and I write this with tears streaming down my face.
Not because my father is deceased, though he is.
But because he lives in my nightmares eight years after his death and because his sexual abuse of me and my three sisters still affects me daily.
I had nightmares about him before he died but since his death I wake up every hour with them. Sometimes he's alive in my nightmares but sometimes he's not.
He's still very much alive in my life.
And now the flashbacks are back, too, as of yesterday, though they had gone away.
I want to make it clear to anyone who is reading this that thinks that when a child is sexually abused that it doesn't affect them when they're older.
Be certain - it very much does.
I just turned 50.
I've been in lots of therapy but my psychiatrist tells me that though I'm on five meds the only hope for me now is ECT, which I won't do.
So, I walk around exhausted, angry, bitter, for what my dad took from me and what he continues to take.
When he died I hadn't seen him in 20 years.
I always fantasized about killing him and used to drive around listening to that Aerosmith song "Janie Got a Gun." Thank God I didn't have the money, the means, or opportunity to travel or I'd be in prison now.
My dad died of natural causes - five strokes and was put into a medically induced coma. He had one stroke first and they thought he was going to make it so they were going to move him into rehab. But then the other strokes hit him and that was it. By the time I made it to the hospital he was already in a coma, which was good because I was terrified to see him.
I talked to several doctors and stroke survivors, asking them if a stroke was painful but was very disappointed to learn that it is not. I wanted to know that he suffered some pain.
My dad never served a day in jail for his crimes. He'd had two heart attacks and he did suffer some depression before his death. I was glad to hear the latter since I've suffered from depression since age 12.
But he was on his third marriage and leading a double life which included no one knowing a thing about his daughters and what he inflicted on us.
When we showed up to see him in the hospital all these people thought we were these horrible daughters who had abandoned him.
We had to sit there and listen to this minister who only thought he knew my dad talk about what a great person he was.
I always said when my dad died, I'd spit on his grave and dance on it.
Instead I cried like a baby at his death bed, at the viewing, and at the military funeral which I didn't think he deserved because of what he did to my sisters and I.
And I still cry - with anger, with loss, hurt, and
And I wonder - when do I get out of prison?
Terri Rimmer
©
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