My Daddy was a wonderful man, kind, loving, and wise. He was the affectionate one - unlike my simple-minded, sociopathic, self-centred mother. Mother did what was physically necessary for the raising of children but was never in any way supportive; it was "her way" or you paid for it.
My 'difference' was apparent from early childhood and while mother tried to "beat it out of me" (psychologically and by intimidation), Daddy tried to keep me away from mother as much as possible and to mediate in the disputes which became ever more heated as I grew older. Eventually Daddy told me, at about age 16, that he could no longer take my side against my mother, that I would be gone soon, on to a life of my own, but that he made an oath to look after my mother and he had to abide by it. By then he mostly hid behind his newspaper and tried to stay out of the battles.
I started HRT at 17 but SRS didn't become available until I was 24 at which time my mother and I had a HUGE fight. I told her I HAD to have SRS because I was suicidal and had been for years. She said it would be better if I killed myself and that if I had surgery I was disowned and was never to come home again or have any contact with anyone from there. So I packed my bag and I left.
I had little contact with my parents over the next 8 years, aside from abusive letters that my mother would send once in awhile. I married the first time at 26 and none of my family came. Mother wouldn't allow Daddy to come and she kept it a secret from the rest of the family. The first marriage was a disaster but I married again at age 30, a much better match.
One day I was sitting at the kitchen table reading a letter from my mother. My husband saw the distressed look on my face and took the letter away from me. He read it and then tore it to bits. He said "You don't need this kind of bull->-bleeped-<-!" and threw it away.
A few years later we were going to be travelling east through where my parents lived and my husband said we should visit them, that I should see my father again. I expressed my reluctance and said I didn't want to be exposed to my mother's abuse again but he assured me that that wouldn't happen.
My husband must have called my father and set certain 'ground rules' because when we arrived at my parent's house, my mother was actually civil and very restrained. (Maybe it helped that my husband was 6' 4" and 300 pounds LOL!)
My Daddy was sitting in his usual chair with his face buried in the newspaper, as usual, and when we entered the room, Daddy looked over his newspaper. He looked me up and down very slowly and didn't say a word (except "Hi.") but a broad smile crept across his face. He didn't talk much during our visit but every time he looked at me, he smiled! I felt like million dollars!!!
We made one more brief visit a couple of years later, almost 20 years ago now and that was the last time I saw my Daddy. When he passed away, I was not told until after the funeral (because my mother didn't want me coming home).
I loved my Daddy more than words can express and I am so sad he never got the chance to really know his eldest daughter - he would have been SO proud of me!
