Divorce letter, first draft

Note to the reader: these words are harsh. Keep in mind that these words do not come "out of thin air," but after nearly 150 blog posts, as well as 37 years of trying to work it out with my parents. I will not send this draft, but it was necessary to "get it out there," as I expressed my reasons for cutting off contact with my parents into my journal, and onto this blog.

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Dear Darren and Roxanne: 

I am writing this to inform you that I no longer consider you to be my parents. 

You have consistently denied me the right to make adult decisions, from my teen years until now, and so now I am making this one. 

You show no care to the most important person in my life, treating my wife like a ghost whose only purpose in life is to bear children.

You show no true care to me, but try to control or downplay my every decision. Even now, you think you will be able to overturn this decision: but I assure you, I am very serious.

You have repeatedly threatened to disown me, saying, “If you don’t watch it, you won’t have a father anymore.” It always was your way or the highway with you. Well, I choose the highway.

You talk always only in terms of rights. You think that you have a long list of claims on myself, on my life, and my children. You yelled like a maniac at my pregnant wife, causing her to tremble for hours and almost go into early labour. And yet you felt entitled to hold the child that your rage almost aborted? You ruined the family reunion that my wife so generously made for you, and you did not even pay for your part of it: and yet you expect to be rewarded with a wonderful reunion of your own? You threaten to disown me…repeatedly!…and now you threaten legal action against me, and yet you still expect me to share intimate details of my life, and give you access to my kids? You squander your money, needlessly giving me a childhood of poverty and forcing me to educate myself: yet you expect me to pay for your retirement? You belittle my accomplishments, and find ways to pick apart the things that make me feel alive: yet you expect the honour of being called my parents?

All of that ends now. You are not my father, and not my mother. 

I will not pay for your retirement, or your funeral. I will not fix your camper, or give it a place on my property. I will not give you access to my children. 

I endured psychological trauma from you as a child. I saw my brothers beaten with serving spoons, belts, and canoe paddles. I saw their most precious possessions smashed before their eyes for trivial offences — usually simply for daring to have an opinion, and not “submitting” to their father’s will. You told us this is what love meant. These actions left deep scars on myself, as my young mind learned that if I dared to have an opinion, I too could be flogged. 

You used these scars to control me well into adulthood. You knew very well that “all you had to do was look at me and I would tremble.” You told me that many times. Well, the trembling stops now. If you try it again, you will find that those wounds are healed, and I no longer fear you. 

You cannot control me. 

I am not writing this in a fit of rage, and I will not take it back. I am sober and in my right mind. I have taken careful time to consider this. I have informed my children, wife, and my friends of my decisions, and they are fully supportive of them. I have consulted a lawyer, and you see it has been sent in such a way that you cannot deny having received it.

Throughout my adult life, I have seen you cause unspeakable damage to others. You have sought to control, and I have seen you wreck homes, and wreck lives. I consider you both to be extremely unsafe and dangerous people. 

I have spoken with the local police, and you should know that you are not welcome on my property. If you come here, I will consider it trespassing, and will seek to have you arrested. If you meet with my children apart from myself, and especially if you try to lure them into your camper, I will consider that kidnapping, and act accordingly. I will not stop until I have you behind bars. I am not joking. I do not know why you are so obsessed with spending the night alone with my children. Frankly, I don’t want to know: but I assure you that if they should ever go missing, it will be your face will be all over every possible social media channel and news outlet as suspect #1 until they are found. 

Don’t try anything.

You said once that you wanted to give me roots to grow, and wings to fly. 

But you gave me nothing that I needed to grow, and did not let me have my own life. You did not teach me to manage money. You discouraged me from finding healthy friends. You never affirmed who I was, but only affirmed my actions when they seemed to make you look good. Your idea of love is me caring for your needs: but you never cared for mine. You became envious of any good thing in my life, and tried to control or destroy it. You sought to disrupt my weight-loss journey, tried to convince me that I had asthma and numerous ailments, you sought to make me weak and controllable. 

Even now, you are sending me piles of junk, to try to convince me that I am still that little child you could control. But I am not him anymore. 

I have forgiven you for all of this, which means that I live my life without bitterness in my heart. But you are not forgiven, because there can be no absolution without repentance. And there can be no reconciliation because you have never repented…of anything. I am not interested in trying to reconcile, because I know that you don’t even know the meaning of the word “repentance.” Although I have spelled it out, you have no idea what you have done wrong. I have seen no evidence of true remorse, or any attempts to change yourself, ever. Rather, your idea of repentance is trying to make others walk on eggshells more effectively around your issues. You would love the chance to shower us with gifts, crocodile tears, and affection, to try to make me forget about this letter, while you slowly find ways to poke holes yet again in our boundaries. 

But I will not give you this chance. You have had enough chances.

Forgiveness, for me, means that we are done. You no longer have a place in my heart. I have healed all of the scars that bound you to myself. I am walking free.

I need nothing from you, I want nothing from you, I fear nothing from you, I will give nothing to you.

I am done with you.

And so there is nothing more to say.

I am not your son, and you are not my father, or my mother.

I do not trust you, and will not speak to you when I see you.

I consider any communication from you to be harassment, and will keep it carefully documented as a witness against you.

If you step on my property, I will have you arrested for trespassing.

If you ever try to contact my children, I will seek to have you arrested as a pedophile and a kidnapper.

Goodbye, Darren and Roxanne