green light of forgiveness

I've stayed at my parents' for the past two nights, and my father says it's from my missing them, missing home. I had to laugh and agree despite the fact that my old stresses came back when I stayed here for awhile in June, despite the fact he is one of my living traumas. 

It isn't a childhood home without ghosts roaming, even when their human counterparts are still living and have started treating me kindly. I still see the past in used toothbrushes and limply hung cardigans. In the mess of fridges and countertops, old post-its on dusty corkboards. And these material reminders are enough to haunt me back 23 years. 

Moving out, a day after my wedding. My parents and I hadn't been on talking terms for at least a few months, a father slamming doors and things down on countertops whenever I entered his peripheral. But when I wasn't his responsibility anymore maybe it was a breath of relief, he finally realised the treasure that I used to be.

My father was shocked to see my books completely packed into boxes, shelves empty and ready to move. After the way he had treated me the past few years, I didn't quite understand his surprise that I was waiting to move out. All the times he had screamed for me to get out, November 2012 when he finally disowned me for more than a year, even the time he shouted at my then-fiance to take this burden off him. 

Seeing my entire life packed into boxes and family members helping out, in contrast to the times I'd left home unannounced with a backpack full of pens and notebooks. Hearing my father tell my husband to take care of me, that I'm scared to sleep alone at night sometimes. 

Now he kisses me on the forehead and calls me darling again. Though I can never forget the long-gone bruises and deleted messages, maybe I can forgive them for the way they have made me who I am today. When I moved out, I finally said goodbye to one of my perpetrators, and that was the only way for him to be the father I always wanted.