A retrospective

Fact: I will never see my father, brother, cousin or daughter again and neither will I see any grandchildren; that is very sad, incredibly sad.

You all know that my father sexually abused me and when he got sick with Alzheimer’s, tried to destroy me but, when he was well, he loved me in his own way.

You also know that my daughter falsely accused me of sexual abusing her; what my father did not manage to do, my daughter managed it, to the extent that I am a mere shell of my former self. I keep on fighting but one day, I will just decide that I have had enough fighting and just die; I have been slowly dying since April 2016.

But I have to hang onto memories that are so special to me.

I used when I was very young and my Dad was building up the company, go to work with him on a Saturday. I would sit in his office, whilst he was working and play Solitaire on my own on the boardroom table that was at the end of his office.

When I turned 13, my Dad said to me that “it was time that I went to work for him”. I was so very proud of myself and my Dad. I stayed with his company, going through every department but stopped when I had to revise for my “O” and “A” levels. Then I went to university to read civil engineering but I could not deal with 3 dimensional mathematics and went to work in his computer department. When I say “computer”, it filled up a multiple of rooms as it was so big and I worked from a terminal. I loved it and did really well but the chairman, who was a hypocrite, did not like nepotism so I left and went to study Chartered Accountancy; the rest is history but even though all of these experiences were decades ago, I remember them as though they were yesterday.

The same applies to my daughter. I have not seen her since the middle of 2015 and have not heard her voice since late January 2016, when she invited me to come and take her out for dinner.

But, just like my Dad, I remember everything, from the time when she was being born and I had to fight with the medical staff to save my baby and my wife, to the first moment that she was placed in my lap, minutes after birth, with her big blue eyes looking up at me, as I gave her the first feed. I remember signing her up for nursery at Downsend School to picking her up most days in my bright yellow TVR. When I had her for a weekend and took her to school on a Monday morning in The Yellow Peril, as we called it, I took the back roads with Verity saying “Faster Dad, faster”. I remember it all very well.

Then, when Verity got older, the boyfriends came and it was very hard for me to “lose” my little girl and see her all grown up. But, even though we are apart and probably will be for the rest of my life, she will always be my little girl. Most Dads, if not all of them, will agree with me over that.

But the very special time was when Liesel was alive and Verity’s mother went off the rails. Liesel treated Verity like a daughter and the feeling was reciprocated. But that only lasted 8 months but what a 8 months it was; we were all so happy, even if Liesel and I knew that she was dying.

Verity and I were to join Liesel in South Africa for Christmas but around the 10th December, I got the call that I was dreading. Given the urgency, I had to go on my own but when I phoned Verity to say that she was not coming to South Africa, she screamed at me and cried uncontrollably.

Although the plan was for Liesel, Verity and I to fly home together after the New Year, I believe in my heart that she was not coming back to her second home and bought the return ticket for show and to appease Verity and I. Her wish was to die in South Africa, in her home and she got her wish but she stayed alive long enough to see the birth of her niece, Brody.

Even before I flew out there, I called South Africa to give them an update and Liesel answered the phone; I was flummoxed. She was totally lucid but when I told her that I had to fly out on my own, she screamed down the phone and was apoplectic. That caused a big stir and her brother’s wife, Mandy, grabbed the phone and shouted at me, asking what the hell was going on. When I explained, she understood.

Even when I was out there, I desperately tried to get Verity out to say goodbye. Maybe she was a bit too young but, because the two of them were so close, I knew that Verity would not forgive me. But her mother refused to let her fly on her own and would flatly deny it if asked, even though my Dad would have taken her to the airport and she would have been looked after my the aircrew (and probably spoilt rotten). Even though I could not leave my Lies but Verity was not allowed to fly out on her own, with her being picked up by Liesel’s Dad, who she knew from before, I just could not win and, in the end, pleased no one.

In fact, I strongly believe that Verity has never ever forgiven me, even though I was totally powerless.

If Verity does not believe me, all she has to do is to contact one of Liesel’s brothers, her Mum or Dad. We were all together. They will tell Verity what REALLY happened; I have not spoken to them for 10 years. I leave them with their grief.

I will go further. I believe that was why Verity so readily agreed, with a money incentive from my sick father, to falsely accuse me of sexual abuse and all of the rest that has happened between us.

A traumatic event in one’s formative years, such as not being able to say goodbye to the one you love, runs very deep and never ever leaves you, no matter how old or young you are.