I Have No Father to Thank

and today, for once, I am not sad about it

Trigger warning. Read with care. This post includes child sexual abuse.

Rest in Peace, Tom. I was informed that your body was found in the Philippines in March of 2020. You molested me from my earliest memory, behind a blue blanket, while I laid in a Holly Hobby playpen, holding Fisher Price little people toys. You said you just had to check inside. That it would be ok. But you purposefully sexualized me and other children. You took photos and videos. You profited.

You played the guitar. You introduced women to me who did too. You introduced me to your hideous sounding vocal exercises, songs that you wrote and performed, open mics, in San Francisco.

You told stories. Pumpkin wee wee, your most memorable, and used the vacuum cleaner at the end to scare all the children. You made people laugh. You left our family when I started talking about your abuse, as a young, new mom, leaving an abusive marriage.

You were a presence in my life, yes. But not a father.

I’m sharing this piece today, Father’s Day, because I know I’m not alone. If this resonates with you—or even if it unsettles you—I invite you to read with care.

We don’t all have healing arcs that end in repair. Sometimes healing means speaking the unspeakable, and moving on with clarity.

This is part of Documented Healing. A big part, for me.

Thanks for reading and being here.

With love and care,

Kadie Kelly