My Step Dad Committed Suicide

My first step fathers name was Gary. He and my mother got together when I was 4 years old. Mom, my brother Stephen and myself lived in an apartment in Vacaville, CA. My earliest memory of him was one day when my mom was not home. I guess he was babysitting me. I loved chocolate chip cookies and wanted one. I asked if I could have a chocolate chip cookie. He said yes but I had to do something for him. After that the events are very blurry. I remember being naked. I remember him telling me that if I ever told anyone that he would kill my mom and my brother. I loved them and didn't want anything to happen to them.

We moved to Ridgecrest, CA when I was 5. From the age of four to ten Gary frequently molested me. On numerous occasions I would be playing with other neighborhood kids and he would tell me to come inside to play. I knew what that meant. I would be sad and scared. When his son and daughter would visit he would make me and his daughter 'play'. We would do what ever he told us to do. Whether it was with each other or with him. When my mom would leave the house I would beg and cry to go with her. Sometimes she would get annoyed and say I was being clingy. I know she never would have said that had she known the reason why.

The summer of 1982 I went to stay with my biological father and his wife in Sacramento. During this time mom moved out of the house and had her own apartment. At the end of the summer my dad brought me back. I was happy to be with my mom in her apartment. For the first time that I could remember I felt truly happy. I didn't feel scared.

Moms landlady said we had to move because children weren't allowed. So mom and I moved. She rented 2 rooms from some man. I can't remember his name, but I didn't like him. He was always making the moves on mom and she felt uncomfortable.

The place we were living wasn't far from our old house. Gary still lived there with, mom said, a prostitute and some fat chick. One day I went over to the house because I wanted some of my toys. I opened the garage door and started digging in boxes. I came across a dildo. Although I didn't know that was what it was called at the time. I froze. I looked at it then put it down. I found my stuffed animals. I carried a few back to where we were now living.

A month or two passed and suddenly mom says we are moving back in with Gary. I felt my world crumble. Our first day back he wanted me to give him a hug. He was wearing the robe he was usually wearing he would molest me. It was thick with maroon and gray vertical stripes. I hugged him. I could feel his penis against me through the robe. I was glad mom was standing there. As long as she was home nothing would happen.

We weren't back long before Gary asked if he could put it in me. I remember saying no and then I remember absolutely nothing else until the night he committed suicide.

That day he had left. When he returned he had been drinking. This really wasn't unusual. He was a drunk. Mom and I were in the living room when he got home. He and mom were arguing. She had the keys and he wanted them back. She told him no because he was drunk and shouldn't be driving. He went outside, came back in with a gun. Mom was in the corner of the room. I was on the opposite side near the door. He was in-between facing mom. He asked again, she said no. He shot at her.

I ran out the house yelling down the street for help. He had gotten in the car and drove up next to me and told me to get in the house. I told him "I hate you and I wish you were dead!". He drove off

Mom and I went to her friend Vikkis house. I was friends with her daughters Angie and Sally. The three of us stayed in their room. They had bunk beds. We sat on the top one. There were police outside. I could see our house and the lights on the police cars. It was dark out. At some point Gary drove by. He didn't stop. The police took off after him. I've often wondered if he came back by the house that night to kill us. Probably thought because I wished him dead that I had told mom what he had done.

Later that night, the police showed up. They wanted to confirm what he was wearing. My mom was telling them. The police said they had chased him but lost him. When they found the car Gary had shot himself in the head and was dead. I screamed. I was hysterical. Why, you might ask. In my mind I had caused him to die. It was my fault. I felt guilty. I felt guilty that I was happy that he was dead.

I had the next week off from school. I remember dancing around in the living room with my pig tails bouncing. I was free. Free from his grasp, or so I thought. At least physically I was.

At his funeral everyone walked by his open casket. One by one. When I got there, I looked and him. He looked weird. I told him "I'm glad you are dead. If you hadn't killed yourself, one day I would've killed you".