I am under attack.

Assault: Verb - Make a physical attack on.

Assualt: Noun - A physical attack

It FEELS like assault. It FEELS like I was assaulted. It FEELS like I was attacked physically. Except, I could have defended myself against a physical attack. I'm a big strong man. I'm brave (kind of). I'm self assured (kind of). And I can defend myself (kind of). But there is no amount of strength or courage that can defend one's heart against a violent attack of words. For me, anyway.

You see, there is no defense when someone finds your old wounds and rips them open. There is no defense for when you are already struggling and someone who is virtually a stranger begins kicking you again and again. There is no defense for when disturbed people make you a target to try to make themselves feel better through their grief.

My Dad died a month and a day ago. A month and a day ago at was at work and I got the call from my brother that I knew was coming any day. My Dad had died. And I processed as I process. With words. Just as I processed so many things. Those of you who enjoy my words followed along as I wrote about reaching out to my Dad after years of not speaking because I was ready to do my part to reconnect.

You cried with me when I shared about telling him that I had finally met Jackson.

You smiled and celebrated when I went and sat on a couch with him and we shared space for the first time in so very many years.

And you offered love and kindness and solace to me when he died.

I was leaving work yesterday and I did what you do. I checked facebook. And I had a notification. A comment. From my father's wife. On a photo I had shared on the day my Dad died. We are not friends. We are not close. We have no mutual connections. She, on the one month anniversary of my father’s death decided that she needed to hunt me down on facebook and scroll back through my page. How very sad that is, now that I look at it in the light of day.

"Tom did not have a funeral here because he had only been in Dallas for 4 years before he died and was sick the whole time unable to get out and socialize. It was my decision to not have an expensive funeral but to donate the money to the Michael j fox foundation instead. He wanted to go to church and did for about two years before he lost too much balance. The church congregation all sent flowers and cards. He had lots of friends in Maui, Texas and Orlando who all sent cards, flowers or donations. She states that he had no friends because he lived a bad life. He was an excellent father and she knows it was her that caused all her own problems, not Tom! She chooses to lie and tell half truths.

She says she was kicked out of his home. She was sent to live with her mother when she dropped out of high school and was doing drugs with her gutter snipe friends. That is when he told her she was dumb but he never said she was afraid or fat! She made that up. She had several scholarships offered for college if she had finished high school. Tom bought everything for her clothes, cars, got her regular counseling. Paid to have her friend visit from Nashville, couched her travel soccer team, took her to Hawaii at lease 4 times if not more. All she has ever done for him is bad mouth him and ask for money. When he had money he gave it to her but he did not have it in his old age and she got mad about that. He asked her once “what is wrong with you” after we just got home from dinner to find out she had shoved my daughter who was just in middle school, against the wall several times threatening her. All she has ever been is a big disappointment and since she cannot grieve his death she puts him down again in public.”

I didn’t read it very closely. I just skimmed it, got the gist of the content, and reached out to my people. The people who know me and love me and encouraged and me supported me through finding peace with my Dad and working so hard to heal the wounds from my adolescence. There was a vague… is she misgendering me on purpose? Just to hurt me? All I have even been was a disappointment? It broke me a little bit. Broke open the wounds that were mending. But I have good people… strong people… perfect people who guided me and supported me and held me. Delete. Block. Done. I never have to deal with this woman again. Repeat after me. I never have to deal with this woman again.

A little while later I get a notification that she shared the same comment on my blog. Delete. Attack. I was being attacked. The woman who married my father when I was 16 years old was attacking me. I had not interacted with her, nor had I said a single derogatory thing about her, and she had stalked me and was attacking me.

Then the next comment came: “Your one lying hebitch. Your dad never turned his back on you. You turned your back on him the day you dropped out of high school and was doing drugs with your gutter snip friends. Why can you not tell the world the real truth about how you are responsible for messing up your own life?”

Then it was hard to know what to feel or how to respond. All I could think was “it’s been almost 30 years. Other than necessity due to my dad we have not communicated or had to deal with one another in almost 30 years. How can you possibly hate me now just as much as you hated me when I was a 16 and 17 year old child in your care? How could one human being possibly carry hatred for a child for that long?”

So I deleted that one as well.

She has not commented again.

But this morning the notifications started and my Dad’s sister began.

“Jennifer/Jackson:
This is your Aunt Grace. I just read your blog about your Dad, my brother......What is your problem. AGAIN!
Maybe you need to stop living in a fantasy world (TV Shows and Movies) and face reality. What I see in your blog is guilt - not grief. I would much rather see my loved ones while they are alive, not dead at a funeral. I remember Linda (stepmother) getting out a message to all before your Dad died to come and see him while he was still alive. I really tried, but as an amputee and a person with ulcerative colitis I couldn't make it. Tom, Chris and even David did make it and your Dad had a second breathe. I called everyday until he died to tell him I love him. Did you? He understood. Even at his very worse, in a weakened voice he said he loved me. Funeral? No.....and so sorry he didn't die at the right time for you to grieve on your 2 days off.

You need a playlist to bring on the tears? Again, I can't help it but that still sounds like guilt that you are the one who did not treat your Dad with love and respect over the years.

From what I remember he stood by you. Most parents won't accept the fact that their child has told them they were gay. Your Dad was not an ignorant man. He knew it was something you had no control over. He told me he didn't love you any less. You will always be his child. Then years later when you announced you were changing you name to Jackson, again he told me he would always love you. I remember getting punished by my mother just for having a gay friend. 
Think about how hurt he was when you didn't talk to him for a number of years becasue he wouldn't send you to some expensive college when you were 30 plus years old. He offered to send you to college out of High School when you had soccer scholarships. Not when you were older. He was a hands on Dad and paid his child support until you kides reached the legal age and supposedly were Adults. At some point in your live you do grow up. 
He supported you during the most trying time in your life when you finally came out of the closet. To be complaining about a funeral is not the issue here nor your Dad. You are the issue. So sad.
It was your turn to give him moral support. I know I did. No guilt feelings here. I will miss him dearly. The last words I heard from him was "I love you Grace" and that was a couple of days before he died. That meant more to me than any funeral. Linda carried out his wishes right up to the end. 
By the way I would love to see the comment you had removed. So in other words people should only read the comments you choose?”

So now this person who I have also not seen or spoken to in over 30 years is attacking me. I would not know her if I saw her walking down the street. I would not recognize her voice. I could not pick her out of a line up. And she is attacking me.

Delete.

She is continuing to comment. On my post. On my friend’s comments. Attacking me. Assaulting me. Over and over.

The thing is, I am not afraid. I am not ashamed. I offer my vulnerabilities to the world because I think vulnerability is the most beautiful thing in the world. And when I see you being vulnerable, it gives me hope and courage and strength. And I want to do that for you as well. 

I am not afraid of their words and the half truths and the venom they clearly both hold in their hearts towards me. I am not afraid of these two women. There is nothing they can say that can hurt me. I also know you’ve got my back, my beloveds.

I sit here on my couch with my cats and I type and I wonder… how would this make Dad feel? Would he want his wife and his sister to attack his child? Would he want this to be what he left behind? Hatred? No. I’m sure he wouldn’t.

So that’s not what I’m going to offer. But I am not hiding their words. I do not need to defend myself against them and I am not hiding them.

But this is my house. And I get to decide. 

I continue to choose love. I continue to choose freedom. I continue to heal and grow and learn and laugh and cry and feel all of the things. And I will continue to do my best to not to be unkind in the process. And I am grateful I do not have to do it alone.