My father is dead.

My adoptive father is deceased. I didn’t see him before his death because I had cut off contact with him about 18 years ago. He died more than seven months ago but I know it only since two weeks. His death reminded me of my first father. My first father is also deceased. I didn’t see him before his death either. I learned about it 24 years after his death. Both of them loved me in their own way, both provided food and shelter for me, both taught me different things in my life and both abandoned me in their own way.

My first father provided food and shelter for his family (his mother-in-law, his wife, his step daughter, and his three children) until a work accident that left his arm paralyzed. He was not religious but when I was four years old, I convinced him to go to the church; he decided to be baptized to make me happy. After the death of my mother, he drank a lot but never in front of me; at home, he was always sober.  When he decided to start a new life with us, instead of helping him, people used his generosity and his naivety to steal all his money.
In the eyes of society, he was poor, uneducated and without value. In my eyes, he was my hero who knew everything. I loved him and I trusted him. Despite the poverty, I've never suffered from hunger. When he had something to eat, he always thought of me first.
I trusted him until he abandoned me in a street. Some 27 years later, my sisters told me that he didn’t abandoned me; he died of cirrhosis in loneliness three years after losing me. The adoption agency didn’t contact my family before selling me but I still feel abandoned by him.

At the beginning, I didn’t trust my adoptive father. I didn’t want to kiss him, I didn’t want to hug him and I didn’t want to be near him. I started to follow him only to eat the cookies that he kept in his car or to go to church with him. I don’t know how but I started to love him as my father a year after my arrival. Another year later, I started to trust him.
When he became a born again Christian, he also became an abuser. I admired him for his eloquence when he was talking about “God’s grace – Saved by His grace, not by works- forgiven of sins – Jesus”  and I let him touch me. He took me to my piano lessons, he often told me he loved me and I trusted him.
In the eyes of society, my adoptive father was intelligent, rich, educated, religious, eloquent and generous. At home, he was violent with his wife and he abused me. Instead of helping me by telling the truth, he gave me the first anti depressants to keep me silent. Once I got used to the drugs, he continued abusing me until I became anorexic. In case I would reveal the secret, he already started to prepare his defense by saying that I was crazy.
I stopped trusting him but I continued to love him as my real father. Few years later, when I revealed the secret to my first boyfriend, he denied everything using the name of Jesus. As long as my mother didn’t want to believe me, he continued to claim that he loved me.

I had a father who loved me. I didn’t need a second father and I didn’t need another family; all we needed was money and food. But the adoption industry sold me to a couple to create a new family where I was abused.
Some people made money from the transaction behind my adoption; the desire of two strangers who wanted to create a family was fulfilled; my siblings lost their little sister; my father lost his daughter and died of despair. But the society still thinks that it’s okay to be adopted by an abusive man (as long as he is rich) when the first father is too poor.

Two weeks ago, I learned that my adoptive father is dead. He was the last member of my adoptive family but I don't miss him and I wish him to be in the  hell.  I’m still mourning the lost of my birth father, my  birth family and my birth country, my birth culture, my birth language… and I’m pissed!