Rewriting history

I have multiple posts intended in the future strictly dedicated to the letters my father sent me from prison...so stick with me on this post. Also as the trend lately- I had something else completely different planned for this week. 

My gut said...stop trying to plan and write about what you're feeling.

Now when it comes to the letters...if I'm being honest...they could be their own website alone.

My years of therapy have turned them into something that I can laugh at or ignore now. But at the time they were incredibly damaging and had me questioning everything about my own existence.

For years, I have been trying to figure out what to do with all the things related to my father. I love tattoos...I already have one that I got while he was still alive...the serenity prayer in cherry blossoms (symbolizing a new start) down my side. It's one of my favorites. Above it a quote that reads "a scar means you were stronger than whatever tried to hurt you."

I still didn't feel done given my history with him. Every time I reread the letters I think to myself how insane it is...and how I can't believe that is truly a part of my life that I survived when I was still a child, and a teenager. 

I spent some time and finally created the tattoo that he probably would have been furious over.

All of the things that I love that he has a hand in...
things that remind me of him (and not always in good ways)
...I reclaimed them. 

Growing up, we spent every moment he could manage out on the water. He loved "storm chasing" (which yes now I recognize he truly could have killed us). But he loved the big waves and the excitement of it...I remember being relatively terrified despite my intense love for the water.

Honeysuckle flowers...I can smell from miles away. He showed me how to get the "honey" out of them and I will still do it as an adult if I find it. It used to make me sad...but now it's something pleasant that reminds me of simple happy things.

He loved weather, the sunset, the moon...all things outside. In his letters he would draw weird moons and send me torn out photos of storms from the newspaper and sunsets. To this day...and for the rest of my life...sunsets will always remind me of him. 

One beautiful things about our brains is we can recondition them...
and I have successfully taken all of those things back for me.

So on the day of his death this year...
I decided to take his words too. 

I took them and I changed them. 

I took his handwriting in his letters full of hatred and cruel statements...
and I rearranged his words.

I rewrote the past.

My favorite Bible verse is a popular one...Jeremiah 29:11. 

I used that verse. 
I used the things I have taken back for myself.
And I used his words to create a reminder for myself that I won this battle. 

I survived.
I thrived.
And I took the last words he ever said to me and made them beautiful instead.

This story isn't about him anymore. 

It's about me.