Today is the anniversary of the day my father passed. This day has a way of suffocating me in all the old feelings of loss and abandonment. Every so often, it’s time to put things in order and recall my forgotten moments. I found myself organizing photos, cards, news clippings, and handwritten notes, some of which had been saved by my grandmother and grandfather.

It makes me wonder how they must have felt seeing my father, their son, splashed across newspapers all over the country. Some articles mentioned his death and horrible last moments to strengthen their claims that domestic violence was on the rise. If only they had known how much more complicated that reality was for my father and me. Domestic violence had played a considerable role, but it wasn’t my dad I had feared for years. His last moments painted a simple picture, but the truth of our lives was far from what it appeared in the end. I can’t fall back into this story today, because it takes so much to right myself when I do.

Today, I wonder what it would take for us to get the stories right. I wonder back again to my grandparents, who knew more of the complicated truth, but were forced to see him distilled down to a stark headline. I hurt for the pain they must have felt, watching their hero son turned into a monster for a cause. I think of my dad, the pain we were all drowning in, and what he became at the end, to those who didn’t know him or our truth. The final moments of his life will never be justifiable, but neither are they simple to explain.

I see this magnified today. Headlines written desperately for clicks without a meaningful purpose. Headlines that erase the humanity of more than we will ever know. Headlines that often don’t even lead people to read what they are trying to say.

I hate that some stranger decided my father was a good headline and that they erased every other part of him without even knowing who he was. I see it all around me, even some of you may do it. Post a photo of a stranger (blurred out because you want to be considerate), write an enticing headline, and share your point. Then count the views and likes.

But I was the hidden child of a horrible headline. Headlines that erased the father I knew and made it feel shameful to love him. Headlines that hovered over my future and our past.

Our problems are rarely simple, but we can do better in how we portray them. We can be considerate, compassionate, and tactful, especially when we share the stories of those we do not even know. I hope more of us will pause and consider how we reduce people for our purposes, because these headlines are not free from harm.

I share this horrific part of my past, this awful headline, in the hopes that just one person will realize that headlines can hurt. Every story can harm or heal.

In love for my father who battled more than anyone will ever know. He may have lost his battles, but I will do what I can to share so others might know they are not alone.

passed. This day has a way of suffocating me in all the old feelings of loss and abandonment. Every so often, it’s time to put things in order and recall my forgotten moments. I found myself organizing photos, cards, and handwritten notes. My grandmother and grandfather had saved some articles and clippings of my dad.

It makes me wonder how they must have felt seeing my father, their son, splashed across newspapers all over the country. Some articles mentioned his death and horrible last moments to strengthen their claims that domestic violence was on the rise. If only they had known how much more complicated that reality was for my father and me. Domestic violence had played a considerable role, but it wasn’t my dad I had feared for years. His last moments painted a simple picture, but the truth of our lives was far from what it appeared in the end. I can’t fall back into this story today, because it takes so much to right myself when I do. 

Today, I wonder what it would take for us to get the stories right. I wonder back again to my grandparents, who knew more of the complicated truth, but were forced to see him distilled down to a stark headline. I hurt for the pain they must have felt, watching their hero son turned into a monster for a cause. I think of my dad, the pain we were all drowning in, and what he became at the end, to those who didn’t know him or our truth. The final moments of his life will never be justifiable, but neither are they simple to explain.

I see this magnified today. Headlines written desperately for clicks without a meaningful purpose. Headlines that erase the humanity of more than we will ever know. Headlines that often don’t even lead people to read what they are trying to say.

I hate that some stranger decided my father was a good headline and that they erased every other part of him without even knowing who he was. I see it all around me, even some of you may do it. Post a photo of a stranger (blurred out because you want to be considerate), write an enticing headline, and share your point. Then count the views and likes.

But I was the hidden child of a horrible headline. Headlines that erased the father I knew and made it feel shameful to love him. Headlines that hovered over my future and our past.

Our problems are rarely simple, but we can do better in how we portray them. We can be considerate, compassionate, and tactful, especially when we share the stories of those we do not even know. I hope more of us will pause and consider how we reduce people for our purposes, because these headlines are not free from harm. 

I share this horrific part of my past, this awful headline, in the hopes that just one person will realize that headlines can hurt. Every story can harm or heal. 

In love for my father who battled more than anyone will ever know. He may have lost his battles, but I will do what I can to share so others might know they are not alone.