His name was Leonard Jon Price. He was institutionalized for paranoid schitzophrenia, as a teenager. He wasn't violent towards others, but he was a self-destructive person. My mother said that he was on pills, but I sometimes wonder if he wasn't on some bad drugs. It's okay if she lied, because I'm sure that it was difficult for her to be as honest as she was with me, her own child, about my father's complicated issues.
Lenny disappeared when I was almost three years old. He tried to run off with the shotgun, but his grandma wrestled it from him. She went off to hide the gun, but when she returned, he was gone and her butcher knife was missing. It was April 14, 1983 in Eddington, Maine. Lenny disappeared into the snowy woods (April in Maine is still often snowy) wearing nothing but his tightie-whities and an undershirt, and his body was never found.
When I was nine, my grandmother signed his death certificate, so that my mother could recieve survivor's benefits (sort of child support, for dead parents). He doesn't have a grave, though. I think that she always hoped that he was still alive.
It really messed with me, as a kid. I hated him for being weak, for leaving me, and especially, not loving me enough to get over himself. My grandma Penny always told me how much I was like him. My mother never seemed to understand me. Eventually, I realized that I was hurting myself with all this anger, holding myself back with all that "woe is me" bullshit.
I've learned to accept that my father was human. I know what he was thinking, because I've felt the same way. "The World, (meaning his loved ones and especially me) would be better off without me." I have this same type of personality, and have told myself this same thing, many times. I was never able to fully convince myself, which I attribute to my father. Knowing how his actions affected everyone who loved him, was the proof that it is a lie. Good intentions mean nothing, to those who are left behind to bear the results of your twisted gift.
Eventually, I was able to work through my own problems, and I credit alot of my own self-realization, to the mistakes of my father. If everything happens for a reason, then what happened to Lenny, happened to teach me a truth about understanding. Understanding others, even if I don't agree with them and understanding myself, so that I can be a good parent to my own child.
It's all about acceptance of those who have hurt me, or kept me down, in my past. Realizing my own part, in past conflicts. Even though my mistakes don't always excuse the behavior of others, and there are certain people who have victimized me in ways that will never deserve forgiveness, I have learned that dwelling on it, wallowing in it, and "why me?" or "how could he?", this is the road to nowhere. This is why I would feel trapped, caged, because I was holding myself prisoner.
I often wonder what happened to my father.