A Portrait Of Evil-How My Birth-Father Finally Sank Too Low To Dig Out


This is the painful story of my birth-father’s actions before, during, and after my mother’s final illness and death.  It illustrates the type of behavior one can expect from a true reprobate , one who has given himself completely to his evil desires, and who leaves others no choice but to save themselves and their loved ones by walking away.  There is nothing that can be done for a person like this.  He chooses not to repent and turn to God.   He is unsalvageable and dangerous. 

Despite my mother’s controlling and manipulative behavior, I was always devoted to her up until the time she chose to disown me, due to my father’s pressure.  We had a fairly decent relationship and I indulged her and let a lot of things slide.  Since childhood, she had put me in the position of defending her from my birth-father, and by adulthood, it was a way of life for me.

Although my mother was a life-long health-freak and non-smoker, she developed lung cancer at the age of 69.  I accompanied her to her doctor’s appointments and the hospital.  She required major surgery to remove a portion of her lung.  She would  be opened up from the middle of her chest all the way around to the middle of her back.


On the day of her surgery, my birth-father had a bus trip to Atlantic City scheduled, which he refused to cancel.  My mother was ashamed to tell me.  When I finally found out, only after a battle did he grudgingly agree to postpone his gambling junket and stay at the hospital, as she had done in the past for him.  He was the only one authorized to make medical decisions on her Living Will and Health Care Proxy, even though I had implored her not to leave him in charge.  I was in a panic that we would not even be able to find him if a decision had to be made.

She was hospitalized for three weeks and then needed continued care.  I worked full time, and had a family to care for.  My birth-sister was a flight attendant who worked 13 days a month, had no children, lived a 45-minute plane ride away, had plenty of accumulated vacation time, (which she wanted to save for an actual vacation) and flew for free, yet she did not show up once.  My birth-father was retired, but only went to the hospital 2 days a week.  I commuted three hours a day, taking the train to New York City five days a week, in August, with severe asthma, to care for her, many times not getting home until 10 or 11 at night, after having waited for the doctors to make their rounds so I could talk with them.  My children had only sandwiches for dinner during those weeks.  I missed so much work that I was fired a couple of weeks after she came home from the hospital.

My mother recovered slowly, went for radiation treatments, and all seemed well for a year and a half, until she started acting strangely.  She became very confused, lost track of time, and would stand and stare at her clothes without being able to dress herself.  She began eating a great deal and gained a lot of weight, although in the past, she had always been very careful to watch her weight.  She became very compliant and seemed to move through life like a robot.

She had been my father’s free bookkeeper for his business for 15 years, yet now she messed up their checkbook.  She began ordering anything she would see on a TV commercial.  She began to lose her balance, and had double-vision.  She complained that she couldn’t read a magazine because her eyes kept skipping from line to line.  She was always exhausted, and would fall asleep at inappropriate times.  This rapid decline happened in a very short period of time.

My father, who was with her every day, saw all this developing but refused to do anything.  He continued to allow her to drive alone, and she began getting lost. Her friends expressed concern for her.  I constantly argued with my father to take her to the doctor, but he told me he was “taking care of it”, “everything is under control”, and to “stop interfering”. He insisted on waiting for her three-month check-ups to report any new symptoms to the doctors, rather than calling them right away.

 Then she became incontinent and began having morning headaches.  I looked up her symptoms in a child’s medical encyclopedia I had, and was alarmed to realize she had many symptoms of a brain tumor.  I remembered  that when the doctors had first diagnosed her lung cancer,  they told me that, if it spread, which we were all hoping hadn’t happened, it could go to three places- her other lung, her liver, or her brain.

I insisted that my father take her to the doctor or let me take her.  We had a huge fight, and he “banned” me from his house for “interfering”.

My husband immediately made an appointment for her to have a brain scan with a radiologist a couple of miles from my parents’ house.  He called my father to tell him about it and what time to bring her, as we were both at work (I had  just gotten another job) My father told my husband that it was “inconvenient” right now, because they had plans to go out to lunch.  Only when my husband became angry did my father agree to take her (he was always a little afraid of my husband).

Well, within a couple of hours, two different doctors called to insist that she get to the emergency room immediately. She did have a brain tumor, and also swelling and water on her brain, which would cause a coma if it was ignored.  My birth-sister happened to be in town to take a test for work, and she was at my mother’s house when the doctors called. She and her husband drove my mother to the hospital.  They stayed in town the next day, as they had already planned to do, and then left for home, never to return during the ensuing ordeal.

Once again, my mother was in the hospital for weeks, and I was with her.  I was distraught that the cancer had spread, but my birth-sister was not there for support of any kind.  My birth-father kept telling me that he was the “head of this family” and he would “make all the decisions.”  My husband and I were terrified that he might make a decision that would hurt my mother, so we stayed at the hospital constantly, making sure that we were the ones speaking to the doctors, while our poor children fended for themselves at home.

My father came to the hospital only occasionally.  One time, he asked me to rearrange my schedule so that he would visit her on a Sunday and I could go an extra day during the week.  Without realizing the significance of this, which I’ll tell you about later, I turned him down because he was retired and could go anytime, while I was working and already taking off three days a week. 

Another time, my husband, sons, and I had just arrived in her hospital room for a visit in time to hear her being badgered by him over the phone.  When my maternal grandmother had died 10 years earlier, she left some money to my mother.  My mother never had any of her own money and put it in bank accounts in trust for my sister and me.  She would not put my father’s name on it. He was questioning her about what banks this money was in, where the bank books were, etc.  She looked very uncomfortable and kept telling him she couldn’t remember.  As we sat there for 20 minutes, she was becoming exhausted from talking for so long, but he kept trying to wear her down.  I finally took the phone way from her and told him he was cutting into our visit and she couldn’t talk anymore now.  Again, I didn’t realize the significance of this until I looked back in hindsight.

 My mother had also inherited her parents’ house in Brooklyn, and she refused to put my father’s name on the deed.  For ten years, this had been a bone of contention in their marriage and they had argued about it often.  But my father had always had property, money, and his business in his name alone, which he used to threaten and control my mother, so my mother felt she needed something in her name for her future security.

My mother needed brain surgery, more radiation, and months of rehab to regain her balance.  She wasn’t allowed to drive for four months, so I drove her everywhere, or made arrangements for transportation.  I arranged with the hospital to have a nurse in her home, and for physical therapy.  Little by little, she recovered and went back to normal.  She fixed all the mistakes she had made in their checkbook, returned merchandise she had ordered but never really wanted, and even laughed when she realized how bad she must have been.


As if my birth-father’s previous behavior wasn’t bad enough, much more was going on behind the scenes that I was unaware of.  But the Holy Spirit, who is the Spirit of all Truth, began revealing to me what was really happening.  He made sure to give me all the knowledge I would need to fight this spiritual warfare.

One day, I picked my mother up and drove her to a family bridal shower.  My mother began telling me what my father had done to her in the hospital.  It seems he showed up with his lawyer, who was also his fraternity brother (and whose loyalties would be with him) and pressured her to sign a power-of-attorney, as well as signing my grandparent’s house over to him.  This was the reason he was trying to get me to go to the hospital on a different day- so he and his lawyer could schedule a “visit” without me being there or knowing about it. They did this to her while she still had the brain tumor and swelling and water on her brain, and was on all kinds of steroids and medications. She didn’t want to sign, and she wasn’t sure what she was signing, but they kept insisting until they exhausted her.  She couldn’t really read what she was signing because of the double vision and her eyes being unable to focus without skipping from line to line.  It was now five months later, and she had never been given copies of what she signed, even though she had called the lawyer and asked for them.

She was very upset as she told me this, and felt very much victimized and violated.   She said my father refused to take his name off the deed.  She had asked him how he would feel if she did that to him while he was laying on what could very well have been his deathbed, and all he would say was “I wouldn’t like it.”  Now that she had regained her mental functioning, she wanted the power-of-attorney destroyed.  I explained to her that she would have to sign another paper rescinding it.  I also offered help from my lawyer, but she was ashamed and didn’t want anyone else to know.  I told her to call the lawyer and insist he send her copies of what she had signed and the new deed so she would know what had transpired.

A few days later, she told me she had spoken to the lawyer, and he said all they had to do was tear up the power-of-attorney.  He and my father agreed to do that.  I told her that wasn’t good enough without her signing another paper, but she chose to believe them and not fight about it.  From past experience, I knew it was best for me to back off without getting further involved.

At one point before her illness, my mother had considered divorce and had consulted an attorney.  It seems my father had started going to his old secretary’s house and taking her out shopping, etc.  One time my mother called her and asked to speak with her husband, and the woman told my mother “Your husband isn’t here”.  My mother told me and several other relatives about my father’s carryings-on.  He threatened to leave her penniless if she divorced him, which is one reason she wanted to keep the money and house from her parents in her name only, even though her lawyer assured her she would get a very generous settlement.  I promised her the full support of my family and me.  In the end, she decided to stay with him because she “liked going out as a couple” and didn’t want to disrupt her social life.  This was very typical of my mother.  She liked getting sympathy and attention from family because of my father’s treatment, but she wanted  other people to think her marriage and family life were perfect, and her social life had always been the most important thing to her (Even  more important than babysitting  her toddler grandson while I was in the hospital giving birth to her second grandson- see the article The Price Of Independence for this story). Ultimately, she decided to stay in a bad marriage because she liked going out on Saturday nights.  After this, I told her we would not be discussing her marriage anymore, because I could not continue being aggravated by something she never intended to do anything about except complain.

So through incidents like this, I eventually learned that I couldn’t always jump to her defense because she didn’t always want to be helped. I decided that if she was happy believing my father and his frat-brother lawyer had ripped up the power-of-attorney, I wasn’t going to worry about it anymore either.

Well, to make the rest of the story a little shorter, my mother made a full recovery while my health seriously worsened from the stress of dealing with my parents (see My Holiday Deliverance in the Happier Holidays section) A year later, I knew I needed to limit my time with them, and my mother reacted, under pressure from my birth-father, by ending our relationship, even after all I had done for her.  Approximately a year after that, she took a mysterious “fall” down a few heavily carpeted steps, and was taken to the hospital, where she slipped into a coma.  The doctors could find no reason for her not regaining consciousness.  Tests for a stroke and cancer came back negative. 

From her previous illnesses, I was well aware that on her Health Care Proxy and Living Will, she did not want any artificial means of being kept alive, such as respirators or feeding tubes.  She was adamant about this, and had made her wishes well known to family and friends for 15 years, ever since her own mother became ill and died.  Because of my own health problems, as well as that fact that she hadn’t spoken to me in a long time, I took a back seat this time.  I visited, but had no authority to take over her health care. The Lord God had mercifully spared me going through that ordeal yet another time.

Neighbors who went to the hospital with my father and the ambulance were very disturbed by my father’s coldness.   He showed no signs of being upset that my mother was hurt.  He told them he was just fine, and he was used to handling health problems, and that they should just go home.

My cousins were livid that they stayed in the hospital the entire day, on the second day of my mother’s injury, and my birth-father never showed up once.  Apparently he was busy elsewhere- we assume with his mistress.

           Daddy Darling tried to get me to call him by leaving a message for me saying “Your mother is in the hospital.  Call me back if you want to know anything else.” Now, why not just leave some information and the name of the hospital on my voice mail instead of forcing me to call him to get any details?  It was blatant blackmail to get ME to be the one to call him again.  And then he would have the upper hand, having information that he would know I wanted, and which he would dole out only in return for something he wanted. He could do me a big favor by telling me what happened, and then I would owe him one! I knew my mother was already getting medical care for whatever it was, and I really didn’t want to walk back into another healthcare nightmare with her, with nobody helping me and her not even appreciating it, having disowned me after saving her life and getting her through the last crisis. Even when she found out I had been fired from my job because of taking care of her, her callous response was, “You didn’t like that job, anyway!” I decided there was no reason to call Daddy Darling back, because sooner or later I’d find out what was going on, anyway.

            My birth-sister didn’t call off from work, and didn’t arrive until four days later.  But the day after our mother was hospitalized, she called me four times to find out what was happening and to ask if I thought she should take off from work.  I heard from my sister more in that one day than I had heard from her in the whole previous twenty years.  She was obviously hoping I would step in and take over, like I always had before, letting her off the hook so she could be free to go to HER job and live her life, while I lost another job and my life was thrown into chaos again. I reminded sis that mom had disowned me a long time ago, and informed her that I wouldn’t be getting involved again, and that this time, it was HER turn.  She told me the doctors wouldn’t tell her anything over the phone because they didn’t know if she was really our mother’s daughter.  I responded that, if that was the case, then they wouldn’t tell ME anything over the phone, either.  In fact, even if I was there in person, they wouldn’t have anyway of knowing if I was a daughter or some “imposter”, so she should call off from work and get here ASAP.  Finally, sis arrived, stayed less than two weeks, told my cousins she had to go home to “get a prescription filled”, which she could have just as easily done at a local pharmacy, flew home, and, instead of catching the next flight back, never returned until after my mother died three weeks later.

Against all my mother’s wishes, and apparently with the agreement of my birth-sister, my father had my mother connected to life support, including a feeding tube. I did not know why until later. They kept her in the county hospital, where the ambulance had taken her, and never got her private care. A friend told my husband and I that the county hospital only keeps a patient in that state for a month before wanting them moved to a nursing home.  We thought my father would never pay a dime for nursing home care for my mother. Sure enough, at the end of the month, they had her life support disconnected.  She passed away a week later, without my birth-sister ever coming back to say goodbye.

At the funeral, my father offended those who loved my mother by assuring them that he was going to be just fine, he was going to do some traveling, etc., as if my mother had held him back and he resented her being alive.   People at the wake heard him tell my birth-sister to clear “her mother’s things” out of the house before going home, as if he couldn’t wait to get rid of any trace of his wife.  Many relatives and friends were so upset, they refuse to have anything to do with him to this day.

A couple of months later, his lawyer sent me a copy of my mother’s will, leaving me half her jewelry, and a paper to sign off on the will.  I called my lawyer first, who advised me not to sign anything.  He asked me if my mother ever mentioned anything else she was leaving me, such as money, etc.  It was then that I remembered the bank accounts with my grandmother’s money, which my mother had put in her name only, in trust for me and my birth-sister.  My mother had written down the banks and account numbers and given them to me years earlier. 

My husband and I went to the bank, where we were advised that the accounts had been closed and $44,000 was gone.  We were shown a photocopy of my birth-father’s driver’s license, which he used as identification when he took the money, as well as copies of the power-of-attorney that was supposed to have been destroyed almost three years before.  The date was two weeks into my mother’s final hospitalization.  We told the bank there would be legal action taken, and immediately called our lawyer.

Our lawyer solved the mystery of why my mother’s final instructions were ignored and she was hooked up to life support – because the power of attorney was only valid while she was alive.  If she died, the power of attorney died with her, and the trust would revert to me. My birth-father had kept my mother alive artificially against her wishes so he could empty out those bank accounts!

 Our lawyer was so appalled by what was done that he encouraged me to sue my father for my share of the money, and told me he would take my case pro-bono.  He said he would keep my father in court for the rest of his life if necessary.  He also said that what my father’s frat-brother lawyer had done, by going to my mother’s hospital bed and making her sign papers while she had a brain tumor, was illegal, and he could be disbarred for it.



 Within a few months of my mother’s death, my father began living with his secretary in her home, but continued to have his mail delivered to his old house.  A couple of years later, they were married, and she is now wearing my mother’s mink coat, sleeping in my mother’s bed, and sitting on my mother’s livingroom furniture, which was all moved to her house.  We assume she has my mother’s diamonds as well since my birth-father claimed he “couldn’t find” anything but her costume jewelry even though her jewelry was supposed to be divided between my birth-sister and me, according to her will.

Over the next year, we embarked on our legal battle. The devil tried to bargain and negotiate.  He promised to put me “back in his will” if I would accept a settlement and drop the case. I refused.  He offered several different amounts of money, but I would settle for not one penny less than the $22,000, which was my half of the money he stole.  I knew deep in my soul that I must not make any kind of a deal with the devil.  The only outcome that would glorify God would be a complete and total defeat of Satan’s evil.  If he was able to keep even a few hundred dollars of the money that didn’t belong to him, he would have a victory.

During this year, my birth-father’s frat brother attorney, whom I had known since childhood, knew I could have had him disbarred for going to my mother’s bedside when she was at death’s door like he did.  He sweated profusely during the proceedings, mopping his brow frequently.  He began having severe health problems, required  hospitalization, and a couple of court appearances had to be delayed.  A female real estate agent who had done him the favor of witnessing my parent’s sign their wills, was reduced to tears on the stand.  Sometimes he made eye contact with me and smiled ruefully, as if to say “sorry!”

Finally, a decision was about to be made and we had a final appearance in court.  I was nervous about facing my birth-father, whom I now knew to be demonic.  I had not been face-to-face with a demon before- at least not while knowing it was a demon. I felt as if I was going into battle with Satan himself.  For weeks, we prayed for victory and God’s justice.  Our family and friends joined us in  prayer.  All my life, I had a physical reaction of anxiety, tight throat, knotted stomach, etc., when thinking about my birth-father- a symptom of the Post-Traumatic Stress I suffer  as a result of his abuse.  I prayed for courage and strength.  When I felt like running away and forgetting the whole thing, Jesus told me he would be there right beside me.  I felt a calm resolve come over me.  I knew I was a warrior in this battle of good vs. evil, and I couldn’t let evil win.

We were in church the Sunday before our court appearance, when the choir began to sing a song I had never heard in all my years in church.  Some of you may know it- it was “I Will Go To The Enemy’s Camp And Take Back What He Stole From Me”!!!  My jaw dropped as I listened to the words.  I whispered to my husband Frank, “Listen to what they are singing!”  A stunned expression came over his face as he absorbed the words.  We knew this was a  message of encouragement meant for us!  I went through the rest of the week with thanksgiving and praise, and the cool calm peace of knowing we were going to win. I knew the Holy Spirit would help me know what to say.

Court day arrived and the lawyers went back and forth having conferences with the judge before we were all to be in the same room together.  At one point my lawyer came to talk with us in hushed tones.  He told us the judge’s opinion was that I wasn’t really entitled to anything and I should have been happy with the last offer the devil made.  With peace and joy, I looked at him and explained that we WERE going to win- every penny- because the Lord had spoken to me very clearly.  He was not going to let Satan win!

There was a time when my birth-father and I came face-to-face in the hallway.  He fixed his gaze on me and tried to intimidate me by staring me down, but I did not avert my gaze.  I felt a chill- as if I was looking into the icy cold eyes of Satan, himself.  Just when I thought I would  wither and collapse under his intense stare, I felt Jesus standing next to me, on my left side.  He touched my spine with his hand and I felt it stiffen and straighten.  Instantly all fear and anxiety left me.  I returned Satan’s stare without being intimidated, until he became so frustrated, that he could not stop himself from speaking to me.  “You’re scum,” he said, “You’re the scum of the earth.”  That was apparently the worst thing he could think of- perhaps to make me cry- or become angry and make a scene in the hallway- so he would look good.    But I felt no emotion on hearing these words- just amusement that someone who had done all the things he had done, was calling ME scum!- just because I had the nerve to defy him and sue him for the return of the money he stole from me!  It is hard to imagine a father calling his daughter such a name (although I was pretty used to being called names by him, anyway)- but  then, how many fathers STEAL from their children? I just knew that Jesus was there with me- and I could face anything with the strength he was giving me.

Soon it was my turn to talk to the judge. I explained all that had happened over the last few years.  Our case was based on my mother being forced to sign the power of attorney while she was not competent due to her brain tumor.  The judge told me I would have to be able to prove that- and I replied that I could indeed prove it, all I needed was to subpoena her medical records from the hospital. The power of attorney was dated during her hospital stay, and the medical records would detail her symptoms and the condition she was in when she signed it. 

Then I was tested.  The judge, perhaps showing a little disapproval that I had sued my birth-father, looked at me and said evenly, “You know the Bible says to honor your father and your mother.” In the blink of an eye, the Holy Spirit gave me the Scripture from Ephesians 6:4.  I answered, “It also says ‘Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord.’”  The judge smiled slightly and said, “You’re a student of the Bible.”  I replied, “I certainly am!”  From that moment on, the whole atmosphere changed.  It was almost as if the judge began scrutinizing my birth-father’s behavior a little closer, and showing more disapproval of him.  The judge was also very displeased to hear about the name my birth-father had called me a few minutes before.


To make a long story short, I was awarded to entire $22,000, and not a penny less- Praise the Lord!  In addition, my birth-father was ordered by the court to have all my mother’s jewelry catalogued, which is not unusual in estate proceedings.   He would only admit to knowing where her costume jewelry was, claiming he did not know where the real jewelry was.  I wanted a list of the pieces he claimed to have, in case any of the missing pieces showed up in a pawn shop, or to be reset, enabling me to charge whoever had them with possession of stolen property. 

           When the appraisal discussion started, conniving Daddy Darling began attempting the typical pity ploy so often pulled out by sociopaths.  Several times, the judge asked him how much time he would need to get the jewelry appraised, and he kept evading the question by pretending to have medical problems he needed to take care of.  He refused to give the judge a direct answer. He kept saying he couldn’t specify a time frame, because he “had to go to the V.A. and pick up his medications” and he had a “doctor’s appointment.”  Finally, in response to the judge’s third request for a time commitment, he just hemmed and hawed and said, “You know, I’m not a well man”.  At this point, the exasperated judge banged down his gavel and said, “Two weeks!”

The judge sent him to an expensive jewelry store in a very upscale town nearby to have over 300 pieces of costume jewelry pinned on black velvet, numbered, photographed, and appraised.  If he had honestly allowed my birth-sister and I to split the diamond jewelry which it was my mother’s intention for us to have, appraising all the costume jewelry would never have been necessary.  This bit of treachery cost him over $8,000!

When I received the lists and photos of my mother’s jewelry, I chose only two pieces for myself- a sterling silver filigree cross, and a small gold cross with a sapphire in it.  I was not going to leave symbols of our Lord Jesus in the hands of the devil.  This enraged my birth-father even more, because he had spent all that money and gone to all that trouble having every piece appraised- but he had no one but himself to blame.  His attorney made him send me half of the remaining pieces although I had not requested them, I suppose to avoid any further problems.

When the court proceedings had ended, my birth-father’s attorney looked at me and rolled his eyes in relief, as if to say “Thank God that’s over with” (or maybe, “Thanks for not having me disbarred!”) almost trying to disassociate himself from all he now knew his client had done.  I’m sure he was vowing to himself never to get involved with this man again, after all he had dragged him into.

 After our victory, my husband, my lawyer, and I, stood on the top floor of the big granite courthouse, marveling at what God had done, trying to absorb what had just happened, and looking over the balcony at the lobby two floors below.  Beneath us passed my reprobate birth-father and his lawyer, on their way out to the parking lot.  My birth-father was obviously agitated, gesturing with his hands, and grabbing onto his attorneys’s arm.  His attorney pulled his arm away several times and walked briskly out the door, with my birth-father trotting to keep up.  I smiled as I thought it didn’t look like those two were getting along too well anymore.

My husband gave us all a good laugh when he said, “I feel like I’m in a Cecil B. DeMille movie.  Here we all are, way up in “heaven”, looking down on those two, so far below us- as if they were in hell!”  The symbolism was striking!

I give all the glory to Father God, his Holy Spirit, and my Lord and Savior Jesus for helping my family and I during this year-long ordeal.  Jesus is my Rock.  He is my strength and my courage.  He protected us against the evil of the reprobate, and gave us the victory, in his blessed and holy Name.  When we are hurt, anxious, grieving, or scared, and it seems that so much is against us, and we stand almost no chance of winning, never lose faith!  And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose….Romans 8:28.  GOD WILL NEVER LET THE DEVIL WIN!

My birth-father is the perfect example of the reprobate mind.   I have more stories about him which further illustrate the behavior of  satanic people, and which I will tell in the future as the Lord directs.  A reprobate doesn’t have to be a relative, it could be anybody you know.  The reprobate is marked by deceit, conniving, scheming, cold-bloodedness, evil, wickedness, and unrepentance, and all who tolerate him are tainted.  He is extremely dangerous.  Our prayers are with you if you have a demonic person in your life.  There is nothing you can do to save such a person, you must avoid him at all costs. You must permanently remove yourself and your loved ones from his  evil presence and have nothing to do with him.  He is a servant of Satan.  The Blood of the Lamb is the only protection against his demonic influence.  To help in your understanding, we have added  a study on the reprobate mind  to our site.  Please pray for the Lord’s guidance as we study this important topic.


****Eleven years after this court case, psychopath birth-father sent me a box on Mother’s Day with four pieces of the “missing” jewelry, including two pieces I bought for my mother and a pair of earrings I had custom made for her. He sent me MY OWN stolen property, with this note:

    “I am in the process of clearing up MY possessions and distributing my possessions and assets to all whom I love and respect. You are considered #1. The enclosed item is just a token of the “goodies” that are available to those I love and respect. Let us make peace! NO Conditions! Call Me!”

   The last time I had communicated with him, several years prior, when he found us again after we had moved and left no address, I told him that my conditions for ever speaking to him again were an apology for all the things he had done, plus a guarantee there would be no more name-calling, voice raising, phones being slammed down, bribery, threats, disrespect, etc. He contacted me a couple of times after that but did not obey my conditions so I did not respond. So now, his “condition” for me getting MY OWN property back, was that I allow him back in my family’s life with no conditions on HIM. Not happening.  It takes a long time for abusers to get it through their heads that the game has changed and WE’RE making the rules, now.  I don’t know if they ever do.

***For another peek into the nature of the reprobate mind as demonstrated by more examples of my birth-father’s never-ending evil, don’t miss our article “Some Things Just Never Change.”

***For an understanding of exactly what a reprobate is, see the article Satan’s Evil Minion- The Unredeemable Reprobate

         ***To know what to do when you discover a reprobate relative in your life, see Cutting Ties- Knowing When It’s Time To Walk Away.