The Back Story

Tim and I hardly ever fight.  Well, correction…Tim and I hardly ever fight anymore.  Our reconciliation began when Cory was ill to the point that the only thing left to try was shock treatment.  It seemed to be a wakeup call to Tim that hey, you and Nicole may not be together right now, but you have a daughter, too.  He hadn’t taken her over weekends or on holidays during all the years we were separated.  Although, in his defense, I must cut in to say he was not in a very good place with his own mental health at that time, and probably didn’t even realize what he was doing or what it was costing him.  Or what it was costing Cory, who was losing the only father she had ever known since the age of six. 

She sought out her biological father during that time, and I let her…feeling she needed to form her own opinion of him, instead of listening to all my past hurts and disappointments.  I knew she was trying to figure out who she was, and who she would be.  For me to stand in the way of meeting and getting to know this man would not help her do either.  I would not be able to stop her, and in the end she would resent me deeply.  So I watched, and I supervised as she soon came to know him on her own terms, and found out the reasons he had not been part of our lives for the last decade.  It was important to me that she know his best qualities, as well as his shortcomings, because I knew what she knew – she was part of him.  From her ears that stuck out slightly to her flat Flintstone feet, she was part of this man.  It was not fair for her to think her whole life that the only things he ever gave her were a bad temper and a mental illness.  Cory loved music.  Cory liked to draw.  She was funny; oh my goodness, that girl could make my belly ache.  She had a good heart, and so does he, deep down.

What Cory soon discovered, and what shouldn’t have surprised me, was that she and her biological father could barely be in the same space together for more than 5 minutes without arguing, getting on each other’s nerves, and slinging insults.  I say it shouldn’t have surprised me because Tim and Cory had a lot of the same issues over the years, although never to quite that extent. Abandonment issues had upped the ante, so to speak.  But in general, I think if you  take two people with bi-polar symptoms or tendencies and put them in a room together, it’s never pretty. 

Eventually, when it became clear that even with a diagnosis and treatment plan, her father was not going to make the efforts to remain stable, we had to cut off contact.  I loved them both, but he was an adult, and Cory was my child. She was my responsibility.  It was up to him to want help, and get it.  I could not let his refusal to do so interfere with her mental health.  Cory needed to be surrounded by positive, steady, dependable people who could give her what she needed.  She needed routine, and a predictable schedule.  She could not tolerate upset in her world.  She was much too fragile.  As Dr. Z told us so many times, she would do best to just “sit and watch the corn grow.”  Early to bed, early to rise.  Exercise and a good diet.  Supportive relationships.  Calm.  Patience.  These were what my baby girl craved.  She did not need to be on an emotional rollercoaster, which unfortunately is exactly what being involved with her biological father was like…for both of us.  Now mind you, I could hack it…I’m older, I’m seasoned, I’ve been around that particular block more than a few times.  I’ve got tough skin when it comes to that man.  I know he seldom means what he says when he’s angry, and can’t control his impulses.   Not to say it still didn’t hurt, but I had a few more coping skills than my baby girl.  I also didn’t have a major mental illness that all the meds in the world couldn’t seem to tame.  Cory did; she did not need to be around anyone who could so easily knock her off kilter; she was barely afloat most of the time as it was.  So he can say what he wishes, and so can anyone one else.  I did what I needed to in order to protect her.  And I would do it again in a heartbeat.  More than anything, I think it was sad that he wasn’t able to take the steps he needed to in order to be a positive, healthy part of her life.  They both lost out on something there.

But back to Tim.  While we were split up, Tim was diagnosed with Bipolar.  He went through the long process of regulating meds.  He had a long time to think about what was important to him, and what he needed to do for his own mental health.  So far, ignoring his symptoms, or medicating them incorrectly had cost him his family, more than one job, and his driver’s license.  He was ready to get well, and stay well.  Once he heard how bad things were with Cory, he came on the run.  All he offered at first was his help.  He could watch Jake while I took her to appointments.  He could mow the lawn, or haul the garbage to the curb.  When Cory was hospitalized, he went to visit her.  I think it meant the world to her to see him walk through her door. 

Tim was different on the correct medication.  He had so much more patience.  After Cory came home from the hospital, the battle was far from over.  She still had episodes often.  It could be exhausting.  Watching Tim talk to her, calm her when she was agitated or full of anxiety was special.  He was better at it sometimes than I was.  She told me more than once that she couldn’t go to sleep until she heard him come in the door from work around midnight.  Then she could relax; he made her feel safe.  The day of the accident, Tim and I had run out to do an errand early in the morning.  Cory was still asleep when we left.  I hollered upstairs to her to let her know we’d be back soon.  She called Tim on his cellphone the moment she woke up, eager for the 411.  As I drove us home from the shoe store, I listened to Tim talking her through it with a smile, and a heart full of love for this man.  “Hey Cory.  Yep, your mom and I had to run a quick errand to the shoe store, but we are on our way back to the house now.  We are just passing the arboretum. We should be there in about…oh…maybe 5 minutes.  Would you like to talk to Mom?”

You see, Cory had anxiety like nobody’s business, the slightest change in plans could send her into a complete panic, turning her into a small and beautiful bird flying desperately inside a glass house, unable to find a way out.  He kept his tone kind; he spoke slow; he gave her every step of the plan; he gave her a timeline.  Well, I guess that man listens to me sometimes, after all.

Reconciliation is a very difficult thing.  Tim and I disagreed quite a bit the first year just trying to figure out how to rejoin two separate lives back into one.  Maybe some people think getting back together is an instant thing, but it’s not.  Whatever has been broken takes twice as long to put back together.  It is hard work, but with each piece that is glued back into place, you feel stronger, and more invested in the final outcome.  And, naturally, you will handle this precious thing a little more carefully from here on out, no?

So, at the point of the accident, Tim and I were probably closer than we have been since the day we met.  We had been through the mill (or “milk” as Cory used to say when she was little, and always comes to mind when I say that phrase).  We seldom argued. 

After the loss of a child, everything, literally everything, becomes so meaningless, there is literally nothing left to argue about.  And really, who has the energy anyway?  I don’t even have the will to live, what in the world would I bitch at my husband about?

What, you ask?  What in the world do couples fight about after the loss of a child?  Well, I can’t speak for every couple.  But I can tell you what Tim and I have fought about…time and time again. 

 Cory.

--- to be continued