I woke Tim to tell him we were going and to my surprise (and disbelief...if you only knew how difficult it is to get Tim to wake up and get out of bed, you'd be in disbelief, too), he announced to wait for him, he was going, too. He wanted to go. That's what he said, "I wanna go, too."
In the driveway, with Jake moaning in pain and me tapping the steering wheel impatiently, his words came back to me, "I wanna to go, too." All I could think about was the twenty something times I'd taken Cory to the e.r. when she was getting stabilized and when she'd had ovarian cysts, and he'd been no where in sight. I didn't need him tagging along. I was more than capable of this little errand.
At the e.r., after all the electronic signing and bracelet clasping amenities were over, they stuck us in Room 3, which was the most eerie sort of time warp because Cory was not there, Jake was seven years older, nearly a man, and there were two parents in the room with the child instead of only one. Tim was there for him, which is what a caring dad should do and what I want for Jake, so why did I feel so hurt and pissed off?
Maybe it was because when I looked down at the narrow bed, if I blinked just right, I could see Cory curled up in a ball on her side, wearing the hospital johnny, all of her clothes taken away because she might present as "a runner" before psych answered their page. I could see her, lying there, eyes huge, fidgeting, and looking all around, so afraid, sometimes confused. And in the waiting chair right beside me had been a much younger Jacob with character pajamas and tousled hair. I had watched over them both, scared, tired, and alone.
Naturally, since my husband did all the correct things a caring father should do this particular night(asking pertinent questions, requesting a warm blanket for the patient, making stupid jokes to lighten the mood, gazing down at his child with eyes that were both worried and loving, I picked a gigantic fight with him. This didn't happen until we were back at home and Jake was tucked in his bed sound asleep waiting for the meds they gave him to take affect, but it did happen.
Tim was first puzzled, then defensive. And maybe he should have been. Cory had forgiven him long ago. I said I did, too. But that room...it did something to me. All that hurt was resurrected and it walked and talked, filling the room, casting dark shadows in its path. There was no stopping it. The leash was off. It was going wherever it wanted.
He tried to fend off my observations of what he hadn't done for Cory with excuses, which made me even angrier. Admit you fucked up. Say you feel awful. I felt terrible for her in that triage room and I wasn't even the one who abandoned her. Take some ownership, for God's sake.
And in the effortless, mercurial way of arguments, the trail had soon disappeared behind us. It had gone from why weren't you at the e.r. with her to why did you not take her on a single visit the entire four years we were separated? Why did you leave her? Why did you hurt her? You can separate from your spouse. You can divorce your spouse. You aren't supposed to do it to your kids.
It quickly became vicious and tearful, changing from why did you to how COULD you? And let me just share that a child doesn't stop becoming vulnerable once they are dead...and a parent doesn't stop becoming protective. If anything, any perceived hurt or slight to them is magnified tenfold.
So in typical bipolar fashion, Tim gave it right back, finally spitting out the meanest thing he could think of to say, which indeed, left me quite speechless, "Well...where was her real dad? Was he at the e.r. with her?"
This remark left my mouth gaping and I stormed away, unable to believe he could say something so awful.
What I said the next day was choked out between tears, "Weren't YOU her REAL dad? You can't just take her on, give her your name, raise her for eight years, and then toss her aside when the biological father shows up to see what's happened in the last ten years since he last saw her."
The argument than became what exactly was said by whom and how it was taken, what the true intent was and all of that jazz. Meaningless, of course, because I will never forget those words out of his mouth.
Eventually, you just get tired of arguing about something that can't be changed. I made a summary statement, "She deserved better. She deserved your love and concern, for you to stick around. So what if Bob came back into the picture? She should have been able to have both of your love if that's what she wanted." and retreated.
I was done picking over that ugly pile of bones. It brought me no comfort and it changed nothing.
A couple of days later, when I'd finally calmed down completely, I realized that Tim's question had bothered me so badly because he referred to Bob as her real dad when I'd thought he had claimed that role the day we got married. To think that he didn't take that role as seriously as he took it with Jake, who was his own flesh and blood, hurt me on Cory's behalf beyond words. She was not interchangeable or disposable. She was worthy.
Here's the thing: in a fit of rage, Tim made a comment that made his role a question to me, but in the years between age six and fourteen, and the years eighteen and nineteen, his role was no question to Cory. Tim was the one who helped provide a roof over her head, food in her belly, and clothes on her back. He helped put together all the toys every Christmas Eve night while she slept soundly dreaming of Santa. He filled her stockings and Easter baskets. He put tooth fairy money under her pillow. He drove her to the orthodontist. He hectored her to eat her veggies and complained about her messy room. He told her to turn the music down. He did the Bill the Moose voice for a stuffed animal she received at age six that she requested off and on until the day she died. He told her the loser boyfriend she had wasn't worth her time and that she was worth waiting for. He did those things.
He asked me if her "real dad" was at the e.r. meaning Bob. Well, of course not, and frankly, it wasn't a big surprise to either of us at the time. He hadn't been someone we could count on over the long haul. But Tim had been. We expected more from him. I expected more from him.
Yes, she deserved better. But somehow she found it within herself to forgive him.
We talked about her wedding before she died and her plan had been have us both walk her down the aisle- me on one side and Tim on the other, you know...her real Dad.
Naturally, since my husband did all the correct things a caring father should do this particular night(asking pertinent questions, requesting a warm blanket for the patient, making stupid jokes to lighten the mood, gazing down at his child with eyes that were both worried and loving, I picked a gigantic fight with him. This didn't happen until we were back at home and Jake was tucked in his bed sound asleep waiting for the meds they gave him to take affect, but it did happen.
Tim was first puzzled, then defensive. And maybe he should have been. Cory had forgiven him long ago. I said I did, too. But that room...it did something to me. All that hurt was resurrected and it walked and talked, filling the room, casting dark shadows in its path. There was no stopping it. The leash was off. It was going wherever it wanted.
He tried to fend off my observations of what he hadn't done for Cory with excuses, which made me even angrier. Admit you fucked up. Say you feel awful. I felt terrible for her in that triage room and I wasn't even the one who abandoned her. Take some ownership, for God's sake.
And in the effortless, mercurial way of arguments, the trail had soon disappeared behind us. It had gone from why weren't you at the e.r. with her to why did you not take her on a single visit the entire four years we were separated? Why did you leave her? Why did you hurt her? You can separate from your spouse. You can divorce your spouse. You aren't supposed to do it to your kids.
It quickly became vicious and tearful, changing from why did you to how COULD you? And let me just share that a child doesn't stop becoming vulnerable once they are dead...and a parent doesn't stop becoming protective. If anything, any perceived hurt or slight to them is magnified tenfold.
So in typical bipolar fashion, Tim gave it right back, finally spitting out the meanest thing he could think of to say, which indeed, left me quite speechless, "Well...where was her real dad? Was he at the e.r. with her?"
This remark left my mouth gaping and I stormed away, unable to believe he could say something so awful.
What I said the next day was choked out between tears, "Weren't YOU her REAL dad? You can't just take her on, give her your name, raise her for eight years, and then toss her aside when the biological father shows up to see what's happened in the last ten years since he last saw her."
The argument than became what exactly was said by whom and how it was taken, what the true intent was and all of that jazz. Meaningless, of course, because I will never forget those words out of his mouth.
Eventually, you just get tired of arguing about something that can't be changed. I made a summary statement, "She deserved better. She deserved your love and concern, for you to stick around. So what if Bob came back into the picture? She should have been able to have both of your love if that's what she wanted." and retreated.
I was done picking over that ugly pile of bones. It brought me no comfort and it changed nothing.
A couple of days later, when I'd finally calmed down completely, I realized that Tim's question had bothered me so badly because he referred to Bob as her real dad when I'd thought he had claimed that role the day we got married. To think that he didn't take that role as seriously as he took it with Jake, who was his own flesh and blood, hurt me on Cory's behalf beyond words. She was not interchangeable or disposable. She was worthy.
Here's the thing: in a fit of rage, Tim made a comment that made his role a question to me, but in the years between age six and fourteen, and the years eighteen and nineteen, his role was no question to Cory. Tim was the one who helped provide a roof over her head, food in her belly, and clothes on her back. He helped put together all the toys every Christmas Eve night while she slept soundly dreaming of Santa. He filled her stockings and Easter baskets. He put tooth fairy money under her pillow. He drove her to the orthodontist. He hectored her to eat her veggies and complained about her messy room. He told her to turn the music down. He did the Bill the Moose voice for a stuffed animal she received at age six that she requested off and on until the day she died. He told her the loser boyfriend she had wasn't worth her time and that she was worth waiting for. He did those things.
He asked me if her "real dad" was at the e.r. meaning Bob. Well, of course not, and frankly, it wasn't a big surprise to either of us at the time. He hadn't been someone we could count on over the long haul. But Tim had been. We expected more from him. I expected more from him.
Yes, she deserved better. But somehow she found it within herself to forgive him.
We talked about her wedding before she died and her plan had been have us both walk her down the aisle- me on one side and Tim on the other, you know...her real Dad.
