Denial Times Two

I said I would tell the truth.

A couple days after the accident, I again found myself sitting on my kitchen tile.  But this time, I was on the phone with Bob’s uncle, a kind man who had never done me or my girl any harm.  The day before I had gotten a message from Bob that he’d heard about the accident, was devastated, and would be on the next plane out.

I remember being in the back of the car, going somewhere with my sisters and my mom to make arrangements.  I held the phone in my hand, and just began shaking all over.  It had already occurred to me, vaguely, that he needed to be notified.  I was dreading it.  There was a deep sense of shame and pure panic that came over me when I imagined giving him the news.  I couldn’t begin to imagine what his response would be.  I knew that face to face, even an honest question from a good heart, if he was in that sort of mood,- “Nick, what happened?”-  would instill guilt, shame, and failure.  And frankly, I was carrying so much of that already, I could barely walk.

So I avoided.  I didn’t try to call.  I didn’t get ahold of his family up here to convey the news.  I just avoided.  I plodded through the surreal experience of planning my baby girl’s service as though it were a research paper I desperately needed to ace.  I did it to occupy my mind, and I did so that those who attended Cory’s service would know who she had been, what she had done, and possibly leave changed forever.

Once I had received Bob’s message, I knew a decision was at hand.  I had as many conflicting emotions about his coming as Cory would have.  It was a confusing, miserable jungle to wade through.  In the end, my mother’s heart spoke up, and demanded that Cory, who had never asked for any of what she had received- an absent father, a serious mental illness, abandonment issues- be protected at all costs. 

So there I sat on my kitchen floor, crying hysterically, bitter anger coating my every word, trying to explain to Bob's uncle the aftermath of Bob’s abuse to me and his indifference to Cory. 

This is not a conversation you can have in ten minutes.

There was so much I wanted to say, but just couldn’t find the words.  I did tell him that Bob had hurt Cory too much.  He had hurt and disappointed her far too many times.  I told him Bob didn’t deserve to be there.  I explained some of the horrible things Bob had said to Cory when we broke off all contact with him, even though it hurt to say them aloud.

When I realized just how ill Bob was during one of his episodes two years ago, I told him he couldn’t talk to Cory on the phone.  She was very delusional at the time, and having difficulty just functioning.  She was convinced there were agents stationed all throughout the community watching her, meaning to do her harm.  She thought they had planted cameras and recording devices in the house and around the yard.  It was getting worse by the day.

Bob called when I was in the shower and got Cory on the phone.  She began telling him she thought he might be an agent, as well.  He became very angry with her, and told her that he wasn’t an agent, but that her mother was a double agent, and working from the inside to keep her from him…that, in fact, her mother wasn’t really her mother at all.  Cory came crying into the bathroom, practically hysterical.  Right then and there, I knew that whether his actions stemmed from his illness or not, we were done communicating with him. 

When Bob’s uncle pressed me to at least allow Bob’s mother to attend or come to visitation, my fury at her inability to help herself, her son, or my daughter reared up in my body, something devoid of empathy, even though I knew all too well what it like to be stuck in an abusive relationship with a man you loved beyond reason.

In that instant, my cellphone clutched in one hand and the other fluttering near my face, I held this woman responsible for all- Bob’s untreated mental illness, his subsequent life course, Cory’s unforeseen illness, my failed attempts to make them both well, and my failed attempts to mold her son into a family man.  So much, for all of us, could have gone very differently if she had sought help for him when he was young.

Could she come?

Absolutely not.  When I visualized the two of them approaching her casket, arm in arm, tearful and outdone by the sight of her slight, still body, I could practically hear Cory’s voice in my head, hurt and furious, “Where were you?  Why come now?  Don’t you know it’s too late?”

And she was right.  It was too late, too late for apologies, too late for grand declarations of love, too late to show her what she meant to you, if she meant anything at all.  Let them seek their solace elsewhere.  When had she ever gotten what she truly needed from either of them?  They would not get what they needed from her here.

Family and close friends who knew the whole story understood my decision.  Others who didn’t know the history may have thought me the most immature and vindictive woman to walk the earth… not allowing a father to say good-bye to his own flesh and blood.

What they didn’t realize is that Bob had already said good-bye to Cory many, many times and he hadn't needed to be in front of her casket to do it.