I loved flowers, always had. I thought they could brighten up any room and make even the most solemn souls smile; but here I was seated in a room full of flowers and yet so full of pain.

I was an observer for most of the decisions, I couldn’t seem to place any value of input on the flowers that were going to be displayed in a room with my father’s……. body? Wait, no! That was not going to happen right? I mean I think I recall several conversations we had about his desire to be cremated and ashes spread in various places that he had once enjoyed. Surely he had included this in his will; and hopefully that page was not missing as well. There was not a chance I was going to be able to handle a viewing of his body.

I was jerked from my own questioning thoughts by calls from the florist woman and my family. They were asking me to design the spread that would lay over his casket from myself and my sister. It was difficult to resist the urge to ask the nice woman if she truly did have anything resembling the color of vomited dirty martinis mixed with stomach bile. I mean, can you just imagine the look on her face? Thinking back, I should have done it just for reaction value.

Deciding on a spread of red, white and yellow flowers, we included a sash that said “We love you Daddy.” We did the allowable “Daddy” so that it would more accurately reflect Kiera as well. If she was my age she would know that term was solely reserved for when you wanted something.

My phone buzzed in my purse and I reached it just in time to get the call from my mom. She had arrived in Rochester and was going to wait for me at Mimi’s before heading to the funeral parlor. Feeling as if I wasn’t quite ready for that experience today, I asked her if she would mind being my stunt double for this event. I didn’t have much to add, and I had only been in a funeral home one other time in my life. I was going to need some time to build up to this second trip. My mother is selfless, always giving anything and everything, even if she doesn’t have it to give. For this reason I was not surprised she flew 1700 miles to be here with me, nor was I surprised when she told me she would handle the funeral home; I was however grateful.

When we finished at the flower shop, I returned to Mimi’s, promising Kim I would talk to her after the funeral home visit; we still had a lot to discuss. As I made my way up the icy front steps of the house, I could almost sense the calmness floating out into the crisp air like the output of the laundry; my mother was definitely here. She has never been one for perfume or scented oils, but I can always smell her; I cannot describe it other than to say she smells of soothing and a deeply rooted love.

I visited with Mom for a while, cutting her in on the new developments of the “war.” I couldn’t tell if her shock was a new onset or something that had remained constant since we had found out the news. Either way, acting in complete normal “Mom” fashion, she spoke to me in a calm voice and reassured me that we were going to “get everything sorted out.” I wanted to tell her that I didn’t think this was like the laundry we were sorting, but I didn’t. Somehow I knew if she spoke the words, they had to be true; Mom hated liars remember?

Mom went off to the funeral home, quite a comical combination of 25+ yrs ex-wife, recently separated widow, and mother of the deceased. I guess death really can bring people together. I am glad I didn’t go. There was some reported drama about weather or not Dad was going to be buried or cremated; and if he would be shown for an open casket. Again, making dramatics over a person who isn’t around to even speak for themselves or see the outcome; insanity. My grandmother kept trying to push her wishes on the event and was not listening to reason of what my father truly wanted. Look lady, two of his ex wives are sharing the same information 25+ years apart. I think his decision was consistent! In the end, I was more comfortable knowing his wishes of cremation would be granted, and that there would not be an open casket; I truly don;t understand why people do that.

Next stop of the day was the house;shit. I was going to walk into the home that my father took his life in. I was going to see everything how it had been left right before that moment of weakness took over him. Send in the cavalry, this battle would not be fought alone. Mom sat this one out, understandably so; you can only be so involved with your ex husband and his current wife; throw in the “girlfriend” and I can completely understand her choice to take the sidelines.

Kim’s father drove the whole lot of us to the house; Kim, her mom, Kiera and myself. We were to meet my dad’s friend Nick there as he was the executor to the will and now the one having to be present in this moment; so much red tape around such a sad moment in life. We decided Kim, Kiera and I would go in. I steadied myself on the icy driveway and leaned against the door starring at the house; “shit” I breathed again. My legs surprised me as they started to move toward the house, so the rest of me followed. Gathered at the back of the house we waited for Nick to unlock the door. Starring at his feet he didn’t make a move. Kim started to console him, thinking his desire to avert his gaze was based on his own pain, but he took a step back. He lifted his head, looked at all of us and said “I’m sorry, but only Dana and Kiera are allowed in the house.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I sternly asked him. I was never particularly close with Nick, and this instance was proving to be no exception.

“McCraben controls 50% of the estate, and so she has filed a junction with her attorney to only allow those individuals involved in the estate to enter the property; meaning you and Kiera.” His eyes gave the hint that he was sorry for having to say this but his words were such bullshit that I couldn’t even look in his eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” I screamed. Kim started to motion to her mother to get Kiera for the moment so we could talk. “You want me to take a ten year old into the house where her father shot himself for the first time….alone? That’s bullshit and it’s not happening, she needs her mother; hell I need her mother!” The words were no longer calculated and composed as I had practice in the past few days. My voice was shrill and on the verge of breaking. I walked away to take some breaths, I didn’t know if I was going to be able to handle standing there much longer.

Kim continued on the conversation with Nick and finally came to me. “I love you,” she said. “I know this is difficult and I am sorry it has to be this way. You are her big sister, I trust you Dana, you can get her through this; you can get each other through this.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This was really happening? This worthless bitch of a girl who had treated me so poorly in the restaurant, who had tried to steal from my sister, was now getting away with forcing me to take more pain. Unbelievable.

I took a few moments to regain what little composure I had left and walked to Kiera. Standing at the foot of the back steps, the bitter cold wind was whipping our faces. Kim and her parents watched from a distance, and although I couldn’t bear to look at them, I knew they were there. I held on to Kiera’s hand tightly, probably more for me than for her. As I watched Nick turn the key in the lock I thought to myself; “this really is a war.”

 

Even though I did my very best to walk with the most confidence I had ever displayed, I felt my knees begin to buckle as the door to the office closed behind me. Silently willing myself to make it the few hundred feet to the car without falling, I carried on.

It seemed that I had reached the car just in time, as I plopped myself down in the drivers seat and carefully secured my purse to the passengers side. I sat for a moment in silence, unable to even formulate thoughts of words that described what had just happened in there. Suddenly, I was brought back to words my father had written me year back. “I made a promise that in times of grief and sorrow I would hold you and rock you, take your pain and make it my own; when you cried, I too would cry, and when you hurt, I too would hurt. And together we would hold back the floods of tears and despair, and it through the potholed streets of life together.”  I brought my knees into my chest right there in the car and rocked back and forth. I don’t know if I thought I would suddenly feel his arms around me, or if I was just searching for a way to feel something other than pain and anger; but there I sat rocking. What the hell Dad? You said we would do this together, that we could only making it through all of the pain of life together; and here I am rocking myself.

Be it divine intervention, or maybe just good timing, I heard my phone buzz in my purse. I pulled it out to see that there was a voicemail left from my mom; finally a message I wanted to hear. I tapped the speaker button and listened to the methodical voice of my mom sing over my phone; and a calming sensation began to cease my rocking. She was on her way here to be with me. She was not going to make it to the florist, but she would be there for the funeral home appointment. I let out a loud groan; here I was thinking the florist was going to be the hardest part of today, imagine that.

Noticing the time, I started the car to head back to Kim’s. I needed to relieve my purse of it’s current secret service duty before going anyplace else and it was nearing on 12:30. As I drove I continuously replayed the most current events in my mind. I kept seeing McCraben’s haughty smile starring at me as she tried to make me believe that she was somehow more important to him than I was. I thought of how I felt being there, in his office and having to listen to her ridiculous rants and watching each deceptive tear fall from her giant bug eyes. Seriously though, who in the world kept letting me drive?

Only by the grace of God himself I am sure, I once again pulled into Kim’s driveway without a scratch (on the car of course, I would have never let McCraben hold a finger to me). I entered the house and followed Kim to her room. I handed over the contents of my purse with a small sense of victory; we had at least accomplished one thing so far. As I thought the words to myself, “accomplished, victory” I realized for the first time that this was not a series of events that we were dealing with during our time of grief; this was going to be a full fledged war.

“It’s time to head to the florist,” Kim’s words had interrupted my new realizations which was probably a good thing.  “I’ll drive,” she offered. Thank goodness! Someone finally made a good decision that would ultimately save the lives countless drivers in the city of Rochester. Without a protest, I followed her outside, along with Nana and Kiera. I listened more to the hum drum of the car and the splashing sounds it made as it cruised through the giant puddles that were the remnants of some recent snowfall. The drive to the florist was short; Seriously, if you don’t live in Rochester you rally don’t understand; it is the biggest small town, and it was starting to feel a whole lot smaller these days.

I sat with the car idling for a moment, I tried to tell myself it was because I couldn’t bear the feel of the cold air again, but truthfully I couldn’t bear to walk the same floor that my father had for so many years now that he was gone. I had come to this office for years, I even worked here for a stint; I knew the walls and floors would echo loudly with his presence.

I heaved myself from the car, my movement was limited under the weight I felt to be carrying. Unknowingly propelled by the same strange power that had pushed me this far, I entered the front door of the office. The same warm face of the secretary and longtime friend was there to greet me, hug me, hold me; and of course cry. We shared a few moments of positive exchanges and then I asked her to speak with McCraben. Despite her efforts to hide it, I saw the twinge in her face and wondered what she already knew, or had known. I didn’t have time to think about it because just as soon as the thought entered my head, it was replaced by so many others that accompanied the sight of McCraben.

I tried to plaster a fake complimentary smile on my face, but I know I was not successful; because I know myself too well. “Ready to head to the bank?” I asked her more accusatory than questioning. “I already went.” She replied. What the hell? Why was this stupid girl continuing to throw lies and surprises my way? Did she not have any idea that people can only take so much bullshit from one person before loosing all of their sanity.

“What are you talking about? We were supposed to meet here and go together. Tell me how that changed.” By now the irritation was seething through my front teeth and the warm from my blood was beginning to rise throughout my body.

Kim took a step back as she answered (showing the coward of an asshole she truly was). I actually went yesterday and emptied the contents, I have them for you here if you want. Um yes you idiot that why I am here, I wanted to scream this in her face.

She retreated quickly from whatever hole she had crawled from and returned with a sandwich size zip-lock bag. Her trembling hands handed it over to me and I felt an intrinsic feeling of satisfaction that I scared her just a bit. I laid the bag down on the coffee table and emptied the contents; photographs. Beautiful old photographs of myself and my father, and Kiera and my father. I fought back some burning tears threatening to fall; not a hot chance that was going to happen in front of her. I thanked her for he photographs and then remembering the will and savings bonds, I asked her to have the rest of the contents.

“That’s all there was,” her bland voice retorted and I caught yet another glimpse of that stomach churning smile that I saw form across her lips just twelve hours earlier. If I am being completely honest, my initial reaction was to lunge and wrap my hands around her birdlike neck until she used her last breath to beg me to stop. However, I quickly woke from that daydream and made more sensible choices for the time and place.

I explained to her that I knew about the savings bonds and she herself had told me about the will. “I have a florist appointment at 1:00 and I don;t really have time for a ride on your sick merry go round again today. Instead I thought I would have the pleasure of choosing flower colors and combinations to place on my father’s casket. “So if you don’t mind, give up whatever ridiculous crusade you are on and give me what I came for.”

“He never wanted Kim to have those bonds, or any of his money for that matter, so I am keeping them safe; for Kiera.” Maybe it was the fact that she had lied again, or that she had once again begun to cry like a blubbering fucking idiot and I was sick of seeing her tears. Maybe it was because she couldn’t manage to respond like a respectable human being at any given time; But I am pretty sure it was because she had dared to utter my sisters name. Whatever the many reasons plausible, I stopped even trying to be nice right in that moment. My anger came from a deep place in my stomach that when released sounded like the voice of ten thousand people (a skill I had learned from my mother) and it truly was scary as shit.

“You are a ridiculous piece of shit. I cannot listen to you try and advocate for my father’s memory another second. Shut your mouth, quit your bullshit crying and hand over the safe deposit box.”

She continued with her tears and insisted that she would not do as I requested.

I laughed at her as I picked up the phone to call Kim, “and you thought my anger was difficult to deal with?”

I spoke with Kim for brief moment and relayed the events that had occurred in the last few minutes. To say she was boiling would be an understatement deserving of a crime. I held the phone away from my ear as she screamed; no need for speakerphone. She demanded to talk to McCrabed, who at this point had been reduced to a pool of sniveling pool of waterworks, literally the girl was on the floor. Can you imagine if Kim was actually in the room? That thought brought a little smile to my face.

I squatted down in front of McCraben so I could be at her level; squatted not stopped. I needed to look her in the eyes. I stared at her for a moment and then I held my cellphone up until it touched her nose. “Go ahead Kim, she’s listening now.”

Kim continued on her rant, choice words that I won’t detail at the moment, but all well deserved. She then informed McCraben that due to the exceedingly high value of the savings bonds, she was committing grand larceny. This brought McCrabens’ senses alive and I could see the wheels of deception spinning in her head. “Don’t fucking bother to think of another plan out of this, hand them over,” my voice was calm, low and full of intent.

She managed to stand her pathetic body upright and retrieve the bonds from her desk. She hesitated with what seemed to be the will in her hands, like she was contemplating another option. “I’m done asking,” I shot at her and quickly snatched the papers from her hand, secretly hoping she had one paper cut for each piece of paper in the stack. As I made my way to the door I told the secretary that I would see her tomorrow night for the service; and then the thought occurred to me. Holy shit, did this girl actually think to show at the service? Did she think she had a place? Well, just in case….

I locked eyes with McCraben again, “do everyone a favor and don’t think that you have a reason or a place to show tomorrow. If you feel like I unleashed a holy hell on you now, you have no clue what I am truly capable of. Just stay home, you know like you did the night he shot himself.” Trying to mimic the strength I had seen in Kim days prior, I took long, confident strides out of the office; I am sure the sudden increase in the value of my  purse helped just a little.

 

I felt the light creeping into the room around 7:00 am the following morning. What little sun that is available in Rochester, NY in January was spreading over the white linen of the bedding like butter covering a fresh piece of bread. I opened my eyes and laid for a moment, allowing all of the sensations to move to my extremities; despite the way I felt, I could tell I was alive in this moment.

I could hear the coffee spurting into the coffee pot, undoubtedly the second one by this time, and the sweet smell of buttermilk and chocolate awakened my senses to know that the one constant in life right now was being prepared in the kitchen below me; chocolate chip pancakes. Ever since I was a little girl, Mimi had always made chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast after a night of sleeping at her house. Although I had outgrown the desire for them in any other setting, I was unable to resist the temptation of comfort, the smell and taste of home.

I wandered downstairs and Papa greeted me from over the top of his newspaper like he always did. I leaned in to kiss him on the cheek and give some reassuring answers that I was “feeling better” today. Clearly this was not the case, I mean how does one begin to feel better after the sudden death of a parent followed by the news that a scandalous twit was going to try and fight you for the estate? “I’m better, thank you” apparently that’s how.

Making my way into the kitchen I said good morning to Mimi and assured her I had slept just fine. At this point I was becoming a master of lying and masking my emotions. The only points during the night when I wasn’t having nightmares that woke me drenched in sweat, I was turning over repeatedly in the bed, the brass frame screaming at me to settle down.

I shared coffee and pancakes with Mimi, and we talked about Texas and the weather and other distractions. I didn’t offer up any information about last’s nights meeting, and she didn’t ask. I think at that moment, it was best left unsaid.

As a meandered upstairs to do my best to dress for the day, I simultaneously sent Kim a text message “Can I come over? We need to talk.” I looked at the words a few moments while my finger hovered above the send key, was that even enough to not make it sound threatening or alarming? Text messages are funny that way. I decided that she was probably reading into things a little as I had been after the last few days and finalized the message with the tap of the send button. I had barely made it up the stairs when my phone buzzed with her reply, “sure, come on over. There are other things we have to discuss about the service.” My stomach did a flip and I felt the chocolate chip pancakes threatening their return. Shit, I had to be a part of that didn’t I? I haven;t been to many funerals, let alone planned one! Baby steps I told myself, just get dressed first.

I opened my suitcase hesitantly, barely peeking through one open eye. I didn’t actually remember packing and I was concerned with what I would find in there. I exhaled slowly as I made mental checks of all the necessities; undergarments, sweaters, jeans, dress pants, shoes. I wondered for a moment if I had someone to thank for this, because I couldn’t fathom that I had done this alone, or at all for that matter. I thought maybe my mom had helped but then I fear my suitcase would have been full of long underwear and penny loafers; but alas she would not have found that in my closet. Another mental note to thank Mom, again because my mind was so efficient I would clearly accomplish this task.

It wasn’t too long and I was ready to see Kim, or should I say face Kim because I was about to deliver the second worse news in the world. I went down to say goodbye to Mimi and Papa. Reflecting on this now I am not quite sure why they ever gave me the keys to their car in my current state. I mean, I wasn’t an excellent driver on a good day and I hadn’t seen the snow in almost a year. I guess they figured it was the easier route than picking a fight about it; or worse taking the job my friend accepted last night as the chauffeur.

Kim lived close and my drive there was quick and uneventful; luckily. I sat with her at the kitchen table over another cup of coffee. I feared this cycle of caffeine and booze would eventually catch up to me. I retold the events of the previous night to Kim, my words spurting out of my mouth in a breathless chain. I don’t know what I expected her reaction to be, I guess I hadn’t given it much thought, but what came next was truly awful to witness. It was a roller coaster of hurt and intense anger that switched roles in moments and sometimes even seconds. She cried those awful sobs that a person gets only when they have truly lost control over their physical reaction. We talked about the will and I explained that McCraben had stated she had found it. Kim needed more information and I had not asked all of the right questions last night. I decided to call her.

McCraben conveniently worked for my father and so I knew just how to get a hold of her. I rang the office and the secretary and longtime family friend put me right through to her. I spoke with McCraben with all of the politeness I could muster; which if I am being honest, was not a great deal at the moment. How could I be expected to speak even civilly with the girl responsible for so much hurt; especially Kim’s that was so evident in front of me.

Her nervous responses were clear, I could hear the shaking in her voice as if she was standing right in front of me; which luckily for her she was not. She spoke quickly and sounded panicked, not at all like the girl I met with last night. Clearly she did not have time to prepare herself for this conversation. She finally let it be known that she had the key to my Father’s safe deposit box and had retrieved the copy of the will from there the day after his death. “Spineless vulture,” I thought to myself as she went on, at least wait until the crime scene is cleared. Kim gestured to me to put her on a brief hold, and so I did; and she of course obliged to wait.

Kim explained that she wasn’t sure of all of the contents of the safe deposit box, but she was sure that Kiera’s saving bonds for her college were kept there. A monetary value exceeding, well let’s just say it was meant for Kiera’s college and that is what it would pay for. They were payable upon death to both my father and Kim and so she clearly wanted to claim them. It was clear that these did not need to be a part of the estate and should be returned to their rightful owner; seemed simple enough, but then again I guess momentarily forgot the maggot of a person I was dealing with.

I asked McCraben to meet her at the office in about an hour and we would go to the bank together to empty the rest of the box. It was strange to me how quickly and easily she agreed, but I thought it wise of her to know when to call her games.

There, easy. I was headed to meet McCraben and at least one of the issues could be solved. Kim reminded me of a florist appointment at 1:00, so I would have to be quick. Great, the florist. I loved flowers, always had; but not this way, not for this. Flowers are supposed to make people happy, what ugly fucking flowers would I pick to show the world how unhappy I was? how devastatingly sick I was over all of this? Perhaps there was a special color for that, like the color that presents itself when you vomit alluring combination of dirty martinis, and the lining of your stomach from having said liquid diet ( not that I would know or anything).

Rochester is really the biggest small town, because in another few minutes I had managed to drive myself to my father’s office; unscathed once again, but that sensation would be short lived.

 

 

My friend/chauffeur/bodyguard and later in the night she had added therapist to her list was quite the hero to have sat in silence while I raged on for the entirety of the car ride home. It was that rant when you ask questions and then immediately answer them; we have all done it . “What kind of a person speaks to someone that way?” I was almost screaming at this point, “A soulless one that’s who.” There I was asking and answering my own questions and the whole while getting no closer to the answers that beckoned in my heart.

A note! I had a flash of a memory when I spoke to the policeman on the phone and he had said something referring to a note and that it was one of their confirming pieces of evidence to rule it a suicide. I made a mental note to ask Kim about said note tomorrow. Yes, because that is what I should be doing in my current state, making mental notes; those will surely be effective.

My friend dropped me at Mimi’s so that I could “try and get some rest.” Funny how everyone uses that phrase isn’t it? What they really mean is, clearly you won’t sleep but please lay in bed, toss and turn until you become so mentally and physically exhausted your body shuts down from the pain. I suppose “try and get some rest” does sound a bit more PC.

The porch light was on, as always, and I could see the dim glow from the television set in the living room bearing it’s light through the front window. It was as if to say “we are always waiting for you.” It meant what it had always meant, for my 23 years and I am sure the years of my mother beforehand; Papa had waited up.

I let myself in the house and Papa greeted me with a warm smile; “Doing okay Babe?” he asked, although I am quite sure my pulsating vein in my forehead and my wobbly stance had already proven to him otherwise. I answered anyways “Yea Papa, I am okay.” Now I know I have said before that I don’t lie, and that was something instilled in me by my mother; but this was not lying. This was a person who could not wrap her brain around the last 72 hours trying desperately to put on a content smile for her grandfather so that at least one of us had a chance at sleep tonight. That was all he needed to hear, and he switched the television off, kissed my forehead and headed up to bed.

I filled a glass of water in the kitchen and followed Papa’s lead upstairs. I went to the bathroom to wash the product from my face that had helped me to prove to the world today that I was something less than broken. I stole a glance at my reflection in the mirror for the first time in a few days; and I surely didn’t like what I saw. The woman I saw was not at all the woman I was raised to be. She had lost her strength, her drive, her smile; in fact she had lost all capabilities of showing emotion. Wiping the concealer from my face revealed the purple circles that represented the lack of sleep and removing the lipstick showed how all the color had truly begun to fade from my face. I could be a fantastic before and after ad for a makeup company at the moment; if this train of wreckage I have encountered since arriving home continues much longer, I might consider it. But still, bless the makeup companies for allowing us to find some ways to mask our emotions.

I headed to “my room.” It’s funny because both of my Aunt’s, my mother and my twin cousins all refer to it as their room. We never argue about who it truly belongs to because the truth is, it is the room that has housed us all in our time of need; and we have all had our time of need. Nothing in the room has changed, and no one would have it any other way. Just like the glow from the television light, it was always there.  I crawled into the old brass bed and heard the familiar creaking sounds that escaped with my movement. I sent one quick text to Kim; “Have to see you in the morning, it is urgent.” I then clicked the light off and laid my throbbing, spinning head on the pillow. I asked one more question aloud before closing my eyes, but this time it was one I could not answer for myself; “Dad, what have you done?”

 

Safety first! My friend and backup picked me up that evening to chauffeur me to the local wine bar, Lola’s. I made a small joke inside my mind that she should be making double time for playing the role as both the chauffeur and the bodyguard; the friendship portion was free.

We entered the bar, illuminated only by candlelight. Just as my imagination had led me to believe, we were the only patrons. Another internal smile when I thought of checking the exits and having a plan for when the shit really went down. Okay, enough of the television plays, this was only going to be a platonic conversation…right?

I ordered a cocktail, lord only knows a dirty martini would get me through this, and sat waiting and watching as my gaze switched from my watch to the door and back again.  Finally, in through the blustering wind came the woman who I thought was going to be my answers to so many questions.

She took a seat to my right, opposite of my friend/bodyguard, and made the normal amounts of small talk. I wonder why people feel the need to go through those trivial motions; we all know what we are there for so let’s just get to it. Nevertheless, I played along, talking about the shock of winter weather coming from Texas…. yeah, that’s the reason for my current shock.

Suddenly, she began to cry. She blubbered through her words of how much she loved him and missed him and how she didn’t understand what had happened. Listen, I can certainly understand the pain of loosing someone you cared about, but I wanted to reach across the deserted bar, grab her face between my hands and scream “pull it together you nut, this is my father we are talking about!” I think for a moment I actually saw myself do that, and much worse. However, when I resumed soul and mind back into body I found that I was still seated on my bars-stool, no evidence of movement.

She carried on for a bit until I finally interrupted to ask her to walk me through the events of that evening. Her story was similar to that I had heard from Kim, and I listened to her every word as if attempting to make a mental recording of everything she said. Maybe I had liquid courage, or maybe I was just that full of anger but I didn’t hold any of my internal questions back at that point.

“When you heard the gunshot through the phone, why didn’t you go running to the house? Wasn’t there a part of you that needed to know if there was any chance of saving someone you “loved.” I asked her. My tone was much more frank and cold than I had intended, but like I said, anger was present in that room.

Her response was that she was “paralyzed in fear.” And that she didn’t know the proper response. She said she thought she had done the right thing by dialing 911.

“You will never know if you could have saved him,” I explained to her. “How can that possibly sit well with you?

Her tears spouted again, and once again I found myself wanting to slam her head against the wooden edge of the bar screaming for her to get it together! This is my time, my moment, I have not a care in the world what you feelings are ! You didn’t care enough to walk 100 yards across the street! Why should I care about the pain you are supposedly feeling now?!

I was finally able to gain a bit of control over my thoughts and ask her what the initial fight that spurred the event was even about? She explained that a trip to her hairdresser revealed that my father had been seeing another woman other than her. Amy Ripso was her name, and I had met her before. (At least she was older than I). She confronted my father and Amy and the truth had been disclosed. She expressed her pain and noted that was the reason for their altercation on the evening in question.

Moving the conversation away from her (selfish pain in my ass) and back to the answers I was so desperately seeking, she walked me through similar events that had been explained earlier by Kim. As she explained her story she let me know that following the police finding the body she didn’t know what to do so she called Amy because she lived just a few blocks down Park Avenue. Don’t all women call the other woman in the life of the man they love during a time of crisis? I mean, the other woman would be my absolute first choice as a shoulder to cry on. What the hell kind of game is unfolding here?

As I forced down the rest of the second dirty martini I finally decided to ask the questions that I had intended for this meeting in the first place. I explained to Ms. McCraben that as a family we both wanted and needed to move forward with after death arrangements. Things such as church vs. funeral hall service, burial vs. cremation and division of assets. I informed her that we were missing a piece of the will and inquired if in their moments of intimate conversation (the bile rose in my throat as I uttered these words), if possibly he had shared any information with her.

In the most dry and monotone voice I have ever heard come from a human being, McCraben responded “Oh, the will; I have a copy of that.” Be it the second martini or the the obnoxious frank tone in which she had just delivered the news, I had to use my free hand to steady myself from falling off the bar-stool.

“What the hell do you mean you have a copy of it?” My voice was a bit higher octave than I had intended and I was suddenly grateful for the absence of an audience in the bar. I saw a smile smile curve at the side of her mouth and I know my bodyguard/friend must have noticed the same because I suddenly felt her strong steady hand on my shoulder.

“Well I am sure you are aware that the current copy of the will is missing a page, a very important page that my family needs. Have you any idea where I might be able to obtain the page?” Even as I asked the question, I felt my insides threatening to come out. the prospect of even sitting here and having this conversation with this disgusting excuse for a woman was enough to make me want to waterboard her with multiple batches of dirty martinis; but now that would just be a waste… of good alcohol of course.

Her response came just as curt as the last, although this one was dripping with just a hint of entitlement. ” I didn’t bring the copy of the will with me, but I know the denominations to which you are referring.” With the most coy and gratifying look on her face, McCraben stated ” it says 25% of the estate is to go to your sister Kiera, 25% to you and 50% to me.” She finished her sentence and turned back her glass of red wine. I flicked my high heel on the corner of my stool to spin myself to face my friend. “Will you excuse us for just a moment?” I had known this friend long enough that she knew I was giving her an opportunity to remove herself from the current conversation and giver plausible deniability should this escalate further. Spinning back around to face the hideous monster of a human being that sat next to me, I took the final swig from martini #2 and stood.

I poised myself the best I could, begging myself internally to remember what I had truly come for; answers. I leaned in close so that only McCraben could hear my soft but firm voice. “You mean to tell me that we have sat here for two hours, while I watched your fake tears being forced from your eyes and I listened to every part of your pathetic accounts of the evening and you were sitting on this information all night?”

Her voice had moved from dry and blunt to almost giddy…. “I figured you would ask at some point.”

My friend was arriving back from her trip to the restroom just as I was prying my nails from the wooden edge of the bar. “Well then, I guess we are done here.” I turned to the barkeep and smiled, “Drinks are on her tonight” I stated, and propelled by liquid courage and balanced every so slightly by the arm of my friend, I strutted out the front door.

 

More research into the lyrical mastermind of Mr. Bob Dylan lent itself to finding a title to this post. The similarities are a bit uncanny, and once again I am entranced by the magnitude of his words.

“This song, which comes in at just under nine minutes, is well known for its rather befuddling plot. While Bob Dylan fans, nor Songfacts, are yet to come to a fixed decision on its one true meaning, this is what we have managed to decipher: The song is occupied by multiple archaic characters, including the enigmatic bank robber, “Jack of Hearts.” This charming rogue seduces two women, “Lily” and “Rosemary,” both of whom are romantically linked to “Big Jim,” the wealthiest, greediest man in town. Big Jim is ultimately murdered by Rosemary, who is subsequently hung for her crime. Meanwhile, Jack of Hearts escapes into the night having accomplished his robbery, leaving Lily alone to ponder the events that have taken place.”

I sat on the bed with Kim, wondering what could possibly warrant a conversation behind closed doors. What came to light next made me wish I hadn’t asked that question.

Kim explained to me that my father had been dating Kim McCraben* during the time of his death. I knew this name as soon as she uttered it, but I had a difficult time placing her. Let that be an insight as to how insignificant she was in my life. I had flashes of a local coffee shop, and a plain looking assistant. I remember thinking that she may have worked for my dad but she was so plain and ordinary that I couldn’t even recall an image of her face.

*name altered as not to protect identify

It was difficult to come to terms with the fact that my beloved father had taken a romantic interest in a girl my age. It was even more difficult to hear her role in the scene as Kim went on.

** It is important to note that as the story progresses I will refer to my wonderful, loving stepmother as Kim, and I will only acknowledge the hideous last name of the selfish little girl my father was dating; McCraben. **

Kim went on with the story she knew….That McCraben and my father had been fighting on the eve of his death. She had made some dramatic scene (as young women often do) about breaking up with him and so she proceeded to invite her friends to her house; the one my father paid for that was located 100yrds across the street from his current residence. My father was upset by their disagreement and was speaking to McCraben on the phone. He told her he had left a note for her on his mailbox and then she heard the gun shot. Her claim was that she had immediately called the police and asked them to respond to her residence. Prior to their arrival however, she went to retrieve the alleged note, which was indeed on the mailbox as he had stated.

I have to pause here and ask the question of the readers, if someone you loved, even someone you used to love, had shot a gun while upset on the phone and you were only 100 yards across the street, what would you have done? I have played this part over and over in mind and I know without a doubt that I would have been hauling ass across the street. Apparently, this was not in the selfish thoughts of McCraben because she sat and waited for the responding officers.

When they arrived and she finally disclosed the situation, the officers went to search my fathers house. Unable to gain entry to the front or back of the home, they finally check the garage. it was here that they discovered his body.

I must admit, the rest of that evenings’ details were either pieced together by the other “players” later, or read in the police report. But was was revealed was that the house appeared to be thrashed, alcohol was spilled around the home, and the hard drive to his computer was thrown outside into the snow rendering it unusable. Those details will be important later, I promise.

I can’t for the life of me imagine how I was able to sit on the bed and listen to this story as long as I did. I watched Kim go through the different states of grieving in a flash before my eyes. She cried, became angry, felt guilty and then cried once again. This was going to be a bigger undertaking than I had even imagined.

Being as it had taken me a few days to arrive in NY, there had been some legal proceedings already put into motion. Kim explained to me that I had to hire an attorney because she wasn’t sure how the estate would be divided. It was then that she disclosed that there was a missing page from the will that was recovered from the safe deposit box. I can recall the dry mouth feeling as I stared at her. What the hell was this, a Law and Order episode? I mean really, I had only mentally prepared for flower arrangements, service requirements and the verse that would be put on those little cards they give away at funerals. Secret young girlfriends, strange police reports, missing will pages; that was a whole mess of crazy that I hadn’t prepared for; but then again,let’s be honest, who could?

After Kim had stopped speaking, I questioned what the next thing to do was. She told me that we had to find out the truth so that the attorney’s could sort everything out. That seemed reasonable enough. The unfortunate portion was that the one person we had to get the answers from, was the one person no one wanted to contact; McCraben. I agreed to reach out to her and see what I could do to move things along. I mean, yes I found the thought of speaking with her and having to sit and breathe the same air as her repulsive, but she was the last person to talk to my father alive. Maybe she would be able to help me better understand the events of the evening and find some answers to the many questions that continued to fill my mind.
Thank goodness for text messaging because I don’t know that I could have achieved any success with a conversation on the phone. For those of you who know me, I don’t hide my emotions well. I worried that had I spoken her on the phone I would have had a temporary bout of turrets in which I would have repeatedly called her a home wrecking whore; clearly a temporary disability when speaking to a same ago woman who had been with you father. But alas, the voiceless messages had saved me and we had agreed to meet at a local wine bar the following evening to “discuss the matter.” Did she really have to phrase it that way? Why was she so void of all emotion anyways? How can you refer to the death of someone you “loved” as a matter? Well, I made sure to pencil her in on my calendar and confirm the time and date.

I realized I was going to have a sit-down with the girl who had last spoken to my father; alone. It was like setting myself up for a scene in a mob movie. I can picture it now, the restaurant would of course be empty, we would be alone and there would be no witness to bear of any conversation or otherwise. Well, maybe I watch too much TV, but I immediately called a friend for back-up anyways. Armed with a best friend and a Xanax, I counted the hours until I would have my first opportunity to hear what I expected was the truth.

I don’t know if I spoke on the drive back to Rochester, I am sure we talked about something. My Aunt Becky is not one to sit in silence, a blessing and a curse as I am sure she would tell you herself, but in this moment it was truly a blessing.

They brought me to Mimi’s, everyone always ends up at Mimi’s. And like every good polish grandmother, no matter the time of day you are met with the biggest hug and a spread of food across the dining room table to match.

She cried as she held me, same as everyone else, and there I stood the quiet asshole once again. Seriously, what was my problem? I have waterworks for everything all the time!

Oh how I did not want to eat. Bless my loving grandmother who had prepared a feast for 20 on her kitchen table, but there was no part of me that wanted to consume food at that moment. You know that feeling when you are so hungover that the smell, sight and even thought of food repulses you? Well at this point I had felt like that for three days.  I even had the pounding headache to match from all the stress. Hell, I even had the blackout moments from days before that were slowly resurfacing as time went on. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the funny kind of stuff you call your friends about 12 hours later and say “remember last night when….” It was more like the shameful memories that you desperately try to put back wherever they came from. The last three days were just like that; memories I fiercely wanted to send back in time.

So this is one of those fuzzy moments, where I can’t exactly remember the timeline. But I do know that on that evening, I made it to my stepmother’s house. I knew that was the place I needed to be; with her and my sister. I knew she had more answers and information, but I also knew there was more pain in that home than I had yet to encounter.

My father and Kim had been together since I was 4. I don’t remember Kim not being a part of my life. They had recently separated, but thankfully, that didn’t shake the relationship I had built with her. When I married three months prior to this, there was the normal dramatics from my father who wanted me to not have Kim at the wedding. I remember this as being one of the first and only times I stood up to him. I wrote him, as I always did. Hey, I was standing up for myself, just not to his face; that was entirely too frightening. In my letter I recall explicitly telling him that he had brought Kim into my life 21 years ago, asked me to love her and I did. Just because he had some trouble with his heart at that time did not mean I was going to change mine. I told him that when I decided to love Kim, it was forever; and I was sticking by that. I am happy to report that he accepted my decision. From this I am sure you can understand the bond we had formed over the years. And why it was going to be so difficult to see her now.

My hand shook on the door, possibly because it was January in Rochester and below freezing, but also because I knew once I opened the door, the pain was going to be real. Kim looked as tired as I felt, but she always managed to stand so strong. As she stood in front of me her eyes revealed the pain that I knew was depriving her body from all it’s life, but her posture told me she was finding strength anywhere possible to meet this event head on. In comparison, I am sure I was hunched over, chin down, legs weak. I had never been one to stand on the front lines like she was able to.

Kim’s family was there; her support system. My Nana and Papa and my aunt. They had also been a part of my life for so long that the love in that room was endless. I paused for a moment to think that although I was so hurt and angry with my father’s actions at the moment, he had brought so many other people into my life to love me. I am thankful for that everyday.

Kiera. How could I see her? She was ten. The thoughts cracked me over the head like a home run in the major leagues. How much did she know? How would she take it? What should I say to her? Will she cry?

Kiera ran to me just as she always did, more happy to see me home than sad for the circumstances. She knew about his death, but her knowledge beyond that was limited. She had her television on in her room and was playing with whatever toy was of interest at that moment. She was so perfectly innocent; I was jealous. For a second I wished I could be ten and free from the mountains of questions and emotions stampeding through my head and causing this nauseating headache. But that only lasted a moment, because I knew that where I had 23 years with my father, she had only 10. Then I cried; sobbed actually. I was no longer the emotionless asshole that stood stiff as a board while everyone hugged me. I was now the blubbering asshole who couldn’t turn it off. Be careful what you wish for I guess.

Kim asked me to her room to talk. Her weary expression told me that I knew only an ounce of the real story. I braced myself as I stood to walk, trying to mirror Kim’s posture and hope that it would bring the strength along with it. One foot in front of the other, I followed her down the hall. Behind that door I would learn the start of the twisted web of lies and deceit that surrounded my father’s death, and begin the harrowing journey that would ultimately last a lifetime.

 

Has anyone ever listened to the song “I am a lonesome hobo” by Mr. Dylan? I do more research on his song lyrics as I write and I just connected with this one. He talks about how quickly things can change, rags to riches and how we shouldn’t accept any one aspect of life as being finite. Isn’t that the truth?

“I know by now you feel alone, more alone than one should ever feel, but you’re not. ” As I sat on the airplane headed back to New York, I replayed those words in my head multiple times. My father had written those words to me about six years ago. For anyone that knew me at 17, well then you would understand that those words came from a letter that I was to read while on my way to Alaska. My apologies to anyone who doesn’t know that story, but honestly that is an entire other book. Let’s leave it at 17 year old girl, bad choices, bad boyfriend, (those two always seem to go hand in hand) very loving and protective parents.

The irony of these words had not escaped my current situation, as I sat on the plane definitely feeling more alone than I ever had before. I recalled that at one point in the letter he goes on to say that “you will always be in my heart sweetheart, ” and I feel the burning sensation behind my eyes threatening more tears to fall. The questions still pull at my thoughts and my heart wondering how someone so committed to loving me could have given up without even a goodbye.

As if that didn’t already seem like a flight to China, rather than Texas to New York, we had to make an emergency landing in Philadelphia. The pilot explained there were technical difficulties that needed to be looked at. What he really meant was, the flight attendant had accidentally closed the seat belt to the unoccupied jump seat in the door and it was throwing an error code to the cockpit. I heard them joke about it as I sat on the plane waiting for the next take off. Clearly, this was meant to be one hell of a journey.

Stepping off the plane in Buffalo (because of course everything to Rochester was oversold) I was greeted by my Aunt Becky and her partner Joan. They embraced me instantly and I could feel Aunt Becky’s chest heaving under her sobs. I must admit I felt like an asshole because I was the only one who wasn’t crying. In fact, since the night my mother broke the news to me I had a warm tear trickle here and there, but the uncontrollable sobs had since ceased. I survived solely on the adrenaline within my body and the intense time lapse of thoughts and memories that flowed through my mind.

I must admit, there are some missing portions of these days, to which I have had to turn to my loved ones to help fill in the gaps. As we continue, you will see how much really happened, and how each of us only knew a minuscule part. As the dramatic plot unfolded, the scenes that we each played in became more fluent and started to piece together the real story; the one I am going to tell you now.

It wasn’t until the following morning that I was actually able to hear my mothers words. We sat on the couch together, a gap between us so that I could see her face. I watched her mouth more than anything, I studied how her bottom lip shook as she spoke the words; “he took his own life.”

Confusion engulfed me once again. I knew that what my mother was saying must be true, I had grown up my whole life with her saying she “hated liars.” To this I knew that she wouldn’t lie when she had spent so much energy ingraining its sin to me. But how? My father was a strong man, both mentally and physically. He had taken on a world of shit and never did one worry line form across his face. How could it be that this man I had known for 23 years had weakened to the point of self destruction?

I continued to watch my mothers lips move with her words, and occasionally I would steel a look at her eyes. Not for too long though, because her pain was so evident I thought for sure I would break just from a sheer glance.

The semantics of the incident started to be elaborated on. My father had shot himself in the chest in the detached garage of his home. His then girlfriend, Kim had been the one to call the police. The description my mother had was vague, as she had not collected many of the details. I assume that was okay for the time, because I wasn’t quite ready to explore them myself.

What came to light next was that there was a lot to do to prepare, and I had to get home to New York.

Isn’t it interesting how we “prepare” someone for their own death? We make arrangements and decisions for someone who will not be around to see them. The irony is that I wasn’t prepared for my fathers death; but I had to prepare him.

I spent the rest of that day speaking with the lovely people from different airline companies. It was January 4th, and they would not extend an bereavement flight to me due to the fact that it was still “holiday season.” I reminded myself to call later and apologize for not being able to make my fathers suicide more convenient.

A few hours and a few hundred dollars later, and I was on my way to New York; alone.