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.