Chapter 14: Holy Shit...

Memories are funny. There are so many memories in my head that are divided into extremes- some terrible and some great. There's not many memories I can access that fit into a "mediocre" category.

The first Christmas without my dad was a strange one- it was both amazing and horrible at the same time. It doesn't fit into any of the compartments that already exist. It stands alone and draws a giant red line between a simile time and a drastically traumatic time that would become our new normal.

Looking back now, it was a day that became sacred in my life. Yes, it was quite somber since we knew life was about to flip upside down (yes that's from Fresh Prince), but it was also magical. Christmas morning was quite literally the very last day of our "good life". Its like the day before you find out Santa Clause isn't real, and there is no magic, that everything is just a mask. It was the last day when life was safe, fun, full of possibilities, and open to our wildest dreams. Christmas Day was the last day of innocence, and tomorrow would bring a life consumed with surviving this ongoing ever-changing nightmare.

3 Day After Christmas:

"I wonder where your dad is," Mom asks.

"Wherever he is he isn't in a hospital. Mom we need to start doing some research. We need to figure out what he's up to. Do you have his mail? We need to go through it."

"I know," says my mom, knowing that it would take more courage than any one person is usually capable of.

Then my cell phone rings. The screen lights up BLOCKED. Well shit. This will not be good. So I take a deep breath and answer with dread dripping off my tongue.

"This is Samantha."

"Sam its Dad," he says.

Going completely cold and emotionless I reply, "Where are you?"

"I don't know baby. I've been wondering around looking for my rental car for a couple days."

"Why aren't you at the hospital?"

"When your sister told me you filed a missing person's report I got scared and I left the hospital right after I talked to you," he explains.


Seriously? Thats the best he could come up with? I mean we've got some serious soap opera shit going on here. He could have gone with a number of things to expand the coma story. I mean he could have gone all the way to I died and came back to life at this point. Besides the fact that people that are on the up and up don't usually run from the cops. But I let this little fact slip and try to trip him up on his story.

"You mean to tell me you have been wondering the streets in a hospital gown in Pennsylvania in the month of December for three days? Its like 2 below there Dad."

"I just..I uh..I just want to come home," he pleads.

"How do you suppose you're going to get here?"

"Well I was hoping you would western Union me some money so I can get a flight home."

"Hold on Dad," I tell him as I confer with my mom.

"Mom, he wants me to give him money to get home. What do you want me to say?"

"I don't want him here. I don't what him anywhere near me," Mom replies with as little emotion as humanly possible.

"Dad, where's your car? Did you find it?"

"Ya. Its here at the hotel."

Um okay. A hotel. I'm gonna let that one go for now. At this point my mom and I had had many conversations about what we would do in this exact situation- him asking to come back. We were both in agreement that we needed to give him some tough love. It was time for him to fix this, not us.

"I'm not sending you money Dad. You're going to figure out how to get back," I tell him.

"I dont' have a dime baby, my wallet and everything is gone. I left everything at the hospital."

BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT.

"Where does Aunt Darlene live again Dad?"

"Virginia."

"Go to Virginia. Go to Aunt D," I demand of him.

"How do I get there Sam?  I can't even buy a tank of gas?"

"Ask her for gas money because we aren't giving you a dime. You know you left Mom with $3 in the bank account? She didn't even have money for Christmas dinner Dad. If I'm going to give anyone money its going to be Mom and the kids. Dad?"

"Ya baby."

"Are you on drugs?" I question.

"NO! God Sam. I've been in a coma! I almost died! I can't believe you would ask me that! You know what? I WILL go to Darlene's and she'll see and she'll tell you how wrong you are!!" he screams at me.

"Okay Dad. I hope that's true. Call me when you get to Aunt D's."

"Love you baby."

"Goodbye Dad."

As I recall the entire conversation with my mom, her phone rings. Damn the phone- its never good when that thing rings.

"Hello. No he's not here," mom says and listens intently to the caller as her face slowly changes from stoic to complete and utter shock.

"My husband left us. He left us before Christmas with no money. He's been with other women and he just abandoned us," she says with panic mounting in her voice.

"Okay, okay. thank you," mom says scribbling down numbers and names on the closest napkin.

She hangs up the phone and takes a moment. A moment of silence before yet another brick of our well build lives will crash to the ground.

"What Mom?"

"The car your dad is driving hasn't been paid. Its a rental and he's had it for weeks without paying. They reported it stolen. He's driving in a stolen vehicle."

That moment the phone rings again and Mom picks it up without a glance.

OKAY PAUSE. I know what you're thinking. This can't possibly be true, right? You have to be making this up. Well, folks, I wish it was all fantasy. But its not. This shit really did happen exactly like this. And it sucked. Like a lot.

"What do you mean?" Mom says with a small pool of tears forming upon her eyelids.

"Two years? Are you sure?" She questions.

All I can do at this moment is stare at her. I'm not sure if I can hear much more. I'm not sure I wont go into shock or faint. Or both.

"How much time do we have?" she asks as tears start to stream down her face.

"Okay. Thank you. Goodbye."

"Mom what's wrong. Who was that?" I question moving toward her to give her a hug.

"They're going to take the house," she says frozen in my arms.

"What do you mean? Who's going to take the house?" I ask.

"Your Dad. He hasn't paid the mortgage in 2 years. The bank is going to take the house. We don't have much time. We need to get out before they change the locks."

HOLY SHIT...

Chapter 13: Living on a Prayer

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to start at the preface and work your way up or you'll be missing major details :-)

The recap (Cliff's Notes style):

-Dad was put in jail for scamming a contracting job.

-Crack whore calls mom when Dad is in jail, who is in a hotel nearby waiting for my dearest Daddy.

-Dad's friend Julian bails him out of jail.

-Dad stocks the pantry with Y2K food and leaves on the road with the crack whore.

-Dad is missing for more than a week, during which we discover he has been caught with prostitutes previously.

-Get a call from Dad saying he's in a coma, but he won't give the phone to any personnel at the hospital- which on further inspection looks to be a rehab or mental health facility.

We sat down for dinner, while my precious Noah played.  Everything was quiet except the little mumbo jumbo coming out of Noah's mouth. I don't know that we had much to say, or maybe it was that we had too much to say and didn't know where to start. My brother and sister witnessed the entire phone call with my dad, allegedly in a coma. They were worried, confused, shocked, and looked all too adult sitting there. But we did what normal humans do and carried on with our normal habits. We ate our dinner.

Its funny how when we don't know what to do with ourselves, we merely carry on with the flow of daily activity. Its as if the part of the brain that controls emotion can retreat to some dark alley and process but demand that the body continues. Keep eating, keep cleaning, keep on doing. But as we sat there moving and doing, we were all peeling away layers of the past and fitting the jig saw pieces together, starting with the edges.

The room was thick with anxiety and dread, as we put bite after bite in our mouths. A quick glance at my mom, told me she was holding back a flood of raw emotion. She's a quick one, and I'm sure she had fit more puzzle pieces together than the rest of us had. Aftershocks of tears threatened to slip out of her eyelids betraying her resolve to hold strong for her children. She had so much there on her face: fear, anger, pain, and a hint of hopelessness.

We could all feel it, the change that was about to take place. Something big was on the horizon and it wasn't good. We had all experienced little tremors of the shift taking place, but this wasn't just a tremor, this was the real deal.  Our lives were about to be shattered into a million tiny pieces, and we still didn't quite know why,  let alone how to fix it. But there we were- a switch and been flipped and our life trajectory permanently altered. Our happy life with jovial old Preacher Tim was over and the life-quake was trying its best to take us down.

In the background, the radio was playing, filling the suffocating silence. A song came on I hadn't heard in a very long time. This may be the cheesiest moment in our lives or the most miraculous one. Its hard to tell. Either way, its what we needed. God can be funny, I'll tell you.

Good old Bon Jovi to the rescue. Livin' On a Prayer. I swear, this is absolutely not made up at all. The perfect song came on at the perfect time. If you have the song, pause reading this right now. Go start the song, and continue reading. I'm serious. Do it now...I'll wait.

 My foot started to tap as Bon Jovi tiptoed sneakily into my head.  My sister voice came out as a whisper  and my brother started tapping his fork to the catchy beat. Mom start to hum the tune mindlessly.

We gotta hold on to what we've got/ cause it doesn't make a difference /if we make it or not/ We got each-other and a lot / for love- well give it a shot.

And then as if we had practiced it, we all belted out at the top of our lungs in unison. I'm telling you, it was a real movie moment. You can't write stuff this cheesy.

Whooah we're halfway there/Ooohhh Livin' on a prayer/ take my hand and we'll make it I swear/ Whooah Living on a prayer.

I jumped up from my chair and sang relentlessly into my microphone fork (and I don't usually sing...EVER). My brother followed suit and played his air guitar with nimble fingers wearing that scrunched "rock face" you see from most guitarists. My sister sang into her fork microphone which magically turned to a drum stick when necessary. Mom sang and smiled at us- her three children unintentionally telling her we would make it after all, if only on the grace of a prayer. Together we'd make it.

In this moment we told her that we didn't loose everything. We didn't loose our spunk- the spunk she had given us over the years. The same spunk she had had shown us how to use well and often. We danced and showed her we wouldn't give up the fight- that we still had fight left in us. We sang and told her that even in the hardest times we would find moments to bond, to laugh and to just be okay. We were going to live on what little we were about to have- each other and a prayer. A prayer to survive. A prayer to keep afloat and not let this ruin us. And it would be on the heels of this prayer that we would stay for some time. We would pray and we would continuously be showered with grace and love...

 And then I got the text from my husband who was on his way to the house to celebrate what we thought was to be a very sad thin Christmas.

Come outside

"Daddy is here Noah! Lets go get him!"

Noah sprung up and bolted to the door bursting with excitement. I opened the door, and there it was. Our car stuffed full (and I mean top to bottom) with wrapped gifts. Gifts for my brother and sister. Gifts for my Mom. Gifts for the whole family. Gifts for the family drowning in a mess of tragic chaos. Gifts for the forgotten. Only we weren't forgotten.

"Presents! Mommy presents. Daddy presents!"

Santa Came after all. It wasn't the white bearded Santa this year though. This Santa came from the hearts of kind friends that wouldn't let this Christmas be one of broken promises and empty hearts. It was in this moment when my brother, sister, and mom realized that hope wasn't gone after all. These gifts came from an unlikely source, but it still came. This Christmas we would ALL have gifts. It was not the miserable dollar store Christmas we all thought it would be. And we got amazing things. Not just re-gifted crap that people like to give as "charity". My friends went above and beyond. They shopped- really shopped for everyone. They cared- really cared. They cared for people they didn't really know, and gave us the ultimate gift of all. The gift of hope.

The kids were more excited this Christmas than I had ever seen. More excited than the days of Santa being real, because what they had now was hope. Hope we would be okay. Hope we would get and receive help. Hope that we would make it through what was about to come. God help us, with a couple good friends and Bon Jovi we might just be okay after all.

Dear Pop

This is out of place in the timeline of this story because most of you reading don't know what has happened yet. Not really. Actually not at all. There's just so much more. But I needed to write this. Needed this to be said. I needed to write this or I might not ever have the nerve again. A letter to my dad.

Dear Poppa,

As I sit here writing this, tears stream down my face. I'm overwhelmed with sadness and in the same breath I'm angry that you've made me cry again. I just want to forget you. Like some stupid boyfriend in college. I'd cry for a good 30 minute stretch and then sulk for a few days. But after that I'd get my kick ass dress and some great fucking red heels on. And for anyone that doesn't know me- I am in love with ALL red heels. They make me feel invincible. All I want to do  to rid myself of this lame guy is go dance. Dance my ass off. Dance and sweat. Dance until I can't feel my feet. Dance the bad experience away with just me and my great red heels. That's what I want to do. 

The problem is...you're my dad. Not just some guy. You're not some guy I can just dance away. I am, as they say, cut from the same cloth. So I can't forget. No beautiful pair of red heels, no dancing, and no crying will make me forget. I don't know how to forget you, and even my go to arsenal wont work.  Not for this man.

I don't know how to make the hole you've created in my heart fill. I can't even begin to think of good things to fill that hole with. People with good intentions always say things like, "you'll heal in time" or "you'll find your way" or "you're so strong so you'll find a way to deal". Actual people have said those things to me. I want to believe them. I want to think that some day in the future I wont feel a hole. I wont be broken or hurt. I wont cry again over the same man I've cried too many tears for already. 

People say things like "focus on your baby and your husband" and "let your family be your saving grace". I've tried that. And God knows I love them with all of my heart and soul and I wouldn't be sane today if it weren't for them. But, they aren't here to heal the wounds you've caused. Its not on them to fix the pain I feel. Its on you Pop. 

You have single handily destroyed a bit of my soul. You destroyed the piece that believed in fairies and Santa Clause. The part of me that believed in happy endings and the princess having it all. And yes, I am a grown woman that knows about the truth of all this child like magic. But what you broke was far worse and housed in the same department as all my childhood magic. You crushed the fairytale I still believed in. The last one I really really thought was true. Its the one where people are intrinsically good. The fairytale where humans are all good and mean the very best, even when they go about it in the wrong ways. In the end people are always good. That's what I most wanted to believe long after the days of flying reindeer and an egg delivering bunny. That was perhaps the biggest lie of them all.

You were Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and the good guy. The guy that was the measuring stick for all my relationships. The example of what to be. But just like with old Saint Nick, someone always ruins the fun. Someone always tells the truth. 

The truth is you're not the good guy. You're not the pillar of strength. You are not my hero. You are just a guy that cared more about himself than his family. You are the guy that threw it all away for a few moments of self gratification. People are not all good- especially the one man that seemed to be the best of the best-the ace in a deck of jokers. No, you are not a fairytale. You are just a normal human that has failed at being my example. Failed at being my dad and my hero. 

I don't know what's worse, writing that you have failed me or knowing that you will read this and have to look yourself in the face and know this is what you've done. I don't envy you knowing you have broken the last little bit of magic left in your daughter's life. I don't know if I could look myself in the face if I did that to my child.

-Your first born

Finding a Boat

Its been a really long time. The reason for writing this story initially was to help me deal with unbelievable things that have happened over the last year and a half. I was writing as the story was unfolding in front of me.


All of my discoveries and experiences were like being a dream, where you are there going through it, but soon you'll wake up and it wont be real. Just my awful subconscious punishing me for watching all that crime TV. Yes, I cried, boiled with anger, and succumbed to sadness, but I still only felt some small percentage of the emotions that should be natural. They didn't hit me in full, surely  I was not feeling them at 100%. Writing the story made it feel more real, but I still wasn't there. Writing helped me snake my brain around what has become my family's crazy story.


But then it happened. It became real. Really real. It was my family and my dad that was drowning and breaking before my eyes. It was my heart and my soul being suffocated within my body. It was me that would fall to the floor and weep for what I was loosing. It was my demolished mom I held while she sank into despair. It was my brother's dispirited eyes I had to look into. It was my sister's loss of "sunshine" I had to endure. It was our pain, our agony, our torment. It wasn't just a story to tell. It was real. Real. Life.


And I couldn't write anymore. It was too real. I sat down and tried to force myself, but only managed a few ragged sentences. I got so many emails. "When's the next chapter coming?" "What's going on? Any new news?" I started to feel sick from all the inquiries. I was angry with all the questions. I felt like yelling at the questions. Telling the questions to FUCK OFF- this is just entertainment for you but its MY LIFE. OUR LIFE. OUR PAIN.  FUCK YOUR PERSONAL ENTERTAINMENT!


I know that is extraordinarily unfair, since I did start my story AND share it. I know much of those emails, were well meaning, loving questions of outreach and support. I needed to be mad at the questions. I needed to stop writing. Stop it from feeling real. Stop feeling. ALL feeling needed to just stop. In truth, my feelings of anger were misplaced. I was just angry this was happening. What I realized was that people ask questions because nobody talks about this stuff, yet this very story has touched the lives of almost every person I know. It wasn't entertainment, but camaraderie- a shared experience.  Everyone has a brother, a sister, an Uncle, someone that has left a cataclysmic wave of destruction. Its so common, but we hide it. We stuff it in a box and pretend it never happened, but so many of us are crying inside. Hurting deeply. I'm blessed that my readers have stuck by me. Waiting patiently for me to come around and find my voice again. I'm blessed to have the support and love from friends, family, and readers. I didn't realize I was alienating myself from my support system- the very people that know exactly how I feel. The same people that are putting on a smile and crying inside with me. 


But still, I never picked up writing again, until now. So very much has happened since the last chapter. It really is only the tip of the iceberg. But I'm back. It may be slow, and angry, and awful, full of crazy, and foul language. It will be honest and, yep you guessed it, real.


I HAVE to write this story, because its not just for me anymore. Its for millions of families that face this story and stories like it every day. Its so they know they are not alone. We are here all together feeling this pain. Grieving over time and people lost. We are the ones left standing to pick up the mess. Left to sink or swim. We are the mother's of children left by their fathers. We are the sisters left to raise our nieces and nephews. We are the grandparents that foot the bill for rehab for the 6th and 7th time. We are the children that visit our fathers dressed in prison orange. We are the families that have been destroyed by lies, hidden lives, infidelity, substance abuse, and moral corruption. We are the ones caught in the undercurrent struggling to reach something, anything, that will keep us afloat. This is my story, our story and its time to find a damned boat.

Chapter 12- This is the "Sweeps" chapter

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to start at the preface and work your way up or you'll be missing major details :-)

But before I continue the story, I'll give you some cliff's notes since its been like an eternity since I wrote last:

-Dad was put in jail for scamming a contracting job.
-Crack whore calls mom when Dad is in jail, who is in a hotel nearby waiting for my dearest Daddy.
-Dad's friend Julian bails him out of jail.
-Dad stocks the pantry with Y2K food and leaves on the road with the crack whore.
-Dad is missing for days and we try to file a missing person's report.
-Find out Dad's credit card is being used to rent a Uhaul truck in PA.
-Discover Dad has been caught with 2 MUCH younger female prostitutes in February.
- I have a 11 year old brother and 13 year old sister that now know Dad is missing but we are trying to find him.


So, its taken me about 2 months to write this chapter. Why? Well, this is the part where shit gets serious. What you thought it was serious already? Yep me too...and then something else hits us smack in the face.

This is the part of the story where the reality of my little lifetime movie logs deeply into consciousness. I think when people go through something big or shocking its normal to take a lot of time to set in. Hell, I think some people just store it away and let it fester for years until they screw up some meaningful relationship or situation. Okay, perhaps I'm being a little dark. I just don't like this part. I wish I could just stuff it in a box and pretend it doesn't exist. But it does, and the purpose of writing about all of this is to allow space to heal and rebuild, not only for myself in this very moment, but for my brother and sister in the future. One day when they are old enough to handle it, I will show them our story, and perhaps they will be able to close up any leftover wounds or rectify any misgivings about decisions made by the responsible parties in their lives. So on with the drama...

Dad is still missing and the kids know, but everyone is trying to maintain composure and travel through the hours as if things are the same. I'm not sure why we do that as humans- act as if everything is okay when its not. I guess if we don't than the sky will actually fall. Or does it?

Mom and I went to the grocery store to get a crazy amount of food, since the house was bone dry of food (aside from the Y2K stash). Spam just wont fly for me though. As my mom and I load up the conveyor belt we get a text from my sister.

"Dad is on the phone. He's in the hospital"

I show the text to Mom, and all we do is look at one another in disbelief and shock. You know in the movies when everything goes slow and gets all fuzzy on the edges and people talk in a funny slow voice...insert that image and audio here.  There was no panic, no worry, just one big pause.

I text back, "Keep him on the line we are on our way home"

Then Mom tries to call the house phone to see if she can get Lucy to stay on both lines.

"Hi Lucy. What's he saying? Where is he?" Mom asks as I wait anxiously for the recap of what's being said on the other line.

"Okay Lucy don't panic. You believe him? Yeah let him talk to your brother but keep him on the phone we will be home really soon. Where did he say he was? Okay Luc I understand you believe him. He said he's been sick? With what? Okay. Okay. We'll be home in 2 minutes keep him on the line," Mom says as we quickly begin bagging and loading our groceries into the cart.

"What did she say?" I asked busting at the seams with a large dose of adrenaline now slamming through my system.

"She said he sounds sick and groggy. He says he's in the hospital and Lucy said she could hear a lady talking in the background. She says he's crying," Mom tells me.

"Jeez. What the hell happened to him?" I question.

I have no recollection whatsoever of paying for the groceries, loading them into the car, and driving to my parent's home. For all I know we could have jacked the groceries and ran 10 red lights before we got there. When we drove into the garage, we left the groceries in the car and ran in to the house. I think I half expected my Dad to hang up before we got a chance to speak to him, but sure enough he was on the phone. I got on the line with my Dad.

"Dad? Where are you," I ask

"I'm in the hospital baby," he says in a heavily groggy voice.

"What? What happened Dad?"

"I had a stroke baby," he answers with the "groggy" sound loosing a bit of its edge. Hmm.

"Seriously?" I question.

Okay folks, here's where it gets good...wait for it....

"I've been in a coma for 6 days," he says with all of the groggy having worn off.

AND THESE ARE THE DAYS OF OUR LIVES  (cue music and spinning hour glass)

"Wait what? You were in a coma? What happened Dad? Tell me everything from the beginning," I tell him firmly.

"I don't know baby, I'm just so tired," he whispers as if slipping out of consciousness.

"DAD! WHAT HAPPENED? WHAT CITY ARE YOU IN?" I yell to keep him "awake".

"I don't know baby. I....coma....tired...grawblasaw," he garbles out, again sounding heavily sedated.

"DAD WHAT CITY ARE YOU IN? WHAT HOSPITAL ARE YOU IN?" I yell.

"I don't know," he whispers.

"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD DAD GET A NURSE."

For about a minute, all he did was breathe heavily and make sounds as I yelled for him to get a nurse.

"DAD PRESS THE NURSE BUTTON BY YOUR HAND. PRESS THE NURSE BUTTON."

"Allentown," he replies with a little more clarity.

"Dad we checked every hospital in Pittsburgh and Illinois. I found nothing. What name are you under? What room are you in? Let me talk to a nurse," I ask with my suspicion mounting.

Then the groggy noise making and breathing starts again. Oh for heaven's sake we have to do the groggy breathing thing again. I think I'm suspecting a bit of a charade here.

"DAD HIT THE NURSE BUTTON. HIT THE NURSE BUTTON DAD. I NEED TO TALK TO A NURSE NOW!!" I yell at him.

"I ALMOST DIED SAMANTHA. QUIT ASKING ME ALL THESE QUESTIONS. I WAS IN A COMA FOR 10 DAYS AND NOBODY EVEN CARES. I ALMOST FUCKING DIED."

Uhh. Did he just say 10 days, because I could have sworn he said 6 before. And whoa, where did the anger come from?

"Dad what's really going on? Your story is changing. Let me talk to a nurse to sort all of this out. I'm coming to get you and I need to know where you are."

More groggy breathing and nonsense.

"Dad hold it together. Get a nurse. What hospital are you in? Hit the nurse button dad. Hit it now please." I beg him.

"Horsham Clinic," Dad whispers almost inaudibly.

"DAD HIT THE NURSE BUTTON," I yell again.

"I HAD A STROKE OKAY. I'M IN THE HOSPITAL OKAY," he yells at me.

Then there was some background noise. Oh good a nurse or someone is coming into the room. Finally. Just then the line goes dead.

What the F? Seriously? Could this get any more dramatic or stupid? Wait, don't answer that.

I give Mom the lowdown on the other half of the conversation, and because she's a genius, she pops open the computer to google Horsham Clinic.

Wanna see for yourself:
Horsham Clinic

Pretty much looks like a rehab or a nut house right? Doesn't seem like the place is capable of handling patients that had a stroke and were in a coma for 6... I mean 10 days right?

So what do I do? I call.

"Horsham Clinic. How may I direct your call?" a woman answers.

"I would like to speak to Tim Fakelastname please," I request.

"Let me see here.... well.... I don't have anyone here by that name miss."

How surprising.

"By any chance did he get discharged? Or let go or whatever happens in a clinic like this?" I ask stumbling over my naiveté.

"All I can tell you is if he is a patient currently, and he is not," she informs me.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

"Yes miss I'm sure," she spits out growing tired of this conversation.

"I see on your website you treat behavioral health care issues. Do you have the capability of treating someone with a stroke?" I question.

"Uh. No. We are a behavioral health facility."

"Okay thanks." I hang up.

Next step, redial button. Mom and I put the phone on speaker and wait patiently for the phone to begin ringing.

It rings and rings for quite some time, then does that weird half ring to indicate its going to voicemail.

"LEAVE A MESSAGE," a woman's husky impatient voice says. I imagine a chick biker on the end of that gruff voice, as Mom and I stare at one another again.

I know what she's thinking- its the same thing I'm thinking. More questions keep piling up instead of answers. What on earth do we do with this information, or lack there of? What's next? I don't think my mom and I knew, so we brought the groceries in and kept on moving, kept going as if nothing was happening. We were always pretty quiet. I think both of us were milling over all the little bits of information hoping that one little detail would pop out at us and smack up in the face. We were waiting for the "AHA" moment.

What do I know? I know my dad is up to something bad. Something he has to hide with every last ounce of energy. What on God's green earth could that be (I mean besides the barely legal ho bags)? There's more to this story, and boy did I want to uncover all the secrets, but the truth was that Christmas was only a few days away and the tree was still bare. Little did we know a little Christmas spirit would shine on us...

Chapter 11: Crossing the Line

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to start at the preface and work your way up or you'll be missing major details :-)

But before I continue the story, I'll give you some cliff's notes since its been like an eternity since I wrote last:

-Dad was put in jail. We found out it was for not paying the courts on a judgment against him for scamming a contracting job

-Crack whore calls mom when Dad is in jail, who is in a hotel nearby waiting for my dearest Daddy.

-Dad's friend Julian bails him out of jail.

-Dad stocks the pantry with Y2K food and leaves on the road with the crack whore and $3 in the bank for my mom.

-Dad is missing for days and we try to file a missing person's report.

-Find out Dad's credit card is being used to rent a Uhaul truck in PA
-Discover Dad has been caught with 2 MUCH younger female prostitutes in February of 2010
- I have a 11 year old brother and 13 year old sister that know very little about what is going on.


"Hi Mom. I'm almost to the airport"

"Good. The kids are starting to ask questions, I need you here. Lucy knows something is up. Every time the phone rings she asks if its Dad."

"Okay we'll be there in less than two hours okay. Just wait until I get there and we'll have a family meeting. We'll do it together okay."

"We can't tell them everything Sam."

"No. Not the ugly parts, but we have to tell them something, so they can be prepared."

Prepared. What a word. As if anyone can be prepared for a big giant curve ball.  I wanted to look this turmoil in the face as if it were manageable, but really deep down I knew I was terrified.  I was about to watch pain on the faces of the people I care for the most. So as I schlep a toddler and all the piles and piles of travel equipment with us, I think about what it is I'm about to walk into and relish in the last moments of a simpler life.

The worst part was the lack of information. How does one go into battle blindfolded- knowing there's a monster out there but no idea where its coming from or how its going to surface. Maybe my dad just split and left my mom holding the bag. Maybe he's dead on the side of the road and I'll have to plan a funeral. Maybe he's in some drug induced rampage half way across the country. Who the hell knows, but one thing is certain- this family is headed to a dark place. I can feel it like a dozen sandbags weighing down my soul.

People say that you always know. You always know deep down when something is coming, whether it be a storm or an infidelity, you just feel the change coming. People say you can sense it in the back of your head or deep in your heart in some remote subtle place. What I felt getting off the plane was not subtle or remote. I felt as if the world were about to crash apart in an explosive mess of confusion and pain.  Our family would either sink or swim. And nobody gave me a damn boat. Hell I would have taken a floaty or one of those stupid noodles.

When Noah and I made our way down to baggage, it was like a movie moment. Noah sprang out of his stroller and ran across the room to embrace the kids and my mom. The kids were elated wearing genuine full faced smiles- the kind you only see on children. They still had the kind of smiles that exist in the world of fairy tales and magic. They are the smiles you loose when you know too much, when you learn about the world and the realities it holds.

As I hugged my mom, I knew we shared the same thought. We both knew this may be the last time we would ever see those smiles again. We would be wiping the magic away forever. We knew that this would be the day they would keep in their memories as the day the world became cruel and unsafe. It would become a world where your parents don't have the answers for you, but only uncertainty, truth, and small wavering threads of comfort. We all come to that point, it is a right of passage in life, but most of us come to this point as adults. We become jaded with broken hearts and misguided attempts at becoming one's own person. Walking into this felt more like a tragedy than a right of passage. My mom and I were about to end the childhood for two beautiful kids and we both knew it. For the second time in a week I got to be the messenger. I hate being the messenger.

At home we sat the kids down in the living room with the Christmas tree- the Christmas tree with 4 very small gifts underneath it. What a perfect time of year for this to be happening. Thanks for that Dad.

"I know you guys know we haven't heard from your dad in a few days, and we just wanted to sit down and talk with you about that," says mom as she glances at me to pass the floor.

"We've been doing all kinds of research to find Dad. We've been on the phone for days calling every place he could possibly be. We haven't been able to find him guys. Right now we have an active missing person's report placed," I tell them.

"What does that mean?" my brother asks.

"That means the police are looking for him," Mom says.



"We don't know buddy. Its possible, but we're doing our best to find out what exactly is going on. We know he was last in Pennsylvania, but that's about all we know," I tell him.

"Could he be dead?" my sister asks. She's too damn smart.

"Well, we don't think so since he's used his credit card, but Lucy its just not like Dad to not call, so its possible," I tell her.

"Do you think he just left, like for good?" my sister asks, but I say nothing because I can't answer that. I can't say it to her. I can't tell someone that is so pure and unimaginably incredible and loving that her Daddy might not have wanted her. I couldn't do it. But she knew looking into my eyes. She crossed the line and became an adult in that moment. Then Lucy looked at my brother, as to pass the baton of life to him, but he already wore the same look. He had crossed the line too. They may have not known the details and the "ugly parts" but they certainly felt the change, felt the possibilities and outcomes in their souls.

Then my mom starts to cry, unable to hold it in anymore having just watched her 13 year old daughter and 11 year old son become much older than they should be. But then, without a beat, this remarkable thing happened.

My brother stood up and sat next to Mom and held her. It wasn't a kid going to his mommy for a hug because something bad happened to him. It was a son offering support and care for his mother that was suffering. Then my sister stood up and sat on the other side of Mom and did the same. As the kids held my mom, she wept. Tears streamed down her face and she gasped for air. She mourned. She mourned as her children held her and said nothing. We all held her and let her grieve, let her expel the pain.

I knew that she was mourning the loss of her marriage and the loss of innocence in her babies. She mourned for the life she knew. She hurt for following a man for 30 years that would give her up in such a sick way. She ached from following his dreams and not her own. She sobbed for the loss of the years behind her and the uphill climb for the years ahead. She cried and cried, and we held her until there were no more tears left, until her body quieted and her mind became still.

Now I knew the kids were not kids anymore and that will always haunt me, but as we held my mom I grew up too. I realized that in the face of pain, children can be braver than anyone- certainly braver than I am. My brother and sister didn't crumble- they stood tall. They showed their loyalty and unfaltering support for my Mom. And Mom grew too. She let her children hold her up. She let them be strong for her when she couldn't be strong for herself. That in itself might possibly be the hardest thing for a mom to do. She let us hold her, and let us become more than siblings and a mom- we became a real true family . We became a family with souls merged and attached as if by steel. We weren't just people living along side one another anymore. We were in this together, come hell or high water.

After a while of sitting still and silent in a pile of hugs Mom says, "We can go to the dollar store and pick out some Christmas gifts, but I don't think we can do much more. Dad didn't leave me any money."

"That's okay Mom. We like the dollar store," my sister says.

"Yep. We do," says my brother

Chapter 10: In a Hot Second

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to start at the preface and work your way up or you'll be missing major details :-)

But before I continue the story, I'll give you some cliff's notes since so much has happened already:

-Dad was put in jail. We found out it was for not paying the courts on a judgment against him for scamming a contracting job

-Crack whore calls mom when Dad is in jail, who is in a hotel nearby waiting for my dearest Daddy.

-Dad's friend Julian bails him out of jail. Who the hell knows why.

-Dad stocks the pantry with Y2K food and leaves with the crack whore and $3 in the bank for my mom.

-Dad is missing for days and we try to file a missing person's report.

-Mom hacks into Dad's credit card account online to find his last transaction took place in PA

The next day is kind of a whirlwind of packing and detective work. What marks this day special in my mind, is not the trauma and craziness that is about to ensue (okay maybe that's a lie). But this day also reminds me of the incredible show of loyalty and support by some of my closest friends. You know who you are and you are truly amazing. That being said...bring on the drama. (For those of you that have ever watched a real Mexican novella, well this is truly the epitome of the novella climax episode. Yeah baby its on!)

I'm at my best friend Jen's house so her son and mine can play while I play detective, and so she can parent my child while I switch into crisis maintenance mode. Its time to get down to the nitty gritty. Its not everyday you can show up on a friend's door step and ask, "Hey can we do a play date while I try to find my missing father who seems to be looking more and more like a total loser" And what's even better is being greeted by Jen with open arms and complete willingness to help in any way.

The first thing I do is call Officer "I-Dont-Really-Give-A-Damn" to see if we are a go on the missing person's report. Of course he doesn't answer, so I leave an urgent message sprinkled with a touch of sweet southern bell on top- he seems like the type that would dig that. Whatever makes people move faster, ya know?

Then I decide to check Dad's credit card activity online. I completely and totally expected to find nothing, but there was one transaction that had taken place. This is the exact text on the transaction record:

3001 MacArthur Rd
	WHITEHALL 18    Purchase Date: 12/15/10 Category: Service Providers Declined

Is it possible? Is this the sign? Does that mean that Dad is alive. Did he use is credit card? What for?Google time.

3001 MacArthur Road is a U-Haul rental location between Allentown PA and Whitehall PA. Looks like Dad is moving. And just as the thought "you son of a bitch" enters my mind, the phone rings.

"Hi Mom."

"Hi." Oh lord I can tell she has news just by the tone in her voice. Brace for impact.

"What's wrong? What happened?" She asks me.

"You first. It sounds juicy." I tell her.

Sorry for the interruption I know you are dying to know what's about to happen, but I just have to interject for a moment. I like to poke fun at myself and my family. Its kind of our way. When somethings really awful and crazy, my mom and I tend to make fun of it and laugh at ourselves, because what the hell else can you do? So I poke fun, and I probably come of as being pretty insensitive for the seriousness of the situation, but it helps. Perhaps its just a defense mechanism. I do fall apart. I do break down, but in the moments that I'm strong, I might as well have a laugh- and I'm pretty sure Mom feels the same way.

"So I called the rental car company and I spoke to the lady in charge of Dad's file. Apparently Dad was supposed to return the rental car 6 weeks ago. She was the nicest lady. I begged her for information because they're not supposed to give any information away if you're not the customer. I told her what we're going through and how I think your dad is cheating. She said she's been through the same thing and she felt like she needed to help me. Her name was Hope. Anyway, Dad owes them $13,000 in rental fees," she says.

"Whoa."

"And she has to talk to her superiors, but she thinks they have already reported the car stolen. If the report hasn't been filed yet, they will soon. She said its definitely marked to be reported."

I always think I know what it feels like to be completely flabbergasted, until I get the next phone call from Mom and realize I was wrong.

"Oh my God, they're going to take him down with guns drawn," I say as I envision my father being arrested at gunpoint in a stolen vehicle.

"Yeah well if he's alive," Mom says.

"Oh yeah. He might be. There was a transaction on the card. At U-Haul in PA," I tell her.

"That ass hole. Here we are worrying our asses off, and he's just hiding. He's probably moving his girlfriend," she says.

"Well, his card might have been stolen so we don't really know yet Mom. I mean, I guess that's kind of best case scenario. At least he might not be dead. Right?"

Right? Would that be better? Answer that when you've finished this chapter.

"I'm going to keep looking through your Dad's stuff to see if I can find anything," Mom tells me.

"Okay Mom. Let me know if you hear anything.

As Jen plays with the boys and tends to her newborn, she pipes in on the action. Yes, I said newborn. I know, I know. I'm taking advantage of a mom with a toddler AND a newborn. It sounded like a good idea at the time. Man I'm a bad friend.

"You should try calling the U-Haul and asking if they remember your father," Jen says.

Clever idea. Mommy brain my ass. So I try it...

"U-Haul Whitehall," a man's voice says.

I'm not quite sure how to begin so I verbally vomit the story.

"Um so my dad's been missing for some days now and we think he has been cheating on my mom and he left her behind with two pre-teenage kids and we are trying to file a missing person's report, but the officer had to write up the report and everything so my mom and I have been trying to investigate ourselves and we looked it up online that my dad's credit card was used at your location. Is there anyway to verify that he was there."

I would have hung up on me, but God bless him he didn't.

"Well, what's your dad's name miss?"

"Tim Blady-Bladerson," I tell him.

"Well, all I can see is that he rented the truck online, so he didn't even have to come in. When they return it using an email address, we get everything ready and just shuttle them through in the front," he tells me.

"Oh. So you wouldn't have seen him then?" I question.

"Well, I don't know I'm in an out all day."

"So you don't recall a man that's overweight, missing some teeth on the sides and kinda looks like Santa without facial hair?" I ask.

"Ya know, I think I did see him. Yeah he was here. I remember him. He was here alright," he tells me.

"Was he with anyone?"

"Nope. He was alone," he says.

"Um one more thing. What kind of a rental was it?" I question. Not sure why I asked that either.

"Its the small moving trucks, the box ones you see everywhere," he tells me.

I thank the man and go about being super mad/confused/shocked/etc.

I mean. What does that tell me? A lot. Nothing. Everything. No it really doesn't tell me anything because its just one dude's "memory" and in all my detective experience (read: years of watching crime television), I know that eye witness accounts are not all that reliable.

The next piece of my memory is kind of vague. I know I went home, put the baby down for a nap, did some work, and arranged another play date with Dolly and her little guy for after the nap. Why all the play dates? I am a crazy packer. I have to lay everything out  that I'm packing before I can formulate a plan of action on how each article of clothing and travel supplies will perfectly coexist within the suitcase.  I literally spread things across the kitchen island to the table to the couch to the chest by the wall- from one side of the house to the other. Crazy I know, but its my way. I kinda like my crazy. But try that method with a highly active 2 year old. I'm talking complete and total destruction and chaos. So we go out on packing days.

As I'm getting Dolly up to speed on the happenings in my life when the phone rings. Things were simpler before cell phones. Caller ID says its Whitehall Police Department. Oh joy.

"Hello," I answer.

"Ms. Blah Blah, this is officer Seiling. I was calling to give you an update on the missing person report," he tells me.

"Oh okay, um were you able to file the report?"

"Well, I was able to file it for now, but I'm pretty sure its going to be revoked soon," he tells me.

"What? Why?" I question.

"Well, we think that your father isn't really a missing person. We think he just doesn't want to be found."

I know I had been thinking that same thing for quite some time, but when a police officer says that, it makes it so real. That hit me like a ton of bricks.

"So give it to me straight Officer Seiling. I mean where do I go from here? And what do you do in this situation. Please don't hold back. I'm a big girl," I tell him.

"Is your dad kind of a con man?" he questions, now treading lightly around his words. Funny how he was so tough and macho before, but now he's being soft with me.

"Well, I mean. I don't know. He's my dad ya know. The only dad I know. We just found out about a warrant for his arrest and all of these people suing him, so I guess he's a con man, but to me he's just my dad. Its weird to think of him like that," I tell him. WAY too much information for a yes no question.

"Well, let me look in my system and see if I can't find anything," he says.

While I listen to him click and type away, I check on Noah and Dolly to see what's happening in the toddler world.  All is good in the hood. Mamma Dolly's train collection would entertain a 2 year old for hours! I love it at Dolly's house! Let me take this moment to say that Dolly was a Godsend in this moment of my life. There wasn't a better person to be around as my life was turned upside down...

Officer Seiling does this strange breathing exhale-ish sound and says, "Well , there is a hit here in February."

"What? What does that mean?" I question.

"That means your father's name was run on the 21st of February. Let me look up the report."

ANOTHER LONG PAUSE. WTF????

"Okay, it looks like your father was kicked out of the Ramada Inn on February 21st at 4:14am for noise disturbance," he tells me.

"Noise disturbance? I don't understand. Seriously Officer Seiling if you know something just tell me. I'm a big girl and I need to know the truth. Just be straight with me." I tell the officer.

"Well the report says he was with two women. One Tiffany Gerhart, 20 years old, and one Jeaninesha Ballard, 34 years old," he tells me.

"So you think what?" Clearly I'm Lily white 'cause I'm just not getting it.

"I mean what is a 50 year old man doing with a 20 year old and a 34 year old in his hotel room at 4am in the morning?" the officer asks me.

"Nothing good," I reply.

"The report says this: On 2/21/10 Officer McLaugh responded to a disturbance. Tim Blah Blah rented a room at the Ramada Inn. Tim had 2 females in the room with him. Tiffany and Jeaninesha. Both have local addresses. Tiffany, the 20 year old female complained to Officer McLaugh that she is upset because she is getting kicked out of the room and she has to sleep because she has a modeling shoot in Philadelphia at 9am. It is possible that the women are prostitutes that Tim hired," he reads.

HOLY SHIT.

"So he was with prostitutes?" I question.

"Again, what is a 50 year old man doing with a 20 year old and a 34 year old in his hotel room at 4am in the morning?"

"Hmm. Okay Officer. Thank you for being frank with me. Will you let me know if you find out anything?"

"Yes. I'll call you right away," he tells me and hangs up.

I'm not quite sure how exactly I got from the back room to the room where the kids were, but I did. That part of my memory is blank as I think about my very own dad sleeping with prostitutes. I know what you "glass-is-half-full" people are thinking. The girls could have been friends. Nope if it looks like a dog, smells like a dog, and barks like a dog. Its a dog.

As I think about this awful sick encounter, an amazing thing happened. The silver lining.

"What'd he say?" questioned Dolly.

I went through the whole story and everything the officer said, and Dolly never changed her expression. She listened, she nodded her head, but that's it. I don't know about you, but the world I grew up in people don't keep being your friends when you tell them your dad is screwing prostitutes. Most people would judge and whisper about you behind your back, but not Dolly. She just said it like it is.

"Oh my God that's some crazy drama. I can't believe it. Okay so I'm going to bring you dinner tonight so you can pack and not have to worry about it. What do you want?" Dolly says.

No judgement AND dinner. I am so freaking lucky...I mean besides my dad being missing and paying to have sex with women way younger than me...I have some really amazing friends. To think that you can tell your friend anything and they would still just keep treating you like you, is unreal. I know in theory it should be that way, but all to often its not. In practice, people are petty and judgemental and gossipy. I have been blessed in ways I was unaware this year! The best part of this day was discovering a real true friend.

This is the part in a normal story where the author would stop and start a new chapter but I don't follow any normal writing rules (mainly because I don't know the rules) so here it goes.

So how would you call your mom and tell her your dad is screwing not one but two very young prostitutes? Think about it. Really. What would you say?

I dial the number and wait. Wait for what will be come the worst moment of my life. Ever.

"Hi Mom."

"What's wrong? Is he dead?" She asks.

"No. I need you to go sit down."

"Okay. I'm sitting. What's wrong?"

"I spoke to Officer Seiling. He has a report in his file of Dad in February," I tell her.

"Yeah," she says questioningly.

"Mom. Dad got kicked out of the hotel room for a disturbance. He was with two women. Two prostitutes. One was 20 and one was 34," I tell her.

"Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God..." she said over and over and over for about 3 minutes straight.

"I'm sorry Mom. I'm so sorry," I say trying to console her through the phone miles and miles away.

She begins to cry- not like a full blown all out cry, but the one that only your closest people can detect over the phone. The very silent tears rolling down your face at a rapid pace type of cry.

"I can't believe what he's given up. He's given his hand to the devil. The devil walked in and he welcomed him into his life. Into our lives. He'll never know true love again. He'll never know pure love. What we had was pure and true. We were each other's firsts and only loves. There was a sincerity and a innocence in that love. It was pure and true. Once you go to that far you'll never know it again and never get it back. He's given up so much. He sold it to the devil and he'll never get it back. He'll never ever know true pure love again. He's gone. He's not my partner anymore."

And in this moment, I realized that I had been the one that uttered the words that would break my mom's heart. The words that would tear her idea of love and trust into pieces. I was the one that told her that the last 30 years of her life as she knew is was over. My mom and dad were high school sweethearts. They were together longer than they were with their parents. They were each other's everything, until this moment.

This was the moment that I wanted nothing more than to lie. Just lie and make everything better. I wanted to scoop my mom up and tell her everything was going to be fine. Everything was going to go back to the way it was. How I wish I could have told her anything else. Anything. Anything would be better than breaking her heart.

I can't even begin to imagine the emotions that suffocated her in this moment. The one person she was supposed to be with forever, trust forever and love forever had done something so sick and so unforgivable that it's taboo even to talk about it. Where do you go from there? How do you keep going?

This isn't like the high school or college heartbreak. This involves children and decades of memories, conversations, and experiences. A shared history that is destroyed in one moment.

These few minutes will be forever imprinted in my mind as the worst experience for me, because its one thing to endure grief in pain for yourself, but its a whole other ball game to be the messenger of pain and suffering to someone you deeply care for, someone you never want to see hurt. God I wish I could just fix it. I would literally (no joke) give an arm or a leg to make all the pain and hurt go away. I would drop a limb in a hot second for the pain, anger and all the bad emotions to just stop. In a HOT second. I kid you not.