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.

A Pause for Writer's Block

Okay. I'm so not a writer. Seriously. I'm not. I had to google basic dialogue rules, and I'm pretty sure I'm doing it wrong 85% of the time. Plus I always end with "she said" (Sorry about that. I know its redundant). BUT, despite my lack of writing skill, and all my warnings to y'all about my deficiencies, I have developed a problem. Somehow, someway I have self diagnosed yours-truly with writer's block. Or perhaps its better known as "I don't know how to open up and sift through all the emotions dealing with this particular chapter so I can't get a single word out syndrome".  A friend suggested that I write something else. Prescription filled. Here it goes:

I know you're reading this just after that last sentence, but it has literally taken me 5 minutes to start this damn sentence. Stalling. That is just stalling. I'm just going to lay it out there. Something I feel,  and I am afraid to share...because at some point I'll be talking to you in the park or at Gymboree and you'll know this really deep true piece of my soul.... and I won't have a margarita to calm my brain from reading that little twitch in your eye as disapproval or judgement or GOD-FORBID dislike. Yes, I'm still stalling.

Sometimes I feel like it would be better just to sleep. To not wake up for a while. And no, I'm not talking about killing myself or disappearing, nothing like that. Its just that sometimes the quiet and peace of sleep is really appealing and I feel like I could take, and deserve, an indefinite break.  A long indefinite break of floating weightless peace. Sometimes its just so much to keep up with and there's so much to fill my mind that it would be such a welcome change to just pause it all.

I know what you're thinking. She needs some serious therapy, and medication. I probably do. But I'm a mom and a business owner, so that like doesn't work. I don't have even an hour to sit on any couch to talk to any random person about the chaos that has become my life. I don't even have the time to shower most days. And I'm quite certain there are mother's of multiple children scoffing at me now because they know how false and silly that sentence is because one is JUST one. He is a spirited one though. Cue stream of consciousness...

My whole life I've been jealous of that 80's show that I can not remember the name of. It's the one where the girl could put her two index fingers together and pause time. Her dad was an alien and talked to her through this glowing triangle thing. Dude. That chick had it all. She could just stop time and breathe. Why wasn't my dad an alien that gave me the power to stop time and shit. What the F man? Why does my dad have to be some giant loser that's good for nothing but ruining our lives? I'd take ET over that any day of the week. At least ET "phones home." Ha!

And being a mom while dealing with all this crazy stuff is really freaking hard (wait for it because the guilt paragraph is coming**). There's just so much to deal with as a mom. Beyond the basic needs of the your child, as a mother you feel compelled to propel this amazing person into a better and more intelligent realm of life. So you read books, and teach, and make up games, and sing the ABC's for the 50,578th time this week. And then there's house work and dinner and all the other shit that goes with being a mom/ 1950's housewife pretending to be Miss Independent 2011 Lady. Yeah right. Diapers, trash, dishes. The house list is freaking never-ending. Those things are all small potatoes though; they are merely daily annoyances. BIG annoyances, but fleeting.

What I'm truly worried about as a mother is if what I'm going through emotionally is going to reflect upon my child. Will the pain and devastation I feel deep within my soul leak out onto my son? Will he be forever changed because I changed in some great way during this year? Will he fail because I have failed at being a mom by dealing with unexpected turmoil? Will he falter because I have NO idea how to deal? Will he become some lame guy because I didn't support him in some crucial way?

I know writing these things makes them seem obvious and silly, but I really do spend time and energy worrying about how my actions affect my son. I love him more than anything. There really is NO love that compares to a love of a child. So cliche, but until you feel it, you won't know. So this worry fills me to my core.

I told you the guilt** paragraph would come so here it is...

Sometimes I want to sit myself down and talk to myself like the 14 year old selfish ass hole that I'm being. I want to scold my ass for being so God damned self consumed and petty. Just recently I got an email informing me of a woman in my community that is dealing with her husband's declining health due to a terminal brain tumor, while raising 2 small girls. She is faced with going back to work and navigating a path of grief for herself and her girls. And here I sit on my ass watching American Idol eating the store delivered Fancy Chicken Sandwich, and I have the nerve to think I have it bad? What on earth has gotten into me?

And then I go to my fancy schmancy Facebook to read news that my childhood friend's murderers were convicted after a day or so of jury deliberation. Seriously? I think I have it bad and this woman I grew up with on my childhood street, had her only son taken from her in some senseless gang murder. What the fuck?

And then there's Japan. I mean for the love of all that is good an holy, there are people merely trying to live. JUST LIVE. I have a beautiful home, food, clothes, an amazing community, and I think I have it bad. The Japanese people have had one tragedy after another in the last week and a half, and I have the gall to be so involved in my own story.

I don't think I've done enough. I don't think I give enough. I know there is more for me to do for the world, for the community, for my neighbors. If I can just get through this drama, I can give and do and help. But the mark of a really fantastic human being is giving and doing and helping despite the trauma and horrors they face. A fantastic human would help regardless of what is happening. I wish I was a fantastic human being, but here I sit in my 800 thread count sheets writing on my expensive laptop computer (soon to be replaced by my iPad) writing about all the things I wish I was instead of doing things that matter.

And this brings be back to the beginning. With all this self judgement, housework, kid rearing, and Daddy drama, I just want to turn it off for a while and sleep. Sleep in for once. Sleep and recover. REST. I just want to rest. But I'll have to find another way to rest and recover that doesn't involve time or energy. Ha!

I would end it there, but its me and I just want to clarify that I love my son, my husband and my life and I'm being a HUGE baby bitching about all this shit. Ignore me. Well...at least I wrote something. I promise you the goods in the next chapter. Oh and its good. Trust me.

Chapter 9: A Stranger

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to start at the preface and work your way up or you'll be lost. 

Also, a big thanks to those of you that are putting up with the whole broken up story. Its been tough to get chapters out with all the information intact and all the emotions that come with writing about it. Thanks for putting up with me :) Believe me... we still haven't gotten to the super super crazy stuff!


My phone rings as I held it to dial. Its my mom. That happens a lot with us. We say we're using our ESP.

"Hi Mom"

"Hi. I got into Dad's credit card online," she tells me.

"Seriously? That's genius. That means we can track him. How did you figure that out?"

Okay you probably need a little back story right about now. Ever since I can remember, my dad has been really really bad with money. We always just thought he was one of those guys that didn't know how to save very well. Never did we see it as a "sign" of sorts.

Along with my Dad's inability to save money, somewhere along the line, he stopped using any checking accounts and dealt with only cash. He always had a really good story about that- "I like cash better", "I don't trust banks" "Too many fees". In this day and age, you need a credit card, so Dad went out and got one of those pre-paid Walmart cards, and Mom just happened to save the credit card information from a few of his pre-paid cards.

"I went on the Internet and got into his online account," she tells me.

"How did you do that?"

"I know your father so well, I only had to guess at the password a couple times."

"Good job Mom. Okay, let me get onto the computer lets look at it together."

Mom gives me all the information and we pull up the history of the credit card together.

"So the last transaction was in Whitehall, PA. The Red Roof Inn," I say.

"Yeah. Look at the date- its on the 10th. That's the last time I spoke to your father."

"It was declined though. I wonder if he's still there. Wait a minute, where did he tell you his job was?" I question.

"Skokie Illinois."

"Seriously? How far is Skokie from Whitehall? Kinda far right?"

"Yeah. Its 3 states away," mom tells me. I think maybe I should brush up on my geography. C'mon, 3rd grade was a long time ago. Don't judge!

"Holy Shit," I exclaim. I can't seem to keep the profanities in anymore.

"We should probably file a missing person's report. Something could have happened to him Sam. The last time I spoke to him he said he was really really sick. All I keep thinking is that he's dead on the road somewhere laying in the snow and nobody can see him. Do you think you can do that? The kids are right here and I don't want to scare them. I can't talk to the police without them hearing me. You know your sister, she'll be all over it.  I'll call the Red Roof Inn and text you."

"Okay Mom. Sounds Good."

I immediately call Illinois State Police to file the report. After the run-around, I'm told to file the report in Dad's home state. Then I call his home state, and they tell me to call the state of his last known whereabouts to file the report. It turns out, filing a missing persons report is not that easy. Now I'm frustrated, so I take a break from my calling to do a bit of googling.

(And for all of you mother's out there....guess who watched my beautiful boy as I busily worked away at finding my dad? Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. Yep that's right. I won't be getting the mother of the year award anytime soon! OHHH Tooodles.)

So the first thing I do is Google my dad's name. At the top of the list is a public record of court cases. Okay lets click on that link. Dad had at least 6 court cases in the last 4 years- people suing him for anywhere between $4,000 to $14,000. I also find a pending court date on January 5th. What in God's name was my dad doing? As I navigate the court website for more information, my phone rings.

"Hi Mom. What's up."

"So I've been looking through your father's things. I looked in the garage and some other hiding places your dad has and I found a bunch of papers I've never seen. There's so much crap here, but it looks like there's at least 4 warrants of arrest for Dad," she tells me.

"What? Are you kidding me? What the hell for?"

"They don't say, they just give the court information. But I also found this letter. Something about shoplifting at Walmart. Its signed by a security guard. Something about your dad not being the one that did it," she explains.

"What?!?!?" I think I've been saying that a lot lately.

"I seriously can't believe this Mom. Can you send it to me?"

"Yeah. Hold on I'll take a picture and I'll email it to you."

 This is the actual letter:

"I mean. I don't even know what to say Mom. Did you know Dad got sued a bunch of times since 2007?" I ask.

"What? No. What do you mean?"

"There's a handful of people that sued him. The largest one was like $14,000."

"Oh my God. What did they sue him for?" she asks me.

"They don't have that information the the website, just who sued him and how much was awarded in the end," I explain.

"Its like I'm stuck in some other person's life. I mean things have been feeling off for a while, especially since your father has been traveling for work, but this is like a whole different person. I don't even know him anymore. He's a stranger." Mom says.

"Did you find anything else?" I question.



"That was weird." I say trying to think back to some other signs.

"And then remember when we went to visit you and went to the Queen Mary? Your father bought a lighter and a shot glass. Your dad hasn't smoked in almost 20 years.  When I asked him about it he said it was for his friend, but who knows," Mom tells me.

"There's got to be something going on Mom. Do you think he's gambling or something?" I ask

"He's definitely hiding a big part of himself. Remember when the phone company changed my phone number without permission?" she asks me.

"Yeah, and then the caller ID said you were someone else for like a month."

"Yeah, well you know its a joint account, and when I called to get it changed back the lady told me the address on file. Sam, it wasn't our address. It was some address like 15 miles from here."

"What? So, do you think Dad has a different family or something?" I question as my head begins to spin.

"I don't know Sam. Maybe. He just is so different lately. He came home once with a shirt  that said 'The Beast' on the front. I asked him what it was and he just said it was some old shirt. I have never seen that shirt in my life. Sam, when he wore that shirt he walked around like a peacock showing of his feathers. He had this weird smirk on his face like he knew some secret."

"I just. I don't even know what to say Mom. I'm so confused and in shock"

"I know. And the worst part is that he didn't leave me any money. It's only a couple weeks away from Christmas. The kids don't have anything under the tree, and I just don't have enough to get them stuff. Your father asked for every last dime I saved up. He said he needed to fix his truck," she says and gets very very quiet. "I'm gonna go get the kids from the park. Let me know if you hear anything."

"Okay Mom. We'll figure something out okay. I promise the kids will have a good Christmas. I'm going to call the police again now.  Mom, I love you."
---------------------
I spend the better half of the day trying to get someone on the line that will help me in some way. Finally I get a bite in the late afternoon.

"Officer Seiling," says a man in a gruff masculine voice.

"Hi Officer. I need to report my father missing," I tell him.

"What makes you think he's missing?" he questions.

"Its been 4 days since we've talked to him, and we can't seem to find him," I reply

"Is he taking any medications?" he asks in a very stereotypical harsh police get-to-the-point type of voice.

"Um. No, but he's never not called. I mean this is really unusual for him to just not call. Its just not normal you know."

"Where was he last?" he questions gruffly.

"Well, he was supposed to be in Skokie Illinois, but we hacked into his credit card information and the last transaction took place at the Whitehall Red Roof Inn."

"Was he traveling in a car?"

"Um. Yeah. I think so."

"I'll need the plates."

"Oh. Okay give me a sec." I start texting my mom frantically for the licence plate number.

"What's does your father look like?" he asks me.

"Well he kinda looks like Santa without the beard. Really pink skin. Around 6 foot. Kinda heavy," I tell the officer.

"Date of birth?" he questions.

"December 24th 1959. "

"What's his phone number?"

"(480) XXX-9606. Oh but we think that he might be involved with some other women, so should I give you those numbers too?" I ask him, thinking maybe this will peak his interest. Nope.

"Yes. Go ahead."

As I give the officer the other numbers, I can't shake the feeling that's he's just not into this. Its like he's only half listening.

Mom texts to me:
Dad in rental car. I'll call rental company.


"Um Officer I guess my dad is in a rental car. My mom just texted."

"Okay, well I'm going to have to put a report together and see if my superior will put this in as a missing person's report," the officer tells me.

"Oh, you mean there's a chance he won't be reported missing? I don't understand."

"Well, he's a grown man, doesn't need medication, so chances are he just doesn't want to be found," he tells me in a matter-of-fact voice.

I want to scream at him "BUT HE'S MY DAD. MY ONLY DAD. SO FIND HIM YOU BASTARD."

Instead I say, "Okay officer, I understand. When will I know if you can do the missing person's report?"

"Well, I have to type up the report and get it to my boss for approval, and its 4:15 here, so I'll probably call you tomorrow sometime."

Are you freaking serious? I can't believe I have to wait another day and I just got him on the line. UGH!

"Thanks officer. I appreciate that more than you know," I tell him. We exchange phone numbers and hang up feeling a little hopeless and very defeated.
-------------------

You know when you're going through something really really crazy, and its almost as if the "emotional" part of your brain does a disconnect. Like its so bad that your brain refuses to process fully. Well my brain was doing that this whole day. The only thing is, sooner or later it catches up with you.

By this time, a few good friends knew what was going on and were checking in on me to see if I was doing okay. My emotions caught up with me when my friend Ashleigh called me.

"How you doing girl?"

Cue the waterworks. Why does it always happen like that? It can be some random doesn't-mean-a-damn-thing comment and the tears just start flowing.

"I just don't know. I can't shake the feeling that something bad has happened. I just can't stop thinking that he's dead," I tell her through that half sob half talking hyperventilating voice thing.

"I just want you to know that whatever happens I'm here for you, but I'm also not gonna sugar coat it for you. I don't think this is gonna end well. I just have a feeling that things are certainly not going to be the same," she says.

"You know you're the first person that hasn't told me its going to turn out okay?"

"Well I just don't think it is, and I'm not going to lie to you," she tells me.

You know you have a really kick ass friend when they'll tell you the God's honest truth regardless of the pain it causes. The funny thing is, her telling me this gave me more comfort than any other cliche I had heard up until then...but it also made it a whole lot more real.

"Its just the not knowing that's killing me. I mean if he were dead it would be awful, but at least we would know. What if we never know? What if its like those TV shows where the person disappears and their families have to think about it every day forever? I don't know if I can handle that."

"Okay. I want you to listen good to this. You will find closure. We are going to help you get through whatever it is that happens. If he is gone, we'll work through that grief, and if he's just missing, well ...you are going to make your own closure. You can give yourself the closure and end that you need to move on and live your life with your beautiful baby and husband. That, I can promise you. We are going to do whatever it takes to get you through this okay girl?"

"Okay." I say as I begin to really loose it. I think Ashleigh could sense the big breakdown coming, because she gracefully and quickly ended the conversation.

If you've ever experienced real true grief, you know that it takes over your entire body and soul. Its like the overwhelming emotion oozes out of your pores and makes your body useless.

I fell to the floor crying. Okay it was more like that silent red face weeping thing. When my son does it, I call it the "ugly cry". Its the one where you just don't give crap about the snot running down your face or the horribly swollen red eyes. Its the cry were your body shuts down after  the cry and puts you into an involuntary nap.

As I sat there crying, sobbing, and snotting all over myself, the only thing I could think of was  a haunting image from my Uncle's funeral.

At my Uncle's funeral, I had made a very determined statement that I would not see his body lying in the coffin. I had released him and his body back a the hospital, and I was not willing to see his cold make-up covered face. I had my memory and I wasn't willing to let any other negative memory enter my consciousness. That was until my Great Uncle Martin decided that I needed the closure of seeing my uncle's dead body. My Great Uncle is over 6 feet and close to 300 pounds, so he literally picked me up from under my arms and dragged me in front of my uncle's body. And yes, I was a grown ass woman at this point.

If you've ever seen a body in a casket all made up, then you know it just doesn't look normal-its like an alternate universe likeness of the real person. When I looked at my uncle what I saw was my dad. He literally looked exactly like my Dad lying in that casket. This image of my dad lying cold and dead in a coffin shook me for years later.

 Knowing my dad was missing and clearly up to no good, I couldn't help but relive this image and think that some day soon, I might actually be looking down at my own father. One day soon my own dad might be lying in that puffy satin lining of some stupid box that would change our lives forever.

I need to get home to my mom and the kids. I just need to be with them, so I book a flight home and start getting the massive amount of crap a 2 year old needs on a daily basis.

Chapter 8: A Broken Man

If you are just joining this blog, you might want to start at the preface and work your way up or you might be lost. 


Have you ever seen someone die? I have. Twice.

I'm still lying in bed with memories running through me.  There has to be a clue. There has to be something that will help us find my dad. That's how it works in the movies right? You remember this awesome clue that sparks a series of other memories and voila mystery solved. So I sift through the memories...

Yes folks ANOTHER flashback (but I promise you these ones are some biggies you need to know)

My dad was holding his hand with tears silently dripping down his face. We all stood there just waiting. Waiting for the doctor to come in and disconnect the equipment. Waiting to let my uncle's body go.

He was my favorite uncle. He was the type of guy that got along with everyone- one of those guys that walk into a room and end up best friends with everyone. He was the type of guy that just made you feel like no matter what was going on, you just needed to smile and it would all get better. I mean God gave you that mouth right? Might as well smile with it. He gave the best bear hugs in all the world and had a laugh that would make even the stuffiest of people crack a smile. He was a big guy at 6' 3" and 200 plus pounds, but lying there with tubes in his mouth he seemed frail and small. Somehow, he seemed  broken, like something was missing. Something was just not there and it wasn't the tubes or hospital bed or the coma. Its something you can only feel. Its like that moment when your air conditioner turns off and you didn't realize that it was making noise until it stopped. He was empty, but  his chest still rose and fell and he was still warm.

The doctor came in. He was somber. He was quiet. He turned the sound to the monitor off first, but left the green and red lines there for us to see. They were still jumping at the intervals we were used to. He disconnected another machine. Then he removed the tube from his mouth. Everything was silent, except for the small movements of our bodies readjusting. We waited as the minutes passed in silence. He said it could take up to 30 minutes, so we just waited and watched. There were no sobs or hysterics. I think we were all out of tears. As a collective whole, we'd probably have filled a block of swimming pools in the last two days. Time passed...slowly. We watched. We waited. We touched his hair, his hands, his face. We loved him one last time. We looked at him one last time. We whispered sweet words to him one last time. We felt his warm skin one last time.  The doctor turned the monitor off and said quietly, "he's gone."

My favorite uncle was gone. But what I didn't know and wouldn't understand right then, was that he took more than I would ever know.  He took my dad's best friend and confidant. He protected my dad from so much as a kid, and in his death he would take Dad's idea of safety and comfort. In his death he took a piece of my dad- a very big very important piece. That piece that keeps you normal- the part that glues you to reality.

Five years later, I would find myself with my father and the same group of people from my Uncle's passing standing around my grandmother. The same tubes, the same white linens, the same blinking monitor. The same fate staring at us in the face again.

We held Mamie's hand and talked to her. She got to see Noah for the first time...and I think she smiled. At least with her eyes she did. But the simple truth was this: she wouldn't survive. She made us promise she wouldn't remain attached to tubes, so with that and her sporadic and less frequent lucidity, we decided to let her go just as we had decided for Uncle Bill.

"Do you want to be in the room this time?" Dad asked me.

"Of course I do. I want to be there for her until the end." I replied. This would soon be a decision I would regret for a lifetime.

The same procedures were followed. The doctor had the same green scrubs and same somber face as last time. The monitor sounds went first, and then the tubes in her mouth were being slowly removed. It all seemed really familiar and manageable...until the doctor said, "She might make noises."

What!? What the hell does that mean? Before I can even formulate a question, Mamie's eyes flew open. She gasped for air. She clung to my dad's hand and tried to suck in air. She gasped and gasped. She made the most God awful noises I've ever heard a human utter. She looked around the room frantically with panic and horror in her eyes. Gasp after gag after gasp came out of her mouth. Her body was tense and full of fear.

"Momma. Its okay, Momma. Just let go Momma," my dad tells her as he begins to cry...and the rest of us begin to sob.

"Mommy. Mommy. Mommy. Its okay Mommy. Just let go Momma. Just let go. Go with the Lord Momma. Just let go," my dad cries to her as he strokes her thin white hair and holds her other hand over his heart.

The sobs get worse, and turn into hysterics. Where is all that noise coming from? For the love of God who is being so hysterical? My dad turns around to give me gentle "It will be okay" eyes, and I realize its me that is doing that crazy cry-kinda-sorta-laugh sounding thing that you see only with real greif . It was me that's having the hysterics! I lost it watching her go. Its one thing to watch your grandmother pass, but its a whole other thing to watch her cling to life as her grown son sobs over her body crying "Mommy, Momma. Mommy". It was all just too much. Too much to witness. Too much to endure. To much honesty and pain. It was too raw and too real. It was real life, real death. It wasn't pretty or peaceful or quiet. It was awful and shocking.

Watching my dad call his dying mother "Mommy" made me realize every person needs their mommy. Your mom is your refuge, your warmth, your love, your connection to the world and everything. In this awful, hysterical, loud, drowning departure, my dad lost what little was left of his idea of family, home, and safety. It was gone in those deep prolonged gasps for life. That last piece of the man and father I knew was taken. It would take me a while to realize this. It would take me until his disappearance and "downfall" to understand that this event marked the beginning of his life as a lost soul and a severely broken man. He wasn't Dad anymore- he was something less, something not whole. He was a shell with anger, loss, and pain clinging to his soul like a parasite hemorrhaging every last drop of humanity.

Its now 5:00AM, and I'm lying awake in bed with tears streaming down my face as theses memories wash through my brain.

My husband rolls over and gets a quick glance at me.

"Babe, what's wrong?"

"I think its time to call the cops. I think its time to file a missing person's report."

"You sure? Its only been a few days."

"Yeah. Somethings wrong. I can feel it. I need to call my Mom."

"Okay. I'll get the phone."

By the way, enjoy this chapter because it will be the last time you feel bad for my dad. What he is about to do to his family is unforgivable...even for a broken man.