Page 17 of Organized Chaos
“I hated Dad for a long time because of Mom,” I mumbled, voice barely distinct over the crashing waves. “She couldn’t deal with it after Dad left us for another woman and spun out of control. She OD’d on painkillers my senior year of high school,” I revealed.
Maya took a sharp inhale. “Brandon, I’m so sorry.”
It was a deep, dark family secret that I never shared. We didn’t talk about such things in our circle, though it was prevalent within New York City’s elites. Everyone did drugs, cocaine, alcohol. Rehab was like a vacation to these people.
But Mom wasn’t like them, truly. Sarah Cooper was the pillar of her community, president of various charitable foundations. And she was a good mother.
However, as Dad paraded around his new wife—a woman only a fraction of his age—the humiliation became unbearable. Mom was only trying to suppress the pain but miscalculated the dosage her tiny body could handle.
It was an accident.
I shook off the image of my mother during the latter years of her life—frail, skinny with thinning hair. “I was a mess when Mom died. Worse, I still had to live with Dad until graduation.”
Maya noiselessly lingered, correctly presuming there was more to the story.
“I blamed him for everything and couldn’t stand the sight of his new family. I barely spoke to my half-brother. Never attended family dinners. After moving out for college, I cut Dad out of my life entirely.”
I paused.
Maya didn’t push me. She knew the art of silence—one infrequently practiced by others— the skills to realize when a conversation didn’t require words from both parties.
The truth was still hard to disclose.
Though I vilified Dad, he regretted our relationship and tried to fix things in later years.
After Mom’s death, any interaction with Dad felt like a betrayal toward her. I wanted nothing more to do with him, hoping it would absolve me of the guilt. So, I stubbornly thwarted all of his efforts. To add insult to injury, I tracked all major expenses Dad had incurred on my behalf, saved up, then threw a check in his face.
For a time, I was smugly satisfied to achieve my petty goal. But with his final act on earth, Dad took away any satisfaction from my “win” and humbled me in the most profound of ways.
In his will, Dad left me with his entire inheritance.
“Our last communication was some texts he had sent, asking me to visit,” I faintly uttered at long last, swallowing the lump growing in multiples. “I thought the messages were about his usual attempts to reconcile and ignored them. Didn’t even open them. Didn’t pick up the calls from my stepmother either. I had no idea he was in the hospital.”
I gauged Maya’s reaction over my trifling actions. She merely nodded, inaudibly encouraging me to rip off the Band-Aid to face what was lurking underneath.
“Dad died two days later,” I concluded with the inevitable ending. Dad was fighting a losing battle after a car accident. He was texting and calling to make amends before his time expired. His last text would haunt me forever.
Please son, I just want to say goodbye.
“I have no one to blame but myself for never saying goodbye to my father.” I avoided Maya’s gaze, my face passive and cold. Was she appalled, horrified, sickened?
Shocking me, Maya hugged me. “He knew that you loved him,” she whispered.
Did he, even though I was the son of a bitch who never visited his father on his deathbed?
“He knew that you loved him,” she repeated. “And he loved you too. He didn’t change the cottage because it reminded him of the good times with you. He loved you, Brandon.”
Maya spoke with so much conviction it was difficult to deny the assertion. So, I remained silent, closing my eyes.
My heart was blackened beyond repair after Mom’s death. Filled with resentment and blinded by anger, I couldn’t forgive Dad. It only left me with regrets over my failure to rectify our broken bond when he died.
It was fucking poetic that the bi-annual convention was right around the corner because there was no place better suited to spread his ashes. Europe was special to our family, though I never expected the happy memories to haunt me.
The pain had multiplied by ten folds upon my return to this continent. On that fateful evening, I had been searching for salvation at the bottom of a glass when Maya arrived, saving me from the worst night of my life.
As it turned out, I didn’t need salvation; I required absolution—delivered byher.I came to Europe for closure. Instead, I found something far more valuable.
I foundherand finally, I wasn’t so alone anymore.
