It’s almost July 4th.
Bradley is an only child, and last year, on July 4th, his dad died. He was 57.
We’ve been trying to swim our way out of a rabbit hole ever since.
The morning of July 4, 2008, we learned that Bob had been found dead. That afternoon, we left for his apartment in a city about six hours away. We arrived that same night, only 10 or 11 hours after he’d been found. Pretty fucking fast, if you ask me, especially when you consider that we had to arrange childcare for our (then) three little ones, pack the car for the five of us, drive the three and a half hours to my mom’s to drop off the kids, drive another half hour to pick up Brad’s mom, and travel another three hours to Bob’s apartment.
Even so, in just these few hours, vultures had descended. And one evil MF, in particular.
The story really starts when Brad was a little boy, but it gets so convoluted by 2006 or so that my brain practically liquefies trying to recount it. So I won’t. Let’s just say that it involves the following: a car accident; brain damage; drug and alcohol addiction; a shitload of weapons; homelessness; a family secret; the inheritance of two estates; breast implants; infidelity; multiple burglaries; one grand theft auto; one arson; several 911 calls; multiple arrests (not necessarily related to said 911 calls); forgery and credit card and mail fraud by a supposed “caregiver;” and, in our minds, the possibility of murder.
I was not kidding about that rabbit hole. It’s seriously a story for a prime-time television news magazine. If recalling all the gnarled roots and branches weren’t so painful, I’d write it up. I’ve actually tried at least four times in the past year. I’m not sure it’s possible.
The days immediately following Bob’s death were some of the most frantic and stressful of my life, only slightly less painful than those following the loss of my own father.
We’re still dealing with the repurcussions of the life Bob lived and the people he met in his last few years. We’re trying to get everything sorted out and squared away, but I’m not sure that’s possible either. I just know we’re spending a lot of money — money we don’t have — trying.
With all of this, it’s difficult to step back and grok this death. I feel like Brad’s been robbed of grieving his father. We’ve traveled at such an impossible pace over the past year, and we’re still going. We’re still just trying to make things right.
I don’t know when (if) this will end. I want it to. I want us to move on. I want Brad to be able to remember his dad without feeling rage about this part.
To Bradley: No matter your strained relationship, your dad loved you, and I know you loved him. You and I have many days (an unlimited number, it seems :)) to continue raging together. (And you *know* how much I enjoy a good rage.) But maybe you should try to find a different feeling this July 4th.
Bob holding Kieran (his first grandchild) for the first time on May 25, 2001, before things went so far beyond wacky.
