My mother committed suicide. One day, she got in her car in the garage, all the doors and widows tightly closed, and let the engine run until she’d inhaled enough carbon monoxide to do the job.
She was desperately unhappy for as long as I can remember. As a child, I used to wonder what was wrong with me, why she couldn’t love me. I didn’t realize until I was much older that her unhappiness was not my fault, not my responsibility. My mother was weak. She depended upon others–my father, specifically–for her happiness. That never works. Why didn’t she get help? Why did she see death as the only acceptable way out? I doubt I’ll ever know.
Then my father died in a plane crash. That’s what I was told, anyway.
The people in my life have always had a nasty habit of just leaving one day and never coming back. I suppose that’s why I’ve always been a loner. I’ve never been able to completely trust anyone…or trust my own feelings, for that matter. With love always comes pain. Never one without the other. No matter how much I wanted love, I was not willing to allow myself that kind of vulnerability.
But Daddy was different. I thought Daddy loved me. He wasn’t around much, but when he was there, he made me feel like I was the only person in the world who really mattered to him. He didn’t mind that I wasn’t a girly-girl. It was fine with him that I was a tomboy. He’d pretend to be shocked when I fought with–and whipped–the boys, but try as he did not to, I could see a little smile there when he thought I wasn’t looking. He was proud of me!
He said I was just like him. That was fine with me. I wanted to be like him. When they told me he was dead, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. The truth is, I never did. I always had the feeling he was still alive…somewhere….
Turns out I was right.
AUTHOR’S NOTE: If this were a movie, Jennifer Garner would be my first choice to play Jaime.