A Nearly Normal Family(23)

“According to the prosecutor, there is strong evidence against Stella. She wants to increase the level of suspicion.”

More suspicions? My heart skidded.

“What did they find?”





22


Ulrika and I never spoke about the guilt and shame that resulted from having a daughter smoking pot and getting into trouble. We kept mum about the hours at the psychiatric clinic, made persistent proclamations about the future, and told everyone, whether they wanted to listen or not, that the most important thing was the welfare of our child, as if we seriously thought that set us apart from other parents.

Ulrika worked fewer hours that fall. She spent more time at home, but she was at least as busy as she had been before.

One night I woke up and heard her typing away. I sneaked into her office and found she was sitting there in the dark wearing only her underwear. Pounds had melted off her in the past few months, and in the faint light of the desk lamp I noticed she had angry red streaks and blisters just below the edge of her bra.

Shingles, the doctor told us the next day. He refused to prescribe sleeping pills but was prepared to have her take sick leave.

“You have to think of yourself, honey,” I said, helping her apply calamine lotion to the rash.

“I have to think of Stella,” she replied.

For Stella, though, life seemed to be carrying on at full speed. I suppose that’s just how it is when you’re fourteen, you don’t have time to put your existence on standby. You have to keep up or you’ll end up behind or left out. I frequently thought of Dino’s words, about how Stella was her own worst enemy. That she had to win the battle against herself. At times it appeared the only way she won that match was by forfeit.

“I am so over it! I don’t care.”

That spring, the redheaded counselor was replaced with a younger version of the same, a woman who was convinced that therapy could solve just about anything, at least until Stella exploded in the middle of a conversation and drowned her out with curse words. Then we were placed with a family therapist, a young man from the north with bangs and a smile full of concern, who urged us to “freeze the situation” whenever Stella had an outburst.

“Stop and talk about how you’re feeling and how it ended up like this.”

A few days later, Stella threw a sandwich at the fridge after Ulrika and I told her she wasn’t allowed to attend a party in Malm?.

“You’re killing me!” she shrieked. “What’s the point of living when you’re not allowed to do anything?”

I stood up and threw out my arms like a hockey referee.

“Let’s freeze this situation.”

“Oh my god!”

Stella ran for the hall, but I quickly blocked her way.

“I can’t even deal!” Stella said, rushing past Ulrika and up the stairs. The door slammed behind her and I sighed at my wife in disappointment.

“She has to deal,” I said, leaning against the kitchen island. “All three of us have to deal.”

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Ulrika said.

Neither of us did. At the age of five, Stella had sat for hours with puzzles that were much too hard for her. Her preschool had never seen anyone with so much patience. These days she couldn’t even sit down and concentrate for ten minutes.

But every time the psychologists brought up ADD or ADHD, Ulrika went on the defensive. She never gave them any concrete reason for her reaction, but to me she confessed that she was terrified that a diagnosis would stigmatize Stella and somehow become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

“When I was little, the adult world constantly told me I was a good girl.”

Her face twisted as if she had tasted something nasty. I didn’t quite understand what she meant.

“‘Good girl,’ they said, patting me on the head. ‘Ulrika’s such a good girl.’ In the end I had no choice but to become that good girl everyone was expecting.”

I had never thought about it like that before.





* * *



Sometime in middle school, Stella stopped coming with me to church. I didn’t make a big deal about it; I saw it as a perfectly natural form of rebellion. Children become teenagers earlier these days, kicking their way free from their parents even before puberty. There was nothing strange about the fact that Stella wanted to become independent. Furthermore, I would never dream of foisting my belief in God upon her.

As the years passed, it became increasingly common for Stella to blame religion for all the misery in the world; she was scornful and dismissive of people who believed in anything but strict atheism. I realized, of course, that there would be nothing to gain from challenging her views. I had once been like her. But the distressing thing was, I was convinced that she was doing all of this to hurt me. It was taxing. It’s painful to watch your child change and move in a direction you never could have predicted.



* * *



Considering Stella’s negative attitude toward the Church, it came as a surprise when she wanted to attend confirmation camp.

As a newcomer to the congregation, one of my first projects had been to get a good confirmation group off the ground. Along with the neighboring congregation, we found the perfect camp location by Lake Immeln, on the border with Blekinge, and by chance we also managed to recruit a young deacon named Robin as camp director.