God Bless This Mess(15)

I had other older friends who went to different schools, too. I don’t think I would have made it if I didn’t have a community and friends. And when it came right down to it, no matter what was going on, my parents really did love me.

I’ve already said that my mom was the best mom. And there were times when I felt that way about my father, too. There were plenty of times when my brother, Patrick, and I got along just fine. A lot of times, my childhood in Alabama was really fun, and full of laughter.

Especially at our backyard pool.

I learned how to swim on my dad’s back, and I swear we would swim every day all summer long. All my mom’s friends and their kids came over to our house once that pool was built, and it was so fun. We’d eat watermelon and popsicles and play Marco Polo from 10:00 a.m. till it was dark outside—and then we’d go night swimming! We’d go skinny-dipping as little kids sometimes. And then we’d run out into the hills and catch fireflies or frogs.

Because of that childhood, I don’t like to wear shoes outside, ever. When I’m back home, my feet are always callused and built up from walking on the hard ground and dirt and rocks without a care in the world. Honestly, my heaven would be to spend my days walking on the greenest, plushest grass, on the edge of a beautiful ocean and a beach with sand that doesn’t get stuck everywhere. Of all the things I did as a kid, playing in the pool, running around in the Alabama sunshine—that’s when I smiled the most. That’s when my smile was real.

I smiled that smile a lot.

Other times? At school, at dance, at home? Right up through these last couple of years? I’m painfully aware now that my smile, dimples and all, rarely stopped being my mask. A weapon. A shield. The veil I used to cover up the dysfunction of the family I grew up in—and the pain and shock of an unexpected trauma that none of us ever saw coming.





Chapter 5


The Man at the Door


I’ll never forget the date: Friday, May 11, 2001. It was the day of my dance recital. I was six years old, and my mom had me hoisted up on the counter by the bathroom sink. My hair was in a high ponytail, with a full set of rollers weighing my head back. My mom was doing my makeup, so I could be stage-ready to perform my jazz routine in my sequined costume.

It was the biggest night of the year for me as a young dancer, performing for a crowd of proud family and friends. My dad came into the bathroom while I was getting ready.

“Are you excited to see me dance pretty?” I asked him.

“I’m sorry, honey. I have to go help your Aunt LeeLee. I’m not going to be able to make it.”

My mom and dad exchanged a look that I didn’t understand, and my dad turned and left the bathroom real quick. I heard him leave the house and take off in his car, and my little heart sank with disappointment.

Why would Daddy miss my special night?

My young intuition knew something was wrong, but my mom kept putting on my pretty pink blush and black mascara. I could tell in the look she exchanged with my dad that something was wrong, and I could see in her eyes that she was not okay. Something was making her upset. But she continued to encourage me and get me ready to take the big stage.

My recital went well, and I loved being onstage so much, but the disappointment of not seeing my daddy there really bothered me. So did the way my mom was smiling, as if she was trying to force it. She usually glowed after a recital, as if she’d been up there dancing herself.

Saturday came and went, and my father never came home. It felt . . . it all felt so strange.

Sunday was Mother’s Day, and my dad was still gone.

“He’s still in Hamilton,” my mom said.

That’s Hamilton, Alabama, where Aunt LeeLee lived with her husband, my Uncle Stu, and their two kids, our cousins Robin and Trent, in a beautiful house they’d just finished building. Robin and Trent were almost the exact same ages as me and my brother Patrick—six and four—and we were just about as close as cousins could be. They were not only our family but two of our very best friends, all wrapped into one. And my dad seemed closer to Aunt LeeLee than just about anyone else on his side of the family. Especially in those last few months, since their mom, my MawMaw, had passed away just that past December. Even so, no matter what it was that Aunt LeeLee needed help with that weekend, I just couldn’t understand why Daddy wouldn’t be home by now to celebrate Mother’s Day with us.

I kept asking my mom about it. I knew something wasn’t right.

Finally, that afternoon, my dad called. After my mom got off the phone with him, she was real upset. She gathered Patrick and me in his bedroom. We all lay down on his little twin bed, surrounded by four walls, each painted a different color—red, blue, yellow, green—and she started to tell us what happened.

“The reason your daddy isn’t home—”

She paused. I could feel her body shaking as she tried her hardest to fight back tears. I was terrified.

“What is it, Mama?” I asked.

“It’s because your Aunt Leelee, and Robin and Trent, they—they are now your angels in heaven.”

I couldn’t understand it. I was so confused.

My MawMaw was now my angel in heaven. I was sure of it. I remember my dad getting the phone call in the middle of the night. It woke me up. It was just after Christmas, and I had especially picked out a holiday figurine for MawMaw, a grandma angel holding a young girl. When they told me she’d died, my first question through tear-filled eyes was whether she got to open my present before she went to heaven.