Daddy's Little Girl

And there was something else. Something I'd not covered in the blog. Well, not exactly. I did kind of nail Sandy for it.

It was something centered on J.'s oldest daughter, Abby, who I just adored. Something she'd done, a decision she'd made, in cahoots with her mother, who has a flair for melodrama. At the time I did not understand the motivation, and had judged all the players harshly. (I am hardly ever in favor of drama, so they had a poor starting position.)

My blog had focused on Sandy's sinister role in the matter. It was not insignificant...and at the time, she seemed to be the brains behind the whole thing anyway (God knows her immediate family couldn't scrape together so much as one hemisphere). And from my point of view, it was just one more way she lashed out indiscriminately at J. and everyone around him. It was her usual MO. Go big or go home.

And Abby was a young girl at the time. I am not an aspiring Glenn Beck. I was not about to criticize her openly. So her mother took the beating for them both. We are all responsible for our kids, like it or not. Part of the job.

But it was J.'s darkest hour and I was heartbroken for him.

And now, a year later, though I can still honestly say that I would not have played my hand the same way Sandy and Abby had, I have a new appreciation for what transpired if not complete support for the method.

Abby, in the end, dropped nearly completely from J's life. Left his home, kept her distance, limited his access, ceased all communication. Had a police escort and a posse of her mother's family members help her retrieve her cheerleading uniform and Uggs and hoodie collection and yearbook from his home. Went off to college without seeing him. I'd never know why. And J. said he hadn't a clue either. He'd asked his younger daughter, Moira for any intel she could provide and she was just as much in the dark.

At least that is what he'd said.

In the same situation I would want to know why my child made a decision like that. I thought Abby owed her father at least that much respect.

And we'd been close. Very close. There was a part of me that wondered why she hadn't confided in me.

And now I think maybe she didn't owe either of us anything. And she'd been wise to understand that I'd have been biased, though I would hope that I wouldn't have been. You never know. Caring for someone, as I now well know, makes you do some pretty hare-brained things.

With all the warts that have come out in the last year, I can empathize with Abby. Empathize with her mother. Had it been me I would have taken a shot at a face to face discussion as a first choice over all the drama, but the scene they staged, in a public place, in retrospect, seems almost necessary. Witnesses. Limited opportunity for violence. A clean getaway. A little lead time to execute a well thought out plan. No wiggle room. Like Michael in the restaurant in Brooklyn with the gun and the cannoli.

Don't misunderstand. This is not a recent revelation. I had a change of heart long before now. It was simply that shortly thereafter, I had my own font of shit to deal with with J. and his nonsense. I no longer cared who else he dumped all over. Every girl for herself. I was wading through my own cess pool of J. matter. Get your own life boat.

But by the time I had figured out what had been mirage and what had been genuine landscape, she was long gone.

And then so was I.