Читать книгу Hurricane Acer - Sydney Blondell - Страница 1

Today my daughter turns three. The day began just as it always does—I picked out Alison’s outfit for the day and tried to avoid him at all costs. Alison’s birthday party starts at noon at her favorite knock-off Chuck-E-Cheese in our town. There are about three hours before the party, so I took advantage of this time and completed the last-minute errands for the party and printed directions to the party location for out of town guests. Around eleven, a group of us piled into the car and made our way over to the party. I left Alison back at the house with her godmother, who would bring her to the party right at noon. In the meantime, I needed to set up the Dragon Tales decorations and placed the vanilla cake with pink and purple candles in front of the gift table.

It was finally noon when Alison waddled into the building to find all of our family members and her dance friends standing under a sign that read “Happy 3^rd Birthday, Alison.” The party was filled with laughter and celebration. We went on every slide or ride available to her age range, and I watched her as she followed all of her older cousins around wishing one day she could be just like them. She was so excited to go home and play with all of her new toys, so when we walked in the door, that is precisely what she did. The adults who accompanied us back to the house sat in the living room sipping a glass of red wine and listened to three-year-old bliss.

About an hour after we arrived home, Alison somehow enraged her father, and he began yelling. No one in the house knew what set him off, the only thing we did know was he was yelling, and he was yelling at a three-year-old. I, very calmly, stood up and said, “I cannot do this anymore.”

He took a break from screaming to turn his attention over to me to reply, “Can’t do what?”

“I cannot do THIS, Paul. I cannot have you screaming at our three-year-old because you don't dare to stand up to me or because she did something a normal child her age does,” I said. “You have ten days to figure out where you can go, but as of February 7th, you need to be out of this house.”

I did not wait for a response. Instead, I grabbed Alison from the living room, and we left to go to my sister, Renee's house. I only live about five minutes away from Renee, so it is an easy escape for me when situations escalate to a point of no return. Once we arrived, Alison went upstairs to play with my niece, Rose, and I told Renee everything that happened. Renee was in complete shock that it escalated to that point, especially since we just had a lovely day celebrating Alison’s birthday, but she was also happy that I was finally going to feel happiness again.

The following week was tranquil. Paul did not speak to me, and I did not talk to him. We would leave notes in the kitchen to let each other know about our schedules for the day so the other would know who had to let our dog out. But then, Tuesday came. I was at work when I received a phone call from Paul’s mother. I was only on the phone for twenty seconds. All she said before abruptly hanging up was Paul is in the ICU, and I needed to come as fast as possible.

I rushed around my office, grabbing my items so I could leave and go to the hospital when my boss walked in and said, “You’re not leaving. You’re divorcing him, so what does it matter if he is in the ICU?”

“Are you kidding me? He is still the father of my child. I am going. Fire me if you want, but I am going to the hospital,” I responded in anger.

When I arrived at the hospital, Paul’s parents were already sitting in the lobby waiting for me. They informed me Paul had attempted suicide and was in critical condition. I called my mother, who lived three hours away in Pennsylvania, and she rushed as fast as she could to drive to Maryland. My mother and brother-in-law went to the house where the suicide attempt happened to clean up so that Alison and I did not see anything when returning home later in the evening. The attempt occurred in the attic, and his rope of choice was our dog’s leash. There were marks on the wall next to the steps leading up to the second floor of the house that could not easily be covered up in a day. The marks appeared when the EMTs took Paul to the ambulance by Gurnee. My brother-in-law inspected the rest of the house, where he found disturbing drawings whose creator had the artistic ability of a four-year-old with a dark mind.

Back at the hospital, Paul’s parents decided that now is a perfect time to talk about the separation between Paul and me.

“So when Paul comes home, do you want to go to a marriage counselor?” Carole my mother-in-law, asked.

“Home, what home? We are still separating,” I replied.

“You are seriously going to go through with this after he nearly died?” Carole snapped back.

“Um yes, this confirms how unstable he is. I don’t want Alison around this negativity her entire childhood!” I fired back, as both our anger levels reached its maximum.

“Well if you are set on divorcing our son, you better not think we are going to pay your bills,” Andrew, my father-in-law, chimed in.

“First of all, I have never asked either of you to pay for our bills. Secondly, I am an Assistant District Attorney, and your deadbeat son fixes air conditioners for a living. His income is chump change in our household. Do you honestly think losing his income is going to make a difference?” I fired at Andrew.

Just as the argument was hitting its boiling point, Renee arrived with an iced hazelnut coffee and a Tastykake Peanut Butter Kandy Kake snack pack because she knew I had not eaten all day. Renee and I have always been good at calming each other down, so Renee arrived at the perfect moment to pull me back and remind me that they are mean, cold-hearted people and want to get under my skin. Once I was done telling Renee the details I had up until this point, Paul’s doctor came out and wanted to talk to Carole, Andrew, and me. The doctor took us into a private room and told us that Paul nearly succeeded at taking his life. If Paul hadn’t called the police to tell them his suicidal plans, he would have died within five minutes of hanging himself. The EMTs arrived in three minutes and twenty-three seconds.

The doctor told us that Paul is in a coma, and still in critical condition. He also warned us that it may be a while before Paul wakes up, but he does not see any reason why that will not happen. He then gave the “okay” for family to go in and see Paul. I went in first and felt as if I was looking at a dead man. He was very gray and, well, to put it simply, looked deceased. I had to leave his room not long after walking in because I was overwhelmed and overcome with emotion, so I went back to the nurses' station to call my Mom again and check on how the house was. She told me she cleaned up as much as possible, and not to worry about the house. After I hung up with my Mom, I called Alison’s babysitter to check on how she was doing and see if she was asking questions about why she was staying longer today than usual.

“Hey. How is Alison doing?” I asked as Alison’s babysitter answered the phone.

“She’s fine. She hasn’t asked any questions other than when she was going home,” she responded.

“Good. I am glad she is not stressing out too much. If it is okay with you, I am going to need to leave her with you for an undetermined amount of time. If you can’t watch her through the night, I can have my Mom or brother-in-law come and pick her up.”

“No, don’t be ridiculous. I’d be happy to have Alison. Day or night, call and you can come and pick her up.”

“Thank you so much. That alleviates some stress for me. I will call you as soon as I have more information on when I will be coming home.”

“Okay, I will talk to you soon. And I will tell Alison you say hello.”

Once I hung up with Alison’s babysitter, I went back to the waiting room to sit with Renee. She stayed with me the entire time and distracted me when I began to think about how deceased Paul looked. Around one in the morning, a therapist came out wanting to confer with his parents and me.

“Mrs. Acer? May I have a word with you and your in-laws?” the therapist asked.

“Of course. Is Paul still out of the critical state?” I asked.

“Oh, ma’am, I don’t have any information regarding your husband’s medical needs. I am here to discuss life after a suicide attempt when he is released to go home.”

“Will he need to be on medication?” Carole asked.

“I believe he will probably be prescribed a mood stabilizer or anti-depressants, but I cannot say for sure until we can evaluate him and diagnosis him if applicable,” the therapist responded.

“I don’t know if this affects what you would like to discuss with us tonight, but Paul and I are in the beginning stages of a divorce, and this suicide attempt has not changed anything,” I said.

“Well, Mrs. Acer if this event does not change anything you are free to go home for the evening if you would like. I’m sure you’re tired, and I can finish this conversation with Paul’s parents.”

“This is ridiculous; you need to stay and listen to what his aftercare needs are going to be,” Carole barked at me.

“No, Carole, I don’t. I am divorcing your son, which means I don’t have to take care of him when he leaves this hospital,” I said.

I decided to stop talking while I was ahead and go back to where Renee was sitting to tell her we could finally leave for the night. She followed me out to my car and told me she would meet me back at my townhouse because she was going to stay the night with Alison and me. Before driving straight home, I drove to Alison’s babysitter’s house to pick her up. It was nearly two in the morning when I arrived home, and we all were fast asleep within five minutes of walking through the door.

Over the next forty-eight hours, I started learning more about what was left behind at the house the day of the incident, which led me to take immediate legal action against Paul. The day after the incident, my brother-in-law (who helped clean the house the previous day) filled me in on the drawings he discovered. Initially, he was only going to tell me necessary information about the drawings, but I made the point that if I made copies and presented them to family court I would have a compelling case against Paul in earning custody of Alison. My brother-in-law agreed and handed the drawings over to me.

I looked down at a legal pad and saw the drawings done in red pen. Two stick figures whose bodies appeared to be on fire were staring back at me, and those who have viewed the drawings agree that the two figures are most likely Alison and me. Once my eyes stopped focusing on the stick figures, I noticed a row of townhouses with one in flames. I sat silently with the drawings for nearly an hour in complete shock that the man I am married to was fantasizing about setting his wife and child on fire.

Realizing the reality I was facing, I immediately walked to my home office to make copies of the drawings then drove straight to the courthouse, with the disturbing art in hand. Naturally, there was a line at the courthouse, so I took a seat in one of the red corduroy chairs and waited for my number to be called. After a long forty minute wait, I heard my name and proceeded back to a woman named Lisa’s cubical. Lisa asked what she could help me with and I presented her with the drawings.

“I need a protective order placed against my husband for my daughter and me.” I started.

“Okay, ma’am. I can certainly look at your evidence and determine if your request is warranted,” Lisa responded.

“My husband attempted suicide yesterday, and my brother-in-law originally discovered these drawings that I have with me. I know that I cannot earn a protective order solely based on the fact that he tried to commit suicide, but I hope that after you look at these drawings he drew the day of the incident you will consider granting the order.”

“I will look over the evidence you brought with you, and I will make my ruling within the next half-hour. You can wait here, or you can go back to the lobby and wait for me to call you back.”

“I will wait here if that is okay,” I said with disparity in my eyes. Twenty minutes later, Lisa opened her cubicle window and told me she was ready to make her decision.

“I have reviewed the drawings thoroughly and am going to grant your daughter a three-month protective order against your husband. I have set an emergency hearing with the judge for this Monday where he will more than likely grant you full physical and legal custody of your child.” Lisa told me.

“Thank you so much for your help, Lisa. Have a great rest of your day.”

I did not go back to the hospital until I received a phone call three days after the initial incident informing me that Paul was out of his unconscious state. I was warned that when I arrived and saw him, he may not have any memory of what happened nor what had happened in the weeks leading up to the incident. I hoped that Paul did not know he may have amnesia because I knew he would pretend to have it to avoid facing reality. Worst-case scenarios started circling my head for the majority of the ride to the hospital, but I knew I was getting ahead of myself. I knew I needed to calm down and wait until I arrived at the hospital to assess the situation.

The traffic was unbearable as I drove over to the hospital. The day had barely started, but for me, it had already gone to shit. I received the call I was dreading, I am stuck in traffic trying to go somewhere that is of no interest to me, and worst of all, I have to deal with his bullshit. The hospital is a twenty-minute drive from our house, but with all the traffic it took about an hour and fifteen minutes to arrive. Paul was still in the ICU, but he was going to be transferred to the psych ward later in the day. When I walked into his room, he was sitting up staring at me. I knew to tread lightly because I did not know if he was aware of everything or not yet.

At first, we talked about how Alison was doing, and I told Paul what I told her to steer her away from asking questions. Paul started asking more questions about what she was asking, but I couldn’t go deeper without saying something about the day of the incident because Alison asked about the marks on the wall near the steps. I told Paul to wait a second and I would be back. I went out to find his doctor to ask how I should go about answering Paul’s questions. The doctor informed me that after some more testing from the time of their phone call early in the morning and the time I arrived at the hospital, the doctor could confidently say Paul was not suffering from amnesia.

With the “okay” to talk about the event with Paul, I went back into his room and told him what she was asking. I said I told Alison that Daddy fell down the stairs and hit his head, so he has to be in the hospital for a little while. Paul thanked me for taking care of the situation, and he did not realize the EMTs left marks on the wall. Talking about what I told Alison was the only civil conversation we had during my visit. The fight began when Paul asked when he would be able to see Alison.

“Paul, I had an emergency protection order placed against you yesterday morning.” I started.

“Are you kidding me? We are getting divorced! That doesn’t give you the right to keep her from me! I have never done anything to put her in harm's way.” Paul continued.

“I know getting divorced doesn’t give me the right to keep your daughter from you. I know about the drawings that you did the day you tried to kill yourself, and I would be a horrible mother if I were to let you near her until this is investigated,” I explained.

“What drawings? I didn’t draw anything! Maybe it was something Alison drew, and you didn’t see her draw it.” He said trying to push the blame onto a defenseless child.

“Are you fucking kidding me? You are seriously going to tell me that our three-year-old child drew a picture of her and her Mommy on fire outside of her home. I don’t think so, Paul. That statement proves how unstable you are!”

Before Paul could rebut my comeback to his awful and despicable defense, his doctor and a few nurses came in, ready to transport him to the psych ward. As they wheeled him out in a wheelchair, he turned to me and said, “You are coming so we can finish this discussion, right?” With a look of disgust, I looked at him dead in the eyes and replied, “No.” I did not give him the chance to fire back. I picked up my purse, slid past the group of medical professionals, and away I went. Incredibly, my day ended up a lot better the minute I left the hospital. There was zero traffic on the ride home, and I knew that I would not have to see Paul again until he came to remove his belongings from our home.

Although I did not physically go to the hospital the rest of the ten days Paul was there, I did receive calls from his doctor informing me of his mental state. The doctors were in contact with my attorney and Paul’s new attorney to confirm that at this time, a protective order was in Alison’s best interest. Of course, this infuriated Paul, and he tried to contact me daily to harass and try to convince me that everyone (including doctors) is wrong about him and he is perfectly fine, back to his old self. Well, his old self was a “man” who did not contribute towards his family whatsoever, nor did he try to. He could not hold down a job because he would self-sabotage. He no longer helped with his child and was sucking the life and happiness out of me. If that is his argument for coming home and being a “happy family” again the doctors needed to put him on some reality check meds.

Paul was released from the hospital way too early, in my opinion, but it meant we could proceed with our divorce. Like most divorces, ours did not go smoothly. Paul’s parents continued to be awful towards me, and Paul made two more (now half-assed) attempts at killing himself-- slitting his wrist the wrong way and driving off the road into a tree when the road conditions were perfect. After the third attempt on taking his life, the state stepped in and sent Paul to a state facility psychiatric hospital for forty-five days.

During Paul’s time in the state facility, Alison did not ask many questions. She did not ask why he was not around, nor did she ask to see him. The first week of treatment, Paul resisted everything and everyone. He told fellow treatment seekers they were the crazy people and he was only there because I am an evil bitch. Paul would spend his mandatory therapy sessions, staring at the therapist in dead silence and even went on a hunger strike for forty-eight hours. Although he felt I was an evil bitch, he still went out of his way to find a phone and harass me at least five times a day the first week.

The second and third weeks were more intense than the first; bargaining with other patients and staff members and willing himself to become sick. He ended up in the infirmary claiming he was having heart palpitations because I would not talk to him and he couldn’t keep anything down but bottled water. He started opening up in the group therapy sessions during the second week, telling the other patients how involved of a father he is and he is the sole breadwinner for his family, so he needs to be home with us. In the final days of treatment, the staff was confident in determining a diagnosis for Paul and prescribed medication for him to begin while he was still under their roof. Paul was diagnosed with Type-1 Bipolar Disorder.

During Paul’s time in the state facility, I proceeded with the legal aspects of the divorce. I met with an attorney in the first week of Paul’s stay in the facility. After five minutes into the meeting, the attorney stated with confidence I would receive full physical and legal custody of Alison. It took the remainder of the protective order duration to set up a court date once Paul was released. During that time, Paul did try to contact me, but I did not answer any of his attempts. I was confident, but also nervous, about the outcome of the hearing because I was worried I would have a judge that had the motto “A child should always be with their father.”

Paul showed up with his mother and in very unprofessional looking clothes. Acer vs. Acer read second on the roster so we would have to sit uncomfortably in the courtroom for at least thirty minutes waiting to be called. We finally heard our case being called and we both walked up to the stands. I was accompanied by my lawyer, while Paul sat by his lonesome. The judge came in from recess and clarified that we were Mr. and Mrs. Acer. My lawyer did not spare any detail regarding the events that transpired the week Paul was supposed to leave the marital home. Paul, on the other hand, did not have a defense nor did he seem to genuinely want any custody of Alison. After hearing all of the testimony, the judge was ready to make his ruling. He awarded me full legal and physical custody, and Paul earned supervised visitation every other weekend.

The judge asked me if I would like the visits to happen in the court’s family room or would I rather have a trusted friend/family member supervise. I stated I would prefer Paul’s parents supervise so that Alison would not be afraid. After Carole agreed to supervise, the judge signed off on his decision, and we were free to go.