As I stand now in my empty home, I don’t feel so lucky. I grimace, my life so different from what I have always imagined. Grabbing the stack of mail that was stuffed into the mailbox, I start to sort through the junk mail and the bills that continue to come in. A large manila envelope addressed to me grabs my attention. When I read the return address, I start to feel my own heart beating. It’s from Eric’s lawyers.
I tear open the seal slowly and pull out the thin sheaf of papers. In clear and distinct language it lays out the divorce agreement between Eric and me. As I demanded, there is no alimony, no division of property. Everything we came into the marriage with we still own. Everything else is Eric’s. All that is required to make it official is our signatures. Mine first, and then I send it back to the lawyer for Eric’s. The attorney will be kind enough to do the rest. Dropping the papers onto the envelope they came in, I walk away, unable to sign.
Mama asked us all to meet at the hospital. She didn’t give us a reason, just scheduled a time and told each of us it was critical. I was hesitant at first, unwilling to see Papa. I haven’t seen him since I learned the truth, since I learned what he did to me, against me. But I can’t hide. If I do, then he has won. There is a part of me he has taken; if I run, I allow him to keep the power, to keep me in the place he put me.
He is still as he has been since he arrived here—no emotion, no capacity to speak. Where before I would have smoothed out his sheet, run my hands through his hair to straighten it, now I keep my distance. I stare at him from afar, seeing a stranger in a face that is as familiar as my own.
“Why, Papa?” I whisper. “How could you do such a thing to me?”
If he were awake, if he were able to communicate, I wonder how he would respond. What rationalization could he create for his actions? Maybe he would apologize to me, beg for forgiveness that I can’t give. Salvation is not his to demand, not from me, now or ever.
“I loved you unconditionally,” I tell him, though he already knows. All this time I have spoken to him on every visit, hoping my words of love and hope would wake him, bring him back. Now I need him to hear my anguish, feel the pain he has caused. It is all that is between us—questions with no answers. “I was so grateful to you.”
The admission gives me pause. I had never seen it that way before; instead, I assumed that his love for me was deserved, that I was deemed worthy, while the rest didn’t measure up. But it was not so, my own mind deceiving me. It was gratitude; I convinced myself I owed him for loving me. No child should ever feel such a thing. A family should be connected by love and appreciation for what every person brings into the relationship. A unity of hearts and souls, where fear has no place.
“You are lost. You always have been. And you tried so hard . . .” I pause. Biting my lip, I stare out the window, over the bedsheet that covers him. “To make sure we lost ourselves. But it didn’t happen, Papa. Somehow, some way I am going to survive,” I say with a certainty I don’t yet feel.
RANEE
It is time to say good-bye.
In Hinduism, no event, no matter how small, can occur without consulting an astrology source to gauge whether it is a good time. Before an engagement, parents consult with a priest to determine if the two people who are to be married have good energy, based on their birth times and dates, that can be matched for a fulfilling life. Marriage plans are made and broken based on the results. A child’s time of birth can lead a family to rejoice or despair. A child born during a dark period is sure to lead to hard times for the mother, whereas a lucky time will bring great fortune and happiness to the family.
Celebrations, rituals, travel are all decided based on the time that is most propitious. If an occasion occurs during a dark time, then pujas are held where the gurus, around a fire and statues of the gods, chant mantras and prayers that will help ward off all potential evil.