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When evil has a faceMar 04 '01 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Sometimes a step-family can be a beautiful rewarding experience. This is the other side of the story. When a step-parent remarries.
Sometimes in life you need to walk away from the things you love the most to save yourself in the end. I have been struggling with the thought of telling this sordid little tale, but I have decided if my experience can save just one person some pain it will be worth it. Let me preface this by saying that step-parenting can be a wonderful experience. I was blessed when my Mom married my (step) Dad for he proved to be a kind and loving father, a friend, a mentor, and someone I continue to miss and cherish to this day. My parents had a loving marriage, and though we faced our obstacles, they were my Camelot. I had the time of my life. This story is about the after. Though rather bizarre, it is within the realm of possibility for so many of you who have also lost your parents. This is the story of the step-parent that remarries. The story of my Dad and the unscrupulous woman that would enter our lives with all the darkening forces of a hurricane. It is an extreme situation and I have changed all the names to protect the innocent. In this piece, as always, I refer to my step-father as my Dad, for that is what he was. How it came to be... My mother had been the love of Dad's life. After she passed away he was inconsolable. He mourned deeply. But he was alone, roaming around that remarkable tuduor home, on a quiet corner of small town Canada. I was there as I much as I could be, but I had my own family, a new husband, an eight year old daughter, and our new baby girl. I, nor my sister, could be everything he needed. We knew the time would come when he would meet someone else, and I braced myself for that possibility early on in the game. My Dad became one of the most eligible bachelors in that small town. He was quite a catch, handsome and oh-so-charming. He could get away with anything, say anything, do anything all the while making everyone laugh. I'm not exaggerating when I say he was loved by all that knew him. He was working at a real estate office, and one fateful day, his co-worker Lisa offered to set him up with her mother on a blind date. It had only been six months since Mom had passed on and I thought it was too soon, but it was his decision to make. I knew he was lonely. He didn't seem very impressed with this new woman, Jean, and I was flabbergasted when he called one day, asking that I meet her. I was nervous, very nervous, but I went. I walked in the front door with my husband and my children and called hello. There was a sound from the kitchen and as I rounded the corner I could see them standing in the darkened room, in my Mom's house surrounded by all the things Mom had loved. Jean had her arms wrapped around my Dad as if they had just kissed. Most women would show some respect. Without thinking they would know they were treading on fragile emotions and treat the situation as such. Jean just grabbed my Dad tighter and stared me straight in the eyes with all the warmth of a tiger hiding in the bushes. She was staking her claim. There are a thousand different reasons why I disliked this woman, and i will not divulge them all to you here. She was crass, unfeeling, a master manipulator. She fell to her knees in the name of Jesus every time she wronged us, every time she said something hurtful, every time she lied. She must have lived on her knees. And here is where the lesson of this story comes in. After my Mom died, my sister and I did not take anything out of the family home, not even those special items that she had left to us. Dad wanted them there, and we understood. I had no worries that there was more than enough time to remove all those bits and pieces that reminded us of another lifetime. We would be proven wrong. It was a fateful error. When bad things happen to good people... After Dad and Jean dated for a short while, they did marry. And I did try to support him, even though I had strong misgivings about this woman. She of course moved into my Mom's house and did nothing, and I mean nothing, to hide her sheer joy that she was living in such nice surroundings. She moved right into my mother's bed, the same one Mom had spent so much time in when she was sick and dying. The same bed she had shared with Dad, looking out the window at her gardens and the lake that glittered like jewels. It was repulsive. And it only got worse. My Dad became ill shortly after they were married, and was eventually diagnosed with cancer. He would pass away six months later. My sister and I would be thrown into that hurricane. Two nice girls whose only crime had been to love their parents. The night of that sad March day, Jean and I sat at the kitchen table, discussing the arrangements that had to be made. I will never forget the look of hatred that crossed her face, the resentment and jealously she had towards a woman that was dead. She sat there calculating the expenses of the funeral, the cost of keeping the house, the monthly amount of my Dad's pension. "You know" she said, making no attempt to hide her anger "I wouldn't be in such a bind right now if your Dad hadn't spent all his savings on your Mom when she was sick". An anger that is entirely uncharacteristic of my nature swelled in me that night. I have never wanted to hurt someone before, and that frightened me. So I did what I had to do, I forgave her, putting it down to an ill-said statement brought on by the throes of grief. But then she did something very strange. She would not make the arrangements. She would not go to the funeral home or speak to the director. We were puzzled, and more than just a little upset. So my husband and I made the arrangements, trembling as we sat in the small office of the only funeral home in town, facing a man who embodies every stereotype of an undertaker. And maybe because it was a small town, and maybe because he was just an odd little man, and maybe because he despised Jean as much we did... he let us in on a little secret. There was a reason that Jean would not go to the funeral home. She had been there twice before to bury two other husbands. But she hadn't wanted to pay for that last service so she had offered sexual favours to the staff in lieu of cold hard cash. And that was the real beginning of our education on Jean. Time to walk away... I never told her what I found out, nor did I ever mention it to her children, that would have been too cruel. So I kept it a secret, and somehow I made it through the funeral, and somehow my Dad was buried with all the honours of a military service even though Jean insisted that was not necessary. It was apparent that she had never really understood him. We only had to get through the reading of the will and our life with her would be over. But despite the fact that my sister and I owned a great deal of property in the house, that all those things great and small were saturated in sentimental value, despite that the wills of both my parents said certain things should come to us, Jean refused to let anything go. It was quite a coup. Coming from having nothing she ended up with a beautiful waterfront home filled with another woman's belongings. She was voracious in her hunger, fed by greed. Any pretense that she had ever shown suggesting that she cared for our feelings would be left trampled on the floor. My sister is much stronger than I and went to claim what was rightfully hers one night and a battle ensued that resulted in the police being called and my brother-in-law falsely charged with assault. Jean would never drop the charges and the police investigation went on for three hellish months before his innocence was declared. Months later, after the dust had settled a bit, we were finally allowed to remove a few things, but so many more had to be left behind. I know many people that would have cried foul and fought the good fight to the bitter end. But I decided it was time to walk away. A court battle, the constant fighting, the continual presence of Jean in our lives would have been emotionally devastating. I had memories, I had my self-esteem. Nothing was going to take that away from me. You may wonder why, three years later I choose to write this now, a bizarre and twisted experience that I have worked very hard to put behind me. I have one issue that is yet to be resolved before I can say I am completely done with this woman. She has never put a headstone on Dad's grave. That this remarkable man, a highly respected Major of the Canadian Armed Forces, a loved member of his community, still lies in an unmarked grave is one of the great sadnesses of my life. So yesterday, with great trepidation, I called Jean to find out, once and for all if she had any intention of completing this final task. She lied to me. I knew it. So I called her daughter, Lisa, the one who had introduced Dad to this Jean in the first place. I think I was looking for some closure when I called Lisa yesterday. I hadn't spoken to her in nearly three years even though I knew that she had been placed at the center of an ugly scandal this past May. A scandal that rocked the small town I have spoken of and shattered Lisa's life and nearly destroyed her five children. I wish now that I had called her sooner. I had heard the rumours this past and it broke my heart. Yesterday I found out the rest of the story, and today I am still recovering from the shock. You see, there is an even more insidious force lurking behind the scenes of this tale I tell you now. A story of a mother that beat and scarred her children, cheated on her husbands, compulsively lied to everyone she knew. A woman who has no love or remorse in her heart. A woman who had an affair with her daughter's husband while she was married to my Dad...while he lay sick and dying in the next room. I was absolutely beside myself last night. The woman who I thought I knew was even more evil, despicable and frightening than I had ever imagined. I was tempted to pick up my sword again, and go back and fight, to devise some way to reclaim my Dad's good name, to get that woman out of my Mom's house. I paced my own little halls like a mad woman, and finally I have come to a conclusion. I'm going to walk away. Once again I will return to my happy memories and hang onto to those for dear life. If I fight Jean I know I will lose more than I could possibly ever gain. I will not let vengeance overtake my life, it is a poison that I have seen seep into too many other families, step and otherwise, tearing them apart as they battle things. And that is what they are, just things. I will never have my Mom's grandfather clock, the first nice thing she ever bought for herself. I will never have the piano that she sat at everyday, teaching her young students and discovering her own strengths and creativity in the process. And even though justice would say otherwise, my sister and I will never have my Mom's engagement ring that Dad had given to her with all the love and promise she deserved. Jean had that made into a man's ring. A gift for her son-in-law. To mourn these things is human, but the images that float into my mind when I think back to happier times are worth more than their weight in gold. I will mourn them no more. And today, though still feeling a little shaken, I am relieved that I can finally go forward and right a wrong that has pervailed for the last three years. I know with certainty now that Jean will never honour her last commitment. With a clear conscience, and without dread, I will go forward and make plans for my Dad's headstone. It will be an honour. The lessons... To say that I hope you, dear readers and valued friends, will never find yourself in a similar predicament is an understatement. As hard as it is sometimes, if you have been left valued possessions in a will, claim them as rightfully yours. I so wanted to do the right thing for my Dad, I had no idea there could possibly exist any one person who could coldheartedly deny me of my mother's precious belongings. I have no wish to place the fear of God in you. Step-families can be beautiful. As an adult step-child we face different challenges, the hardest part is often letting go of the past to let the remaining parent move forward, to make a life of their own. And we have to do this without blame and recrimination. But having said that, if life throws you a curve, know when to walk away from a fight and save yourself. Life is far too short to be wasted on bitter battle, and preserving your own dignity and self-worth is far more important. And to prevent yourself from going crazy lean on your family and friends that truly care about you. In my dark hours last night, when I found myself alone, an epinions comrade was there for me, helping me gain perspective on this whole ugly situation. So after a great deal of ranting, and a great deal of soul-searching I fully embrace that I have been blessed with far more goodness than evil in my life. I am fortunate, and oddly enough I have no regrets. I'm more than walking away. I'm walking forward.  |
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