I look over at Gabby, and she nods her support.
“My mother was an alcoholic,” I continue. “The pressure of my father’s job as he climbed the ladder at his company was incredible. I don’t ever remember her being drunk, but I think her tolerance was so high you could never tell, and alcohol was part of an executive’s lifestyle, so it was always around. Anyway, my father was not always kind or tolerant of my mother. I was a kid, so I didn’t understand what was going on behind closed doors. He pushed her into rehab, and she’d go to meetings. I didn’t understand it, but she’d be dry, and then something would happen, and she wasn’t. She was never a stumbling drunk, but she’d make plans with me and then not show up. And every now and again, I’d walk home from school because she forgot to come get me. When I was in high school, my dad orchestrated an intervention and put her in a treatment program for ninety days. I didn’t know at the time that he also served her with divorce papers while she was in rehab.”
I stop and take a drink of my water. My hand trembles, and I’m not sure I can continue. Everyone waits patiently for me.
“When she was released, my father had an apartment for her, and I wasn’t allowed to see her. He told me she didn’t want to see me. He made it sound like my mother thought she couldn’t be sober and be around me—like it was my fault she was an alcoholic. I didn’t understand, and I missed her so much. Then one day, she showed up outside my school my senior year, and I spent the afternoon with her. It was so much fun. We went out for burgers and ice cream and hung out. I didn’t think it was a big deal, but when my dad found out, he cut her off financially and took away my car. We only wanted to spend the day together, and I needed my mom in my life. I didn’t care about the car, but I began to see how my father used his money to make people do what he wanted. Mom never said a bad thing about my dad, but some of the things she said and he said didn’t add up. My father remarried a very formal and cold woman named Alicia, who didn’t have a maternal bone in her body. She pretty much counted the days until I left for college. Unfortunately, my mom didn’t have any skills beyond being a hostess to get a job.”
I look around the room, and everyone is listening intently.
“My mom did the best she could for a few years without my father’s financial help. She lost her apartment and would live on a friend’s couch or in her car. I went to college in Austin, and she would come down and sometimes stay with Gabby and me. She was drinking, and when my dad learned she was in Austin, he got ahold of her and promised her money and an apartment if she’d leave me alone, but she refused. She didn’t want to be manipulated by his money. I guess they got into a big argument about my graduation, and the week before the ceremony, she took a handful of pills and left me a long letter, and that was it. She was gone. She was buried where she grew up on Corpus Christi. I almost didn’t take my finals. I was devastated, but Gabby was with me the whole time and was my only support. She got me up off the floor, into counseling, and worked with my professors to make sure I graduated. I owe everything to her.”
I hold Gabby’s hand and smile as the tears rim my eyes.
“My mother hadn’t had any money since the divorce. Alicia took all her jewelry, and they gave her clothes away. That was upsetting, but there was one thing my mother did leave me when she died, and it was that letter. The police told me about it, but my father kept it from me. I pressed for it, but he still refused. Gabby’s father is an attorney, and with his help, we finally went to court. My father argued that it would only hurt me, but I won. The judge admonished my father for being controlling and manipulative.”
I’m full-on ugly crying now. “I realized then how my father had used his wealth and power during his marriage to my mother, and after the divorce. He’d agreed to give my mother money if she’d sever all ties with me. He would have happily paid her off with a fancy apartment and a huge allowance, but only if she wouldn’t see me again. She didn’t agree, so he left her homeless and penniless. Her alcoholism wasn’t my fault. It was a disease. He means well, but his vision is so warped. He uses his money to get what he wants. In my mom’s final letter to me, she apologized and said without funds or a means to work, and her inability to quit her addiction, she couldn’t go on. She told me I was the best thing in her life, and she’d love me forever.”
I’m physically drained. My head drops into my hands.
“Thank you for sharing your story,” Jim says after a moment. “It’s important to have all the information as we plan our next steps. You need to be a part of choosing these steps, but let’s discuss them in the morning. You must be exhausted, and nothing needs to be determined tonight.”
Jackson leads me to the guest room, and Gabby stays with me. As we lie in bed, she tells me, “You’re the strongest woman I know, and whether it feels like it or not, you have a lot
