My mom and (ex) step-dad got married when I was 14 years old. They had been dating for about a year and we had just moved in together. He had been so nice- I can remember it so vividly. In our old neighborhood we were the only Jewish family, so that meant no decorations during Christmas time. I was fine with that, but sometimes it made me sad. To see different houses with twinkling lights and small battery-powered candles placed elegantly in each windowsill. Intricately decorated Christmas trees placed in perfect view of each living room window and presents tucked beneath them. I was jealous, I won’t lie. Chanukkah was fun and all, but we couldn’t hold a flame to how festive Christmas time got. But that’s all beside the point. One night my mom, sister and I came home to find our house lined with colorful Christmas lights. The large bulb kind, glowed softly in the dark of the night. He had put them up for us, and said “I was just happy to do something for you guys”. When my eighth grade formal came around, my dad couldn’t afford to buy me a dress. I came to my mom upset, wondering what I could wear to what could be the most important night of my life. Then he piped up, offering to buy it for me. Saying he’d love to do something nice for me. I felt so beautiful that night, in my sparkly white dress. Matching flats and all.
The day of their wedding, we all gathered together. A small group of just family and one or two friends. We went out to dinner and laughed together. It was warm and loving. Hearty meals and good wine. My mom looked beautiful, absolutely radiant. She had found such love. When we moved into his house, he said it wasn’t just his anymore, but ours. There was a small fireplace we’d chop wood to heat it up with. Worn leather couches and paintings of the small town we lived in. We’d eat dinner together every night we could, it was hard with his strange work schedule but we made it work. Some nights he’d come home from work, bolting straight to their room, without turning his head toward us. My mom would say he was just tired. I believed her. We’d still have fun nights exploring the town, driving with the windows down to feel the cool end of summer breeze. He would hold my mom’s hand and drive with his other. Sometimes his hand would twitch in her grip. Like it was involuntarily flinching away. I’d notice it, but neither of them would say a word.
When I was 15 turning 16, my mom came home with news. Her eyes were red and puffy, clean mascara recently applied. She was shaky and pale. Taking in deep breaths and tugging at the hem of her shirt. I can’t place where he was during this time. I think in their room. My mom, sister and I were gathered in the living room. We all sat for a while, the silence slowly filling the room. Churning like a thick butter.
“Girls, I have some news. I don’t want to scare you, I want you to know I’ll be fine. I promise you, okay?” My mom had said.
I could feel my breath hitch in my throat, and my palms started to sweat. I felt fidgety and could no longer sit still. What could this news even be? What in the world could have happened this morning that had her so worried?
And then the dreaded words came out, so unreal at the time that I didn’t process it for months. “I have cancer.”
She looked at us, gaging our reactions. My sister already had tears welling up in her eyes. I was mostly confused. My mom was the healthiest person I had ever known, a personal trainer for years. It just didn’t make sense. We took our time to give each other hugs, and my mom explained further on what this meant. Chemo, drugs, surgery. Scary words that again, got no reaction from me. We went about the rest of our days, until I heard my mom crying. I knew it was most likely about the recent diagnosis, so I went to comfort her. But then my stepdad came out of the room.
“I have a question for you.” He had said.
“What’s up?”
“Your mother thinks I’m being a dick. I had plans for today with my kids, and I want to go out to lunch with them. But she wants me here, to cancel them. You know I never get to see my kids, especially with work. She’s trying to make me choose between her and them.”
I had no idea how to react. Was this really the time? I know my mom had a terrible day, it would only make sense for her to want him here. But my dad’s girlfriend had gotten in the way of our relationship. I knew how his kids might feel. Maybe he was right. He was probably worried sick. There’s no way he felt good about having to go. He just couldn’t.
“I’m not sure. I guess you should see your kids, yeah.” I answered.
My mom spent the rest of the night alone, him coming home tipsy and ready to fall asleep. After days of tension they seemed to reconcile. He’d tell her she was strong, that she’d beat it. I believed him and she did too. He kept having those strange moments, as my mom went to more and more doctors appointments, with more and more planning on what to do regarding treatment. Where he’d make questionable decisions and get really mad at her if she didn’t agree with him. Or if she was hurt by those decisions. Maybe he’d stay out a little longer than he should, or drink a bit too much. Reeking of booze and the smell of cigarettes. Skin tinted a deep red color, and droopy eyes.
When my mom started chemo, he said he needed to move for work. That he’d be back for her appointments- if he could make it. She was so sad, so angry. He was angry too. That’s when I first noticed it on him. When he got real angry, veins in his neck would poke out of his skin, like little worms. But one in particular caught my eye as I watched them argue. It had a slight tint to it, and it looked black. The tan of his skin diluted the color a bit, but there was no mistaking it. It was black as sin. As he was yelling, I saw it spread a bit further, not much, it was barely noticeable. But there was a shift- almost like movement. I didn’t see him for a while after that argument, he packed up and moved out quickly.
He came back for her chemo appointment. He was not happy to be at home. There was no conversation with him, he was quick and snarky. Tapping on the coffee table until my mom had gotten herself ready, pulling on a silk headscarf to cover her newly shaved head. She was tired, moving a bit slower. It was a long day at school, but when I got home, they were sitting in the living room. He had a beer in hand, rambling a bit. When he noticed me walking through the front door, he beckoned me over.
“Your mom thinks I was being selfish for moving. I’m just trying to do right by my kids. Make enough money to put them through college.”
That’s strange. He had never even mentioned saving for them before.
“Why does she think she’s so much more important than my kids, huh?”
He had been glaring at my mom while he asked me. She was so upset, a fire inside her eyes. I just left the room. I told my mom I loved her and I had a lot of homework to get done. There was yelling by the time I was finished. It was muffled and blurring together as they had moved to their room. I moved my way over to their door, just to hear what was happening. The vile things that he screamed at my mother are too much to write even today. They were so disgusting I could feel myself burning with anger. Fists clenched involuntarily, teeth grit together. I had never wanted to hit someone so bad in my whole life. Before I could get up and barge in, he walked out. That was the first time I could see just how taken over he was. Thick, black veins coursed over his body. Creating a roadmap of sludge that tracked over all of his visible skin. He was salivating, gray foam dribbling from his mouth. He was twitchy, his joints bending at a quick and jutting pace. I had never been so scared in my life. The quick change of emotions gave me whiplash.
He didn’t really come back a lot after that, one or two more short visits. My mom was off the chemo regimen and stable in progression of her cancer. She was doing good, our home felt safer. There was still this lingering air of danger. He had been here and you could feel it. With every goosebump and feeling of being watched. They filed for divorce, and she was doing good. Her old medication had stopped working, but she was being put on something new. But then it came down to fighting over the house, who would get what. We decided on selling, and to battle the rest of it out at our new place. We had plans to move on January 1st. To start the new year fresh and excited.
She had to be in contact with him much more than she had been in months. She had mentioned to me that she felt bloated and uncomfortable a few weeks before. There was a lingering cough that she chalked up to nerves. I had gone to my dad’s for the next two weeks. Her and my sister thought they had come down with the flu just before Chrismukkah (our newly combined holiday). But as my sister got better, my mom got worse. And on the day before New Years, she passed. We got a text from him, offering condolences. I knew it was crap, that he could never feel sorry for what she had gone through. After all, he did say that she deserved it. I checked up on his facebook, and he looked scary. It was a seemingly normal picture, a selfie showing him smiling with a bright blue background. But in the corner of his eyes, the blood vessels had gone dark. And the corners of his mouth bled that black sludge just a bit. He looked normal in this picture, it wasn’t taken in the heat of an argument. It had taken over. I took a look at his Reddit account, and saw that he had commented under a seemingly sad headline. A man charged with his wife’s murder, and how statistically husbands leave their wives after a serious diagnosis. How disgustingly fitting. There was his comment,
“Assholes get cancer too.”
I hope he’s reading this, I hope he can escape this darkness that has taken over. Because while he had such a burning hatred for my mother and our family, I still remember the man who decorated our house with Christmas lights. Maybe that man is still in there, somewhere buried. Somewhere struggling to wade through the tar that has taken over. Desperate for an escape of his black sin.