Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Eve's Ribs

In the months after the divorce, my daughter saw a child psychologist to help her deal with the shock and confusion of her new reality. The therapist was a calm, sweet woman who had seen it all, I sensed; she would meet with me after her sessions with P. to let me know how my babydoll was doing, what she was concerned about, how I could help her. These minutes would often be filled with my own complaints about my ex, borne from my panic that I wouldn't be able to protect P. from the pain that I so desperately wanted to erase from our lives. Mostly I would recount P.'s stories about what he said and what he did, things which proved to me that he had gone off the deep end because they seemed so unlikely and bizarre.