I am so sorry Cori, for all those years I prayed for God to remove your Father from my life, to release me, but we couldn’t keep away from each other.I feel such guilt.”

Oh man, Tonja brought out the big apology yesterday. AGAIN

We were in her living room. She sat in her brown leather recliner, dressed in black pants and one of her blouses by St. John. Her feet elevated on the foot rest with her swollen ankles on full display. She looked the opposite of Mom. Fair skin, round face and red hair. Her eyes were cloudy, just like Trixie’s. It made sense, Tonja is 86 and Trixie is 80 in human years.

Tonja held her crystal goblet filled with brandy in her right hand as her left hand gripped the arm-rest.Her hands were always so pretty. Long slender fingers with perfect nails painted red. But time and rheumatoid arthritis had made their presence known. There was no way that big diamond ring from Dad was coming off her finger. Even with all the olive oil in the world, there was no way it could get past her deformed knuckle.

Next to the recliner was a small table. On the table, the Mother’s Day card I gave her was displayed along with a tiny dish. It looked like one of those dishes they have at a sushi restaurant for the soy sauce. But what this one held was much better…three Vicodins and a Valium. I could have used one.

Trixie and I sat caddy-corner to the recliner.

I wondered…

Does Tonja ever think of the time Mom figured out where her and Dad were having an afternoon tryst and took me there at 11 years old? Mom placing me smack dab in front of their motel room door, knocking and then running away. Dad opening the door. Me seeing them both in their white ones. Robbed of more innocence. Does she have any idea that to this day, I can’t drive by a Holiday Inn without my stomach clenching. By the way, try driving 25 miles on the freeway and not seeing a Holiday Inn. Good luck.

I wonder if she knows all the Christmases and Thanksgivings I missed my Dad, knowing he was with her and her daughter.

I wonder if she knows that Mom ALWAYS referred to her as The Nazi Spy, and usually it was followed by a line. The Nazi Spy with Itchy Pants, The Nazi Spy with Open Legs, The Nazi Spy with a Pumpkin Head, The Nazi Spy the Home Wrecker. Should I continue?

I wonder if she knows I didn’t go to their wedding when I was 12 years old because I couldn’t bear to see my Dad marry another woman.

I wonder if she knows I never dreamed of having a family.

I wonder if she knows I have worked hard through the pain, but it still lurks deep in my cells, lying in wait.

I wonder if she knows that I often believe I will never see the man I’m dating again, when we say good-bye.

I wonder if she knows that I believe you can still be a good person and have an affair.

I wonder if she knows I referred to her as my Dad’s wife for 35 years and as my Step-Mom for the last ten.

I wonder if she knows that I forgave her long ago.

I responded to her apology…”I love you, Tonja. You are a blessing in my life.”