It was more a house of notes. Recklessly taped to the falls throughout the house. No order, just pure anger and emotion.

There was no secret regarding her unhappiness or why. He was a dreamer and she was a doer. Intentions were good, they were creative, they all had promise. But never brought to fruition. There was a wall that was often hard to define. Perhaps a partner was needed. We all have our strengths. And weaknesses.

She of many talents. Irrepressible and tireless drive.

But no faith.

Her soul mate. still, unfulfilled. Mailman he was not. Couldn’t deliver. Ever.

Disappointment. Tears. Shouting. Character assassinations. First for all to hear. Then the notes.

Taped throughout the house. Upstairs, downstairs, kitchen, even bedrooms. No wall was sacred.

The title, underlined on each at the top read, “His Way.”

Torn, opened and discarded envelopes. Kitchen stained memo pads. Forgotten backs of Christmas cards. The medium was varied, just needed space to write. Not sonnets, no grocery lists. Just itemizations in order of all his crimes, all his failings, all his unfulfilled promises. And according to her – there were many. Enough to fill a house. And often. My therapist inquired of the redundancy amongst his crimes and misdemeanors and I genuinely was unable to recall. I sensed each day brought more.

Still, he often seemed unaffected. He was not deaf. Fully aware of her daily disappointment. He chose to calmly listen and seek his solace in scripture. Did faith share some responsibility in his detailed and itemized failures, I am uncertain. His chosen angels remained absent and silent during these assaults. Lucifer would emerge on rare occasions when the taunts extended beyond tolerance. He would stand, throw down his books and loudly scream! A highly vociferous and animated Ryan Gosling asking Freud’s notorious question, “What do you want??”

The response she wanted and craved. Running about the house shutting windows and referencing the neighbors. Our embarrassment! Our dysfunctionality. Our collective failures firmly pinned on the patriarch’s shoulders. If he felt a beaten man he never revealed his own embarrassment or dismay.

On his deathbed when I boldly inquired, he still professed his undying love for her. Convincing in this devotion having never wavered. I chose not revisit “His Way.” As it would change nothing in his vision. For whatever I could never fully comprehend in my father or my mother, I sense the disconnect was simply natural to their covenant. He was anxious for the grave but more attributed to fatigue and pain than discontent or regret. happy and honored to have lived what he deemed a full life, proud of his children, and still fully in love with his soul mate no matter the darker words expressed throughout a lifetime.

Sadly, by the time I felt the courage to question her about these painful memories, her mind had taken that detour from where there was no return. So many unanswered question that demand reflection within our own loves and lives. My own house of cards.