Lillian's funeral
Remembering your mother's funeral has always been a difficult thing for me. I remember it with perfect clarity; it's the event itself that presents the problem.
I remember when you came home. Thirteen, or close to it, emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. Your eyes were not the eyes of a child, but of a much older man. You had spent so much time and energy trying to find someone who could save her... only to realize what she had come to accept years before. She was going to die, and nothing could prevent it.
You were in my room that night. You sat silently in a chair by the window, staring out of it, unmoving and to anyone else's eyes, unmoved. But I could see the pain, could feel it the moment I entered the room.
Nearly an hour had passed before you acknowledged my presence. You said nothing, but held your hand out to me. We sank to the floor together, and I held you while you cried.
Later that night, you sneaked back into my room, and slept curled up at the foot of the bed, as you had so many times as a child.
The day of the funeral, you hugged me tight before getting into the limo with your father. I was not allowed to accompany you; I was staff, and we had our place, and were not to step outside it. At the church, I sat with the staff, as instructed. I wanted to be beside you, holding your hand, and it broke my heart when you turned to look back at me while the priest spoke. Your eyes pleaded with me to join you, but it was forbidden.
At the grave, I watched you as you fought not to cry in public. Your father clenched your hand in his, but I couldn't see his face to know if he needed to feel you close, or if it was for the press who hovered just outside those who came to mourn. Again, the staff were not allowed to stand with the family.
I wanted to hold you. I'm sorry I didn't defy your father and do so.
You were exhausted that afternoon, and had fallen asleep in your room. I left your side to return to my suite. Passing your mother's sick room, I heard a noise, and stopped. The door was unlatched, and so I pushed it open a bit, curious as to who would dare enter that sacred space. I knew the staff had emptied the room shortly after Lillian's demise.
Lionel sat under the window, sobbing, a vase of wilted flowers broken on the floor beside him. He had pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, and his head was lowered. I tried to leave without being seen, to give him privacy in his grief, but he heard me, and looked up.
His eyes were filled with misery. He reminded me so much of you in that moment, curled in on himself and defenseless, that I crossed the room and knelt beside him. We said nothing, but I smoothed his hair while he wept on my shoulder.
That night, after you had gone to bed, your father called me into his office. With you away at school, and your mother no longer needing my care, he had decided to dismiss me. I argued with him, Alexander, implored him to at least keep me as a retainer for holidays and weekends when you were at the mansion, but he refused. He had decided that you were old enough to take care of yourself. Part of him may have wanted to be certain that you would turn to him for comfort rather than to me... I don't know. Perhaps it was retaliation for daring to comfort him.
I was to have my belongings packed and out of the house before morning. He informed me that you had been given a mild sedative to help you sleep, and I would be uninterrupted. I was to leave no note, and I was not to contact you under any circumstances. You were not my child, he informed me, and I had no right to think that I had any priviledge where you were concerned. If I defied him in this, he would disown you, and ensure that I would not work as an au pair again.
In the weeks that followed, my lawyers informed me that I had no grounds to attempt to gain custody of you. I had no legal right to contact you, and Lionel certainly had justification to hire and fire staff as he chose, and to forbid contact with his underage child afterward, if he so chose. He could file a restraining order, they told me, if I decided to press the issue.
Even if he disowned you, I had no grounds upon which to try to become your guardian. Any attempt, my lawyer reasoned, would be seen as an effort to gain access to Lionel's finances, or, if your father decided to ruin me, to make it seem that there was an inappropriate relationship between us. My lawyer assured me he knew there wasn't, but your father was known to play "dirty pool", as he called it.
I'm sorry.
I remember when you came home. Thirteen, or close to it, emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. Your eyes were not the eyes of a child, but of a much older man. You had spent so much time and energy trying to find someone who could save her... only to realize what she had come to accept years before. She was going to die, and nothing could prevent it.
You were in my room that night. You sat silently in a chair by the window, staring out of it, unmoving and to anyone else's eyes, unmoved. But I could see the pain, could feel it the moment I entered the room.
Nearly an hour had passed before you acknowledged my presence. You said nothing, but held your hand out to me. We sank to the floor together, and I held you while you cried.
Later that night, you sneaked back into my room, and slept curled up at the foot of the bed, as you had so many times as a child.
The day of the funeral, you hugged me tight before getting into the limo with your father. I was not allowed to accompany you; I was staff, and we had our place, and were not to step outside it. At the church, I sat with the staff, as instructed. I wanted to be beside you, holding your hand, and it broke my heart when you turned to look back at me while the priest spoke. Your eyes pleaded with me to join you, but it was forbidden.
At the grave, I watched you as you fought not to cry in public. Your father clenched your hand in his, but I couldn't see his face to know if he needed to feel you close, or if it was for the press who hovered just outside those who came to mourn. Again, the staff were not allowed to stand with the family.
I wanted to hold you. I'm sorry I didn't defy your father and do so.
You were exhausted that afternoon, and had fallen asleep in your room. I left your side to return to my suite. Passing your mother's sick room, I heard a noise, and stopped. The door was unlatched, and so I pushed it open a bit, curious as to who would dare enter that sacred space. I knew the staff had emptied the room shortly after Lillian's demise.
Lionel sat under the window, sobbing, a vase of wilted flowers broken on the floor beside him. He had pulled his knees up and wrapped his arms around them, and his head was lowered. I tried to leave without being seen, to give him privacy in his grief, but he heard me, and looked up.
His eyes were filled with misery. He reminded me so much of you in that moment, curled in on himself and defenseless, that I crossed the room and knelt beside him. We said nothing, but I smoothed his hair while he wept on my shoulder.
That night, after you had gone to bed, your father called me into his office. With you away at school, and your mother no longer needing my care, he had decided to dismiss me. I argued with him, Alexander, implored him to at least keep me as a retainer for holidays and weekends when you were at the mansion, but he refused. He had decided that you were old enough to take care of yourself. Part of him may have wanted to be certain that you would turn to him for comfort rather than to me... I don't know. Perhaps it was retaliation for daring to comfort him.
I was to have my belongings packed and out of the house before morning. He informed me that you had been given a mild sedative to help you sleep, and I would be uninterrupted. I was to leave no note, and I was not to contact you under any circumstances. You were not my child, he informed me, and I had no right to think that I had any priviledge where you were concerned. If I defied him in this, he would disown you, and ensure that I would not work as an au pair again.
In the weeks that followed, my lawyers informed me that I had no grounds to attempt to gain custody of you. I had no legal right to contact you, and Lionel certainly had justification to hire and fire staff as he chose, and to forbid contact with his underage child afterward, if he so chose. He could file a restraining order, they told me, if I decided to press the issue.
Even if he disowned you, I had no grounds upon which to try to become your guardian. Any attempt, my lawyer reasoned, would be seen as an effort to gain access to Lionel's finances, or, if your father decided to ruin me, to make it seem that there was an inappropriate relationship between us. My lawyer assured me he knew there wasn't, but your father was known to play "dirty pool", as he called it.
I'm sorry.