Part IIl-- Father, Good Godzilla

As strong as my mother tried to be for herself, in the end, she didn't have to leave. It's simplistic to say that Dad simply learned how to tame his anima, but indeed that is what happened. Like spontaneous combustion. That hag within him, his all-consuming Hydra, learned how to speak. English, too. And that's when everything around us started to change. The world suddenly seemed lighter, the air easier-- everything took on a sort of roundness to it. It became, enjoyable. For all of us. All the time.



I asked my mother several times, "what happened?" How did it work, exactly? I wanted the tips for any marital catastrophes looming in my own future. She didn't know. She said something like I could take care of myself, figure out reality from where I stood. In the end, it was all about that. When I approached my dad a month before he passed, he listened in silence, hearing what Mom had told me years earlier before old age had finished its last pages upon their faces. Was it the mirror, Dad? Did you finally take a good look in the mirror? Was it Mom? When she said she was going to leave if you didn't give your monsters a name and a place, was it that? Dad?

Silence.

"The monsters are still there. Always will be," he said. "But that's not really why she wanted to leave." He paused. "Yes. Giving them a name, and a place-- it encouraged me to see them-- help them. But what it really was, is that they helped me. Yes . . . yes, they helped me in point-of-fact, to see her. Your mother. My wife."