Left for Garbage

lonely and people are nice to me, and I haven’t had that in so long I’d forgotten what it felt like.
    I need all the support I can get , too, because a few months after my suicide attempt, I was called in to meet with Salvatore Gutierrez and his associate, Jackson Early, at Early’s office. I think we met at Early’s office because Salvatore didn’t want me to see his office, which I’m guessing is a stall in the men’s room of some McDonalds.
    The meeting was serious and tense , and they didn’t tell me anything about the planned defense. All they did was ask me two questions: Had I ever seen Seel behaving inappropriately with Denise, and how long had I been sexually abusing my daughter?
    Well , they hadn’t answered my questions about how they planned to defend Denise, unless those questions were my answer, and so I didn’t answer their questions, either. I rose from my chair with as much strength as my shaking legs would allow and walked, or I guess I staggered, out. I didn’t make it any farther than the bathroom down the hall before I had to vomit up my breakfast.
    If it hadn’t been for the help I received in the hospital , and for the kind people at AA, I might have tried to find another motel room to finish myself off in, but I didn’t. Those people have helped me to be stronger. Instead, I sat down at a little corner diner I like and wrote a letter to Denise. I was so sick and so angry when I wrote it that I didn’t stop to think. At that moment I had forgotten, or maybe I just didn’t care, that every piece of mail that she receives at the jail is read and shown to the prosecutors.
    I wrote that letter when I was angrier than I think I’ve ever been but it wasn’t as bad as it could have been , because no matter what, I still couldn’t hurt her - she’s my daughter and I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t put it in black and white that I thought she was all those things other people say she is. And maybe, too, I understood even on that terrible day that the defense they were going for was the only defense that had a chance in hell of helping my daughter
    Where did Denise come from? I mean, I know she came from Margaret and me, but I’m not a bad man. I’m weak, yes, I accept that, but I’m not a liar and I’ve never hurt anyone intentionally. I love my family. I loved Deeley more than anything. I love all children, and not in some sick way, I just enjoy them for their innocence and sweetness, how happy they are in general. I love my dog. I like to garden. I’m not disturbed – sad, yes, but that doesn’t mean crazy. And Margaret may be stubborn and controlling, and even mean sometimes, but she’s not a liar and she’s not lazy, and she tries very hard to be a better woman than her nature could make of her, and she’s not crazy either.
    Whether people like to admit this or not , Margaret and I are not so different from anybody else, so how then did we create Denise, and why is she so very different from other people? Maybe Denise needs medication. Maybe it is biological. Maybe it’s youth. Maybe resentment. I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.
    I sent my letter.

    March 26, 2010

    Denise Margaret,

    Where to begin???

    I met with Salvatore in his associate’s office today and they let me know the gist of their defense strategy - your defense strategy - with the questions they asked me.

    I’m sure you know what the questions were already. I didn’t answer them, Denise, I couldn’t even speak. I can speak now and that’s what I’m doing here, speaking and asking you some questions, too.

    Why, Denise? Why destroy me, your father, who has always loved you. Why also destroy Seel? Why? Why also destroy Mom? Why, why destroy your family? You are destroying Deeley Margaret’s memory too. Can’t you see that?

    After all I have attempted, spent and sacrificed by continuing to remain by your side, my daughter, why??? I have shown up for your hearings, I came to see you whenever I could at the jail until you no longer allowed it. At the time I wondered why, but that’s one question I no longer have to ask, do I, Denise Margaret? You couldn’t face me. Can you face yourself, I wonder. Oh, my child, why have you done this, and why did you …?

    As you can see, I still couldn’t bring myself to ask the last questions, and naturally it wasn’t twenty-four hours before my anguished, very private, letter to Denise was posted on the Internet and analyzed by professionals such as