They took her away from me. Nobody seems to get that. I finally found the love of my life; the girl I married and they stole her. They took her and my fucking daughter and all anyone can do is tell me how sorry they are. No one is sorry. They’re sorry that someone has to go through this shit, but deep down they don’t care. They don’t understand.
I’m a fucking celebrity, my life is supposed to be good. They think I can just replace them, that I’ll go meet another girl at a club, get her pregnant and move on with my life. It’s only been six months and everyone thinks there’s something wrong with me because I won’t leave the house. A therapist comes in three times a week and sits on the couch across from me. He tells me I’m depressed. No fucking shit. I’m glad I’m paying this asshole thousands of dollars to state the obvious.
I’d kill myself; I have no reason to live without my girls. If it weren’t for my mother I would have done it a long time ago, but I can’t hurt her like that. She loved Kelly just about as much as I do, not even to mention that look in her eye when we told her Kelly was pregnant with Lemmie. My mother’s been begging me for a grandchild since I was sixteen and then I gave her one and they fucking took her away.
How is that fair that a beautiful two year old doesn’t live long enough to go to school or learn how to write her name? She never even got to go to Disney World, that’s fucking bullshit I should have taken more time off so I could take her. What kid doesn’t go to Disney World? I didn’t even teach her how to swim. Kelly wanted to but I was afraid she was too young. It figures I was always overprotective of her and then it happens when I’m on the other side of the country and for once can’t be overprotective.
I was in Tampa, Florida getting off stage after a sold out show. It’s always at that second as I get off stage after two hours of going crazy and listening to people literally scream of excitement over me that I just look up to the sky and thank god for everything he’s given me. I’m one of the lucky ones, or at least I was. That moment is ruined for me forever, fuck that the whole performing and music thing in general is ruined.
My cousin Rachael was standing backstage, crying more than I’d ever seen her cry. She doesn’t cry, she’s a tough chick but she was bawling. My security guard, Lonnie, was hugging onto her tightly. He pulled away from her when he saw me and I realized he was crying too. That was the moment I realized it was something serious.
“What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
Rachael shook her head before covering her face with her hands. “I can’t tell him.”
“Somebody’s gotta fucking tell me, what’s going on?”
“There was a horrible accident,” Lonnie spoke quietly. This is a four hundred pound man; he does not ever speak that quietly.
“What kind of an accident? Kelly? Is she all right? My mom? Oh fuck, Lemmie? Don’t fuck with me, what’s going on?”
“There was a car accident, the car was totaled.”
“WHO?” I screamed it this time.
“Kelly and the baby.”
“What?” I wanted to scream but I couldn’t, all I could do was whisper, “They’re ok though right? We’ll get them a new car and everything will be alright.”
That’s when it started, “I’m so sorry Justin.”
Since that day six months, a week and three days ago I’ve heard those two words, I’m Sorry every fucking day. They loose their meaning when you hear it so much. There is no meaning to those two words. They mean shit to me.
Kelly wasn’t a celebrity, that’s what I loved so much about her. She was normal, drama free, and she kept me on track. Whenever I got caught up with all the shit entailed in being a celebrity she’d be right there to bring me back to reality. She never treated me like I was someone special; she never let me get caught up in the shit. It only makes sense that she get in a car crash because she’s being chased by fucking paparazzi trying to run her off the road.
Kelly hated Los Angeles, she hated California in general. She’s from Arkansas, not too far from where I grew up in Tennessee. We met at my Granny’s 70th birthday party and as much as I hated to admit it at the time I did fall in love with her that first day I met her. She was fully content living her life in the middle of nowhere where she could teach second grade. I had to live in Los Angeles because that’s where my work is, so she moved out there for me. She hated every minute of the fame. She always said how weird it made her feel that people wanted to take her picture or even ask for her autograph.
But, because of me, she moved to Los Angeles. Because of me she was driving to the fucking grocery store and those assholes drove her off the road. If it weren’t for me she’d still be living in Arkansas, teaching those twenty-five seven year olds. I should have just moved back home to Tennessee. It would have been possible for me to just go out to LA when I needed to and keep my family private.
What kind of a father puts his daughter through the kind of shit I put Lemmie through? She was two fucking years old! From the fourth month of Kelly’s pregnancy the assholes have been in our face trying to get pictures of the baby. It used to be easy for me to stay away from them; there were always certain places that you know they’re going to be. I was always good at staying away, which probably had a lot to do with my lack of interest in the Hollywood Hotspots.
When everyone found on Kelly was pregnant it got out of hand. They’d camp outside our driveway and wait for us to leave before following us wherever it is we’re going. They scream and yell and try to make us look like we’re pissed off so they can come up with some bullshit story about how our marriage is failing. For the record, our marriage could not have been going better, and as soon as we found out Kelly was pregnant we were living on cloud nine.
Kelly always wanted to be a mother; she knew that was her purpose in life. She loved kids; I mean she was a second grade teacher so that says enough in itself. When we got married and she moved out to LA with me she went looking for a job to teach almost immediately. She didn’t need to work, I told her she’d never have to work another day in her life, but she wanted to. That’s just the kind of girl she was. When she had Lemmie there was that instant connection. I was worried about being a father but Kelly never was worried about being a mother. She knew she’d be an amazing mother, and she was. She wasn’t overprotective like me, she let Lemmie explore. Kelly came up with fun activities and could spend all day rolling around on the floor with our daughter and be as happy as can be.
And Lemmie, my daughter. I always wanted kids, but it’s scary as hell when the time actually comes. My goal was to be a better father than my father was to me. Up until that day I thought I was actually reaching my goal. I was the worst father in the world. I have my father beat. All my dad did was fail to be there for me, he ignored me and got remarried and had a new family, forgetting I even existed. That’s nothing; maybe I should have ignored her. Maybe I should have left her alone, then she’d still be here.
I didn’t even get to know her. She was just starting to talk; I wish I could have had more conversations with her. I’d give anything to have just one more day with her. I lived for those little moments, like waking up in the morning sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal, as Lemmie would just look at me with those big blue eyes and that bright smile, watching my every move. She was always smiling, the perfect kid, I can’t even think of a time she wasn’t happy. She’d just sit there watching me and then out of nowhere she’d throw a piece of her rice cereal at me and giggle the day away.
“Justin,” I heard my mother’s voice as she came into my dark bedroom and opened the curtains letting the sunlight in, “It is two o’clock in the afternoon. Have you been up at all today? What about yesterday?”
I pulled the covers over my head and chose to ignore her. I’ve heard you have a third of the time you’re together to get over a breakup. I was with Kelly for six years so I have two years to get over her. But that’s just for breakups, I think I should get at least double that if she’s killed, probably triple if she’s killed because of me. Then there’s Lemmie, that’s two more years, but she’s my daughter so I should have as long as I fucking need before I have to get out of my bed.
“Justin, baby,” I felt my mother sit down on the bed next to me and pull the blankets away from me, “You’re really worrying everyone.”
“Well don’t be worried then.”
“You need to get up, this isn’t healthy. It’s a beautiful day the sun will make you feel better. Why don’t we go golfing? That always makes you feel better.”
“I don’t want to go golfing.”
“Justin,” she answered before taking a deep breath, “You need to get out of this house.”
“I’m not a child, you can’t tell me what to do anymore. This is it Ma, this is me now, you’re going to have to get used to it.”
“This isn’t it. This isn’t you. I know you’re hurting baby, we all are, but this isn’t how you should deal with it.”
“Well I’m all out of whisky so unless you want to go get me some more this is how I’m going to deal with it.”
“We packed your bags and you’re coming home to Tennessee. You need to be away from this city and you need to get out of this house. But you’re not going to hide in bed back home either. We’re going to get you some help and I know you think you don’t need it but you’re coming home and we’re going to figure this all out.”
“I’m not leaving this house Ma,” I answered pulling the sheets back over my head. I can’t just leave this place; it’s all I have left of my girls.
“Baby, I need you to get better. I can’t loose you too. I just can’t do it. I know you’re not worrying about you, but do it for me. I can’t see you like this Justin, do it for me.”
Why does she have to put it like that? I know, because she knows I can’t say no to that. “When are we leaving?”
“Just as soon as you clean yourself up,” she smiled and kissed my forehead after I sat up, “I love you darling, it’ll be ok.”
