A Chick in the Cockpit (20 page)

Once Lynn moved his blame train off the track, we could all feel a shift as Brad's defensive story progressively turned into a confession with gut wrenching tears—from both of us. He apologized to Lynn for lying to her and then turned to me and said he was sorry. He said he was sorry about losing control, making me lose my career, and ruining my trust.

My brain ran through all the emotional checklists available, and I still didn't know how to react or feel about this acknowledgement. Over the last ten months, Brad had never apologized for that day or anything related to it. Just hearing him explain how he snapped and went into a “haze” was both vindicating and horrifying. He remembered everything he did to me that day in vivid detail. Ironically, court records would reveal him stating that he couldn't remember anything because he “blacked out.”

Lynn said that it would help Brad to visualize his apology if he wrote me a letter, explaining how he felt about what he'd done. In his letter, Brad admitted that he was the aggressor, and that I should never have been arrested, and that, in fact, it was he who felt out of control and should have been arrested. He called the police because he was scared of his own actions. He signed it “Your husband, friend & Lover. Brad”

Vindication. There it was, in writing, and yet it wasn't as satisfying as I thought it might be. Okay, so he finally admitted it. It's something I'd wanted since it happened. Great. Wonderful. But, oh my God, he still did it. He still did those things. My faith and trust in him had been demolished, and I could only wonder if he'd do it again. I couldn't imagine the first incident, how could I prepare for the next? I'd been so focused on the one “incident,” hadn't I been denying everything else he'd done?

Finally, my soul turned its attention to the next exhibits of evidence with a vengeance. It was quick to point out that during our first year of marriage and even while I was pregnant, he'd called me a bitch, a cunt, a dumb shit and a prude, to name a few. Name calling was so minor on my list that I hadn't even brought it up in therapy, but it was still there, passively aggressively hurting me. He'd embarrassed me in front of friends and family every chance he got. There were so many instances that they blur together. Our family home videos showed over and over happy scenes where everyone is smiling and laughing, only to have Brad say something like, “What was that? Erika, did you fart?” It would be so completely untrue and so shocking; it would pull me away from the happy moment to process what he'd said and wonder why in the world he would do this. It wasn't funny, but he thought it was hysterical. To me, it appeared that he was jealous whenever I was happy.

Brad stole so many happy moments because he had to control my emotions and the scene. And I let him do it. My self-worth was so low and I was completely wiped out at the thought of more imperfection. So instead of saying, “Who cares if you thought I farted?” I stopped what I was doing to fix it. I had to fix it.

To complete the loss of control, Brad had convinced me to turn my accounts over to him when I was in the throes of early motherhood. His name was on everything, from my savings accounts to retirement plans. It was minor relinquishing to a husband. It was expected. A signature added here, an additional account member there.

Pieces of me were now scattered around the corners of our lives. I was truly flying blind and all my indicators were sending me wrong signals to the point where I had missed the approach and couldn't land at an alternate airport.

Could I ever put myself back together again?

The next few months were an overindulgence of self-help sessions. I was in my diversion program therapy and attending marriage counseling with Brad and Lynn.

The irony is that my domestic violence class was teaching me the exact opposite of what I was being taught in marriage counseling. Each teacher was adamant that their way was correct and the other was wrong. Gina's emotional, angry in-your-face delivery was her way of getting me to confront the situation. On the other hand, Lynn was gentle and loving and hopeful. Gina was right. Lynn was wrong. My intuition at the time was in a diabetic shock and it craved the sugar, so I drank Lynn's Kool-Aid.

I blindly trusted Lynn because she was a therapist. In a way, Brad even used her against me to justify his behavior.

At a minimum, Lynn should have known abuse, seen it, and done something about the abuse because Brad had admitted all of it to her in our sessions. But instead of teaching Brad how to deal with his hair trigger anger and emotions, she left it up to me to learn how to deal with it, to forgive it, and to behave in such a way so as to not receive it again. I was so broken that I couldn't tune my own compass and hold the heading. Instead, I'd flown straight into a thunderstorm simply because I didn't want to lose my heading.

19
Abnormal Landing Checklist

1.
Abnormal doesn't mean you can't do it

2.
Focus on what is working, not just the malfunction

3.
Think through worst case scenario

4.
Plan on worst case scenario

Anytime you have a mechanical problem, it is easy to forget that the airplane continues to remain completely flyable. Sometimes a crew can get so focused on an abnormality that their attention draws them even further away from safety.

Although any problem on the Abnormal Landing Checklist is considered serious, it is NOT grounds for hurrying a procedure and possibly missing a step that, if properly executed, would have resulted in correcting the problem. Conduct the procedures systematically as a coordinated crew in combination with assistance received from outside sources, and don't hurry. Be methodical.

Under “challenging” conditions (like trying to land with one landing gear stuck in the up and locked position), the probability of commonplace errors goes up with workload, fatigue, confusion, and stress, which can often give a snowball effect that increases the chance of even more problems and errors, thus creating a vicious cycle. Although infinitively easier said than done, this is the point in your life where you have to stop responding reactively and start thinking proactively. Stop looking at the bad indicator and acknowledge the rest of the functioning systems. The glass is half full. Think about what systems you have working normally and make sure they are ready for landing, as well as paying attention to the malfunction.

Time adds an extra dimension of pressure to the situation. When you first get a bad indication, it inevitably gets all the attention at first. That's fine, give it all you got, but immediately pull yourself back into the entire situation. If you're in a landing situation, you have to immediately decide the level of importance of the problem and decide to pay attention to it, ignore it, or just deal with it.

When I was a new copilot on a Falcon 20, we were coming back into the St. Paul Downtown Airport. While on the downwind leg, we were almost set for the landing. I was the copilot, so when the captain asked for gear down, I dropped the lever and listened as the captain pushed the power up. “Hmm, what's going on?” he asked, which isn't a lot of detail, and for a new copilot, I thought I'd done something wrong.

“What? What do you mean?”

“The power isn't coming up on the right engine.” To confirm his conclusion, he pushed the lever up and nothing happened.

“Falcon N123, you are cleared to land on runway one three.” Tower interrupted our confusion with instructions. “Roger, N123 cleared to land one three,” I replied. The way I saw the situation is that we had plenty of airspeed, still had an engine pushing us forward and, except for the last setting of flaps, we were set to land.

“Don't just accept the landing clearance without talking to me first!” He replied, while still playing with the power lever.

“Why not? Just land!”

“I don't know if this will affect my hydraulics, so maybe we won't have brakes.”

“Oh yeah...”

Now our minds were racing through systems training and trying to decide that if it failed completely, was there anything we needed to do about transferring hydraulic systems. We just didn't have time to run a checklist. It would be stupid to depart the pattern and take the time to figure it out if we have an engine failing. We were so close to the safe airport. “Well, if we lose brakes, just plan on using the emergency brakes.” We both agreed that would do.

In the meantime, he had turned onto final approach. Now, the anomaly with the STP airport is that there are two runways only ten degrees offset from one another. We were cleared to land on 13, which was shorter and we didn't use as often. So out of routine and chaos, the captain was lined up with 14, but I saw an airport operations truck at the other end of the runway.

My mind was reeling with information processing overload, and I asked myself and the captain out loud, “Oh, dang, I think we're cleared to land 13?” The captain said no, we're landing 14, but he did me the honor of telling me to double check with tower. “Tower, Falcon N123, can you verify which runway we're cleared to land on?”

“Runway One Three.”

“Oh shit,” was the captain's response. We just didn't have time to explain, or ask, or tell anyone what was going on. He just banked it hard and landed on 13, even though we had engine failure and were set up to land on runway 14.

Our passengers had no idea, but our chief pilot saw the landing. He greeted us on the ramp and looked at me and asked, “What the hell was that?!” Since I was the newbie, he assumed that the circus stunt was me. I shook my head, gave him a warning look to be quiet, and told him to wait until the passengers left. For the passengers, even though they were just a mere few feet away from us, they had no idea the chaos and danger that existed. From further away, and with an experienced eye like the chief pilot, he knew we were having an issue. But, since we were on the ground to talk about, it couldn't have been that bad.

After Brad received his initial counseling with Lynn for being the
victim
of domestic abuse, it was sex, or the lack thereof, that was the driving force behind Brad's desire to take me with him to attend marriage counseling. Brad stated to everyone we knew that I had a mental disorder because I wouldn't have sex with him.

At a friends and family gathering, Brad was blatantly rude to people. His mom informed my neighbor that Brad's bad mood was because I wouldn't have sex with him. My neighbor was so outraged at this breach of privacy, that she took my hand and walked me to the driveway to tell me what had been said. I was horrified that Brad would dare discuss a private matter such as this with his mom, and that she felt it necessary to announce it to my neighbor.

In spite of that, it was true. I wouldn't cuddle or reach out to touch him. It was an admission he described at our first counseling session together with Lynn. The image of his words was that I was an unloving icebox who wouldn't put out, and yep, I readily admit I was completely withholding sex. Brad said I was being controlling and a complete monster for doing this. I was his wife and this was part of being married. He called me cold, frigid, and a bitch because of it. Even though I was a new mother with some pretty solid reasons, my state of mind was such that I absolutely agreed. My new lack of self-esteem allowed me to believe I was now all of those names he called me, but I was so repulsed by the idea of letting Brad touch me that it made my skin crawl. Dozens of times he had simply crawled on top of me and said it was time to let it go. My reaction was pure terror and revulsion. I'd get him off of me and leave the room. I'd spend the rest of the night tramping down the feelings of despair growing into my core. I just didn't like him. I had no respect for him, and I didn't like anything about him. After all, sex begins in the brain, not the body.

On the other hand, I felt that I should love him. I had a responsibility to learn how to love him. Damn it. He had admitted his weaknesses and errors in counseling. He had cried and apologized and told me he loved me. He was experiencing emotion and love, while I had shut down my systems and just wanted to land.

Brad also came to the realization that he couldn't force me to love him. He had gone to such great lengths to control me that I think he was frustrated to discover that giving and receiving love couldn't also be controlled. He believed that being honest and admitting his mistakes meant that all should be forgiven.

I constantly felt it two against one. Lynn, the therapist, and Brad were always trying to get me to play along, and this had me constantly at odds with what I believed in every cell of my being. They felt that as long as Brad acknowledged that his frustration and anger caused him to enter this mysterious “fog” that blocked out rational thought, the battle had been won. Never mind that it happened or would happen again...just pay attention that Brad is aware there's an error in the system. I could never do that as a pilot, so how was I supposed to do this with him?

For me, I was even more frightened. He admitted he'd completely lost control of himself when he was angry. Not knowing the answer to a software question is justification for uncontrollable blackout rage? Really? God, what if I did something really bad? How could I trust him with Lindsey if she didn't know what might set him off? Hell, how could I ever trust him with me? Yes, he finally acknowledged it,
but what were we going to do about it
? Lynn's fallback answer was that the disclosure letter Brad had previously written forgave the possible future behavior. Like a good Catholic, she said he should be forgiven for his sin. Lynn gave me the role of God in forgiving Brad, and believed his penance was complete simply because he had admitted his guilt.

When I resisted in giving him absolution, Lynn rolled her eyes and asked me if I understood how hard it was for Brad to admit his guilt. I said I understood, but I silently wondered if she realized how hard it was for me to even hear it. To live it. To be the woman who received it. He would never have written his confession if Lynn hadn't made him do it. It was a forced confession. I still had to re-live what he'd done to me and how his moment of insanity had cost me my livelihood, everything I thought I was, my self-respect, and pride and peace. She'd had twelve sessions with Brad as
the victim
, and it was obvious to me that he was more or less her client—not me.

Lynn's way of fixing him was proving to me that he understood his actions, and I could see that an enormous burden of guilt was suddenly off his shoulders. His albatross was gone, but it flew immediately onto my shoulders, and Lynn made me feel that it was completely up to me to take on the full responsibility of making this marriage survive. Lynn was more or less telling me that Brad was cured. See? Look what a good boy he can be.

The question I had been asking myself—
am I crazy for not being able to get over this?
—was being answered
for
me, not
from
me. Yes, forgive Brad and move on. He's cured. He's fixed. He recognizes it and apologized, so it won't happen again. Right?

After everything I had been through, I just wanted to believe it so badly for my daughter that I skipped some important items on my abnormal landing checklist. Oh, hell, I pretty much threw away all my checklists. I felt an obligation to make this work, but I also had another internal pressure tugging at my soul. I was thirty-six years old and had an intense requisite in my heart that Lindsey should have a sibling.

As shallow and selfish as the reasoning was, I knew I didn't have the ability to divorce Brad and meet someone new in time to create a family dynamic for Lindsey to grow up with a sibling. I knew in my heart that Brad and I would probably never stay together forever, so for better or worse, I decided to fill the emptiness in my heart by having another child. Not very politically correct, and even a bit conniving, but I'm damn glad I did it. Not one moment or thread of regret attached.

~~~

I couldn't have a child without sex (well, I guess I could've...) so back to the sex issue. Lynn said that sex had become a barrier for me with Brad, and I needed to jump this hurdle. She said I'd lost the ability to feel intimacy with Brad, but if I would just break through that wall one time, I'd remember how much I once loved him, and I could then find it within myself to forgive.

So, I drank too many margaritas and set aside my thin thread of sanity. Ironically, the week Brad got sex, our couple's sessions with Lynn came to an end. His excuse was that we were out of money again, but what he really meant is that after six couples sessions he was cured! Which meant he finally got what he wanted, so he was done with her.

During the ultrasound, I kept praying for another girl. Me, the tomboy who'd spent her whole life around men and feared the feminine mystique, wanted another girl. Brad wanted a boy and he was sure this time he'd get a boy. When the nurse said, “Oh, yep, look right there...you can see her Big Mac, it's a girl!” I gasped in happiness and Brad took my hand in sorrow and said, “Well, that's okay.”

We named baby two, Piper. While pregnant with Piper, Brad's anger issues were predictably bubbling to the surface again. The sight of my pregnant belly kept Brad from using me as his anger catcher. However, I told Brad it was time to see what other kinds of help we could find when I saw him pick up a wheel barrow and throw it down the hill. Thankfully, we had health coverage at the moment since I was paying seven hundred dollars per month to have insurance (for the pregnancy). He agreed to meet with another therapist. But this time, I made sure it was a real psychiatrist who wasn't at all like Lynn.

His diagnosis was completely different and Brad was flabbergasted. He came home and scoffed at the idea that he might have bipolar tendencies, or depression. The doctor had prescribed some drugs and wanted Brad to try them for a few weeks. The doctor advised him it wasn't an instant effect, and to give it some time before evaluating how he felt while on them.

I researched the hell out of the definition and held my breath as each symptom matched the behavior. The research results also led to the definition of a sociopath. For the first time, I realized there might be a name for this type of behavior besides being an asshole. I was elated to think that there might be some help for us and a specific cure for the behavior. After two days, Brad said he didn't like the way he was feeling on the medication, but that he'd stick with it.

In the meantime, my dad had invited us for an all-expense paid trip to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It was our Christmas present, and since I was under the influence of pregnancy hormones that made me cry at a Hallmark commercial, I relished the idea of spending a week with my dad while reconnecting with the stranger I married. I felt blessed to have been given this opportunity to travel again, too, but I was leery about having Lindsey stay with Bernice for so long. Bernice reminded me that she'd raised two boys and they turned out just fine, so when I was four months pregnant, Brad and I headed to Cabo for a week of sunshine in January.