For those of you who have been following my "father debacle," you'd know that there's been A LOT going on with him.
And what I'm about to tell you will freaking SHOCK your socks off.
But for those of you who don't know, let me give you the "short" version of the story.
My dad lived with me for 3 years. On December 31st of last year, I sent him back home to work things out with his estranged wife. I wouldn't allow him to bury his head in the sand anymore and made him "face the music" with her, whether that meant filing for divorce, patching things up, or whatever.
Little did I know that the decision I made to send him back almost killed him. Literally.
You see, I didn't know it but while my dad was living with me, he continued to support his wife's household. In other words, he kept paying all the bills on his house while she lived there.
The part he DIDN'T tell me was that he started going into debt to continue supporting her. Mind you, this is the same woman who was living in his house that's solely titled to him and...didn't want him to live there.
But, she didn't mind him paying all the bills because she hadn't worked since the late 90s so she lived a pretty posh freeloading lifestyle. For decades.
My dad is quite a bit older than she is. And as he got older, his body started to give out. He couldn't work as hard or as long as he used to. Which is why he wasn't able to maintain the household as well as he did before.
I kept telling my dad, "Sell that f****** house!" He refused.
And then push came to shove.
I was busy moving my entire household from California to Florida over a very long spring/summer of this year. I didn't notice much of what was going on with my dad. He lived about 90 minutes south of me in a little town in South Orange County called San Clemente. We hardly ever saw each other. Then I moved. And that was that. I thought everything was fine.
Then I came back to California in August because my daughter had Taylor Swift tickets for one of the LA shows.
I saw my dad while we were there. He wasn't looking so hot. I asked him if he was okay. He seemed fine...just depressed. I thought maybe the stress of the estranged marriage was finally starting to break him. I told him that I thought it was time for him to sell that house. He said he started talking to his wife about selling but the "talks" weren't going all that well. My dad seemed...slower. Kind of confused. Maybe a bit delusional. I just chalked it off as stress related and called it a day.
In November my daughter and I went back to California so she could visit with her dad for a week. I saw my dad while I was there and that's when things started to take a dark turn. He was NOT the same person anymore. He barely shuffled into the breakfast restaurant we agreed to meet at. His face was a chalky white-gray color. His eyes were sunken in his head. He seemed confused, completely out of it...as if someone gave him a strong dose of morphine. He was definitely weeks away from death, if that. Maybe days away. And I panicked.
I excused myself from the table and went to the lobby area of the restaurant where I called Ron Espinoza in a panic, asking him what I should do. I knew I needed to get my dad OUT of the situation he was in and I had to do it right away. I quickly formulated a plan, made arrangements to get my dad OUT of California ASAP, had my real estate agent bring a listing agreement for my dad to sign on the spot, and called the plan Operation Military Extraction.
Because that's what I felt like we were going to do: snatch him from his house in San Clemente and take him to Panama City Beach, Florida.
It would be more than two weeks after that day when we agreed to pick him up and drive him across the country. I silently wondered if he'd stay alive that long. Or if he's perish in that time frame before we could rescue him out of that situation.
The Saturday after Thanksgiving was his "extraction" date. Ron flew to John Wayne Airport in Orange County and drove him out of California to Vegas that day. My dad wanted to see his lifelong friend Patrick one last time before (presumably) his death.
The moment the two hit the road to Vegas, my dad called his soon-to-be-ex-wife Catherine and the first thing out of her mouth was...
"I'm still on your life insurance policy, right?"
Ron looked at my dad with disgust...not believing that this wretched woman had said such a thing. No mention about his health, how he was feeling, etc. Just... "Am I still on the insurance policy?"
At that moment, Ron mentioned that he thought maybe my dad was poisoned. My dad was confused, disoriented, could barely walk, couldn't remember anything...was just a shell of a person. People in hospice care generally have more cognitive skills than my dad had at that time.
A few days later, Ron and my dad arrived in Panama City Beach. I immediately visited this "supplement wiz" in the local area who gave me a hardcore regimen of vitamins to help my dad flush out his system.
We had his blood drawn.
In the meantime, his bitch of a wife kept calling and texting, asking about the insurance policy. Over and over and over again...asking about whether she was still a beneficiary on the policy.
The blood results came back.
Turns out he WAS poisoned with cyanide...found in some brands of ant poison.
I asked my dad how she could have poisoned him. He said that she kept insisting there was an ant problem -- even though he never saw any ants in his house -- so she had him CONSTANTLY go out to buy different ant poisons to remedy the phantom ant "problem." She even had him buy several different brands because she said most of them didn't work.
Evidently she was using this poison...mixing it into his protein powder. Here he was having a daily protein shake, thinking it was making him healthier, and it turns out that it was killing him.
I've never been in a situation like this...a live unraveling episode of Dateline. And I have NO IDEA what to do.
I was so upset at her that I texted her...telling her that we know that she tried to poison him. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything and just sent the Sheriff to her doorstep.
As it stands now, they don't seem to take "attempted murder" all that seriously. Apparently someone actually has to get killed for the cops to care. She got rid of all the evidence, no doubt. The blood test just shows poison in his system. We have that. We have her text messages about the insurance money. But that's about it.
As of now, my dad is still healing. He's gaining his memory back slowly but surely. And I do believe that if it wasn't for those supplements, he'd likely not be alive right now. So, if I get to keep my dad and not have the bitch hag prosecuted for attempted murder, it's definitely the better scenario.
Plus...karma is always a bitch.
And as for the insurance policy? She was removed as the beneficiary the moment he hit Florida. So much for trying to kill him off for the money.
The moral of the story: enjoy life as much as you can. You never know if or when your last moments are.
See you at the top!
P.S. My Underground Secret Event in Detroit on May 17th, 18th, and 19th is filling up. (You can attend virtually or in person.) But, perhaps best of all, I have my SUPER DUPER WINTER BLOW OUT DEAL running right now where the price is a FRACTION of the regular cost, you can bring someone with you for free, and you'll get a whole pile of bonuses I've NEVER offered before. CLICK HERE to watch a quick video where I talk about the event and jump on board ASAP...before it's too late.