Chaos Theory

To understand my father’s murder, I had to adapt my view of life.

- Jodi Singer

One morning fifteen years ago, in London, I woke to thirteen missed calls. I assumed they were from an ex-boyfriend who often randomly invited himself over after the pubs closed. I didn’t bother to listen to my voicemails until after I had drunk my first coffee. To my surprise, the messages were from my sister back in Canada.

“Jodi! Something has happened. Call home.”

“Jodi. Where are you? Call home!”

Then my mom left the message that changed my life. “Jodi. You probably already heard that Dad’s dead. He was murdered. We’re going to be okay. Don’t worry. We are all going to be okay.”

I sat at the kitchen table, stunned. I tried to call my sister back, but she didn’t answer. I turned to my best friend, Stuart.

“Stuart, my dad’s dead. He was murdered.”

“What? What? Hold on,” he said when he picked up the phone. “I just woke up.”

Stuart rushed over to my house. While my siblings eventually filled me in on what they knew, Stuart booked tickets for us both to fly home.