Tag Archives: relationships

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Father’s Day Ramblings

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About the only way to get them both in a picture...

Father’s Day is always bittersweet for me.  Because of my work schedule, I don’t get to spend it with my sons, but being a father is the most important job I have.  There isn’t a second I don’t miss them, and nothing can replace the time I’ve lost with them.  But I make every effort to make sure they know how much I love them and how much they mean to me.  Of all of my accomplishments, the thing I’m most proud of is the first 12 day stretch I kept them alone, feeding them every meal, changing every diaper, giving every bath, and getting them to bed each night.

I’m also lucky to have a great father, and he means the world to me.  He is one of the most patient, kind, and loving men on this planet, and he is the main reason for the man I am today.  I live my life in an attempt to the examples of hard work and perseverance he demonstrated.  The lessons he taught, the values he instilled, and the model he provided are all cherished memories that I hope to be able to pass along.

Thanks, Dad.  I love you.

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Tuesday Afternoon Ramblings

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January 2008 was one of the darkest periods of my life.  My children had just moved to Florida with their mother, and I was left with the enormity of cleaning out my old apartment to move into my mother’s house.  On the fourth or fifth day after the boys were gone, I called my aunt, Carolyn, for moral support.  She and I had always been close and had talked often over the years.  We had much in common, including our quirky sense of humor, and we laughed often whenever we talked.  At that moment, I needed to laugh desperately.

Aunt Carolyn had been battling breast cancer for several years, and around that time, she had taken a turn for the worse.  Her health had declined precipitously that winter, and though neither of us acknowledged it directly, we both knew that would be the last time we would speak to each other.  We talked for a couple of hours, mostly about the divorce and my kids, but also about life.  As we talked, I moved around the apartment, cleaning and packing as much as I could with one free hand.  Despite the fact that she was sick and dying, she comforted me and gave me strength.  We told each other how much we meant, and I’m grateful that I had the chance to tell her directly.  I’ll never forget that conversation and will cherish it for the rest of my life.

She passed away a month and a half later, on the day I had to take the boys back from their first return stay with me.  Literally, I was carrying them down the stairs to the car when I got the call.  I was already distraught over the trip and couldn’t handle more grief, so I stuffed it away and dealt with the turmoil of reliving the separation from my kids.  To this day, I haven’t grieved for her properly.  I’ve cried a few times, and I think about her often, but I haven’t really mourned for her.  That causes me quite a bit of guilt, though I’m certain she would understand given the circumstances.

Aunt Carolyn was one of my biggest fans.  She absolutely loved Brotherhood and as much as anyone encouraged me to keep writing.  Her words stick with me whenever I’m working on the series.  She was a good friend and a great aunt, and I’m lucky to have had her in my life.  This entry doesn’t do justice to the impact she had on me, but it’s a start.  Thank you, Aunt Carolyn.  I miss you.

General Posts

Friday Morning Ramblings

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Writing has always been my best way to make sense of myself and the world around me, so this entry will probably be a very rambling “Rambling.”  It’s no secret that losing my children is probably the deepest wound I carry, and that pain affects me in just about every aspect of my life.  Each time I see my sons, I have to relive that first separation, the day when I dropped them off with my ex-mother-in-law (a woman who still considers me her son and whom I still consider a second mom).  That day is the darkest and most painful moment of my life.  Every atom of every cell in every part of my being was screaming for me not to walk away from my children, and my heart literally felt as if it was going to explode through my sternum it was pounding so hard, despite the fact that I had taken a strong dose of Valium.  A part of my soul died that day, and only other people who have experienced something similar can relate to it.  Every time I have to leave my children now, I relive that day, and it messes me up for some time after.

The difficulty is that I need to see Collin and Finn as often as possible, not just for my well-being, but so that they will know in their hearts that their Daddy loves them and is there for them.  It’s truly a hellish situation, needing to see them but then enduring the separation again.  I try to deal with it, but the pain is like a tidal wave that washes over me and overwhelms everything else.  I wish I could simply choke it down and suppress the feeling, but it’s simply too enormous for that.  The short-term effect is that the way I’ve always dealt with my issues is to retreat into my shell, lick my wounds, and then re-emerge when I feel better.

I’m trying to deal with this issue.  I’ve gone to counseling, meditated about it, begged god to take it away, cried until my pillow was soaked, buried myself in physical labor, written about it, and pondered it a million times, but letting go of that pain and that moment eludes me.  There is not a second of my life that I don’t miss my children.  Sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night, terrified because I can’t see with my own eyes that they are safe and sound.  Sometimes, I’ll see good parenting out in public, and the sorrow of missing them drowns me.  Sometimes, I’ll see bad parenting and feel even more sorrow.  I try every single day to live my life in the here and now because that is the lesson I learned from my accident, but there is a part of me that is stuck on that day January 5, 2008 when a piece of my soul withered up and died.  I don’t know how to let go of that, but I know without a doubt that if I don’t find a way to move on, I will never be able to live my life fully, and I will never be a whole person capable of loving those around me the way they deserve to be loved.

So that’s my burden I need to resolve.  That’s the splinter in my heart that gnaws from the inside.  I don’t just want to heal from this; I have to, if I ever want to have any hope of finding peace and serenity in my life and of having a balanced, healthy relationship.