83,000 Miles

I have told myself many times that I will never again let a visit with my kids go by without writing about it soon after returning, so as to preserve the memories.  I guess I've failed, as I have been to Maine twice since my last entry, and it's been almost three weeks since returning from the second trip.  I have been making excuses about having too much going on with my new job, or buying a house, or making plans for the upcoming summer, or my chronic neck pain flaring up, or watching the hockey playoffs. 

Well, my last excuse is now out the window, thanks to the Capitals not even mailing in their Game 7 performance--I gave up after two periods when it was 3-0. I didn't even care if they came back or not, as I was just too angry about too many things to keep sitting there.  I went to the basement and turned on the Wii, which I really only have for when my son is here, and spent an hour blowing off steam with various Wii Sports games.

With my mind flowing again, here I am at the computer at 11:30 at night when I have to be up at 6:00 am tomorrow to get ready to deliver a speech in front of a room full of people by 8:00 am.  But there really isn't much to say.  My son turned 9 in March, and my whole family gathered in Maine (me, wife, kids, stepdaughter, and my mom) to celebrate.  I came back in late April to see my daughter's T-ball debut, and got a wonderfully sunny, warm couple of days that featured several hours each day at the beach and at various playgrounds.  And I'll be going up one more time at the beginning of June for my daughter's dance recital, then returning four weeks later to collect the kids for my summer visitation.

These are the rhythms of the year that I mentioned a few posts back, and it has all played out more or less exactly as expected.  Meanwhile everything else marches along apace: money is being earned, prestige is being gained, flowers are in bloom, a house (not a townhouse, an actual house) is under contract, and so forth.  It only took one telephone call to flip all of this contentment on its head.

My phone rang at 4:00 this afternoon, just as I was leaving a meeting and heading home.  It was my ex-wife, calling to inform me that our daughter had taken a fall on the playground at school and landed headfirst on the asphalt.  My ex dashed out of work and right over to the school to collect her.  She had a large bump on her head and complained of dizzyness, but a visit to the doctor confirmed that there was no concussion.  My daughter got on the phone and told me that she was scared, but was OK now, but there was a sadness in her voice that I had never before heard from this always happy-go-lucky child.  I was overcome with an urge to hug her and kiss her on the cheek and tell her that Daddy loved her and was here for her, but, of course, all I could do was tell her those things over the phone.  My son got on the phone and I asked him if he would give her a hug and a kiss from me, which he did.  He may torment his little sister all the time, but he still loves her.

I suppose I could have walked away from the phone call and said, "oh, well, at least she's OK and she knows that I was thinking of her and that I love her," but I just couldn't do it.  Instead, I just turned angry and seethed over the fact that I couldn't even so much as put an arm around my little girl and give her comfort.  All of the rationalizing about why I don't live near my kids and how their futures will be so much better because I'm actually earning a decent living suddenly rang 100% hollow.  In that moment I felt the very foundations of my new life turn to quicksand.

In the hours that followed, my nerve endings were exposed in a way they haven't been in many months, with every tiny bit of stress or unwelcome information sparking further rage.  I retreated to the couch to watch the hockey game, hoping that a Game 7 victory would restore my spirits, but by the end of the second period I had worked myself into the sort of lather that would have caused me to punch a wall a couple of years ago.  I found myself snapping at my wife to just leave me alone and not speak to me.  I had to turn off the TV and bury any false hopes that my team would stage a miracle comeback.  After all, the Caps have been letting me down for 39 years...why would things turn out any different this time?

The intervening hour spent playing Wii, including a therapeutic bowling match against my wife, released some of the pressure.  By the time I was done, it didn't matter so much that my fitness age was 55 or that the final score was Rangers 5, Caps 0.  After all, it's just silly video games and an equally silly sport played by millionaire mercenaries.

So the anger is gone for now, but the damage remains.  I miss my kids, and I will never get over that fact.  I just want to be there for them, and I can't be, at least not on my terms.  But I've covered this ground before, and lived and relived these scenarios, and I know that I can't just fold up my tents and go back to Maine, back to the life of poverty, despair, and emptiness that I left behind for good two years ago.  We are buying a house and putting down roots here.  The house is old and needs repairs to shore up the foundation before we can move in, and then it's going to need wholesale upgrades in the years to come to make it the home we want it to be.  But that's what we can afford, so that is what we have to do.

I won't force the analogy too much, but I have to step out the quicksand and pour a new foundation to support the facade of my long distance parenthood.  My daughter loves me, and I know that for certain.  I guess I'll just have to give her extra hugs and kisses when I see her in a couple of weeks.