Three Thursdays ago, at about 11:30 p.m., I was awakened by the telephone. I rolled over after the second ring, but couldn't get myself out of bed and over to my dresser to answer the phone before it went to voicemail. As soon as the voicemail notification popped up, I listened to the message. It was from my ex-wife, informing me that she had just returned home from the E.R. with our son, but that he was OK.
She went explain that the whole incident occurred when my son got home from football practice and her (irresponsible drunk) husband tried to help him take off his cleats. It seems that her (irresponsible drunk) husband has a device on his leg called an external fixator--this horrible contraption holds his leg together as a result of his recent (irresponsible drunk) trip to the E.R. resulting from him falling off of a curb and shattering his tibia. Anyhow, when my son's foot popped out of his cleat, his leg swung downward, directly into one of the five-inch long rods protruding from the fixator on the leg of his (irresponsible drunk) stepfather. His leg was impaled an inch deep into this awful thing, and he needed six stitches to repair the laceration.
I called her right back but she didn't answer. I called again in the morning to ask how our son was doing, and, while I was relieved to hear that he was recovering, I was furious about what had happened and that she waited several hours to tell me about it. I asked her if her husband was drunk at the time of the incident and, of course, she denied it and got indignant at me for even asking. She then handed off the phone to my son, and I talked to him. He was upset by the incident, but he stood strong and told me he would be right back on his feet, and so he was. He only missed one football game, and was back on the field the next weekend, when I came up to see him play.
So it would seem that everything turned out OK--my son was hurt, but recovered quickly, and seems to bear no mental scars from the incident. He was very lucky to have not severed an artery or developed an infection--this surely could have been much worse. I thought about the incident a lot for the next day or two. Yes, it was an accident, one that I suppose could have happened to anyone. But the more I thought about it, the more I came to realize that this incident was the direct product of living with an irresponsible drunk. The guy had this contraption on his leg in the first place because he fell while drunk. Furthermore, if a clear-headed adult had something like this on his leg, he would be more careful when helping a kid take off his shoes.
I got angrier and angrier just thinking about it. This was it: the crossroads. This was where I had to decide whether or not I was going to make a stand against my ex-wife's denial and deception and protect my kids not only from their (irresponsible drunk) stepfather, but from their (stupid stupid stupid) mother.
The next day I called my attorney, and asked her point blank, "if I can prove that the guy was drunk during this incident, can I get custody?" She didn't guarantee it, but she said that I would have a very strong case. She referred me to a private investigator, and told me that, if I hired him, he would find out "more than you think he will." The P.I. proved her right--he interviewed a couple of neighbors, who confirmed that the guy still drinks malt liquor all day long, is often verbally abusive towards both my ex and the kids, and often passes out in the garage or on the lawn. He also heard from one neighbor that my ex had come over to her house in tears a few months earlier, telling her that she couldn't control her husband's drinking and that she didn't know what to do.
Game, set, and match. The guy is always drunk, and she clearly knows it. I met with my attorney that Friday, right before picking up my kids for the weekend. Two days later, after dropping them off, I went to her office and signed the custody motion. I missed my flight home and got stuck overnight in Boston, but I wasn't even upset about it, because I knew I was doing the right thing.
I only wish that this newfound inner peace would carry me through the present and the immediate future, but there are too many other things eating away at me. First off, my ex wasted no time dumping this on the kids. The very day she got served, during my nightly phone call, my daughter got on the phone and told me, "I don't like the letter you sent to Mommy." At first I didn't know what she meant, so I asked her, and she answered, "You know, you told her that you want me to come stay with you forever. I don't like that." I kept my composure and told her, "I wish Mommy hadn't told you about that. That's really between Mommy and me." I simply can't believe that she would burden a six year old with this sort of information, but I guess I shouldn't be surprised by anything she does anymore.
Second, my current lifestyle continues to fall well short of being satisfying. I've begun counseling with my wife, and think that the therapist is good, but I still don't think that she is ever going to fully accept that she is in control of her own life. My job is proving to be far less interesting or rewarding than I thought it would be, and I find myself daydreaming about doing something else. I am still having trouble socializing and trying to make or retain friends, as I am consumed by anxiety.
Most of all, I have now put my children's futures, and my own, in the hands of the Maine District Court, the same court that refused my plea to remove the (irresponsible drunk) guy from my kids' lives two years ago. Maybe, in light of the new evidence and my far more ambitious request, I will get what I want this time around, but then I worry about whether or not I actually want it. As much as I love my kids, I worry a great deal about the impact of taking them away from their mother and depositing them into a new life just like that. I know people always say that kids are adaptable, but I can't imagine having your whole world altered like that. I suppose that's why I have resisted doing this for the past four years.
But now it's happening. I am reasonably sure that this will end up with one of two scenarios. If I do get custody, I will retrieve the kids and set about adjusting to a new reality. If I don't, then I have to assume that my kids will be staying in Maine until they grow up, and I will most likely go back there again, as much as I hate it there. After this latest incident, I simply can't imagine staying so far away from them, totally unable to help them or be there to protect them from the dangers in their own home.
Either way, my days as the Frequent Father are most likely nearing their end. Just typing these words makes my heart leap. The emptiness, pain, and emotional trauma that I've experienced over the past four years has pushed me to places I'd never been before, and hope to never go again. I know that many long-distance parents make peace with their situations and embrace the fact that their children will love them no matter what. Knowing that there is an irresponsible drunk in my children's home--and that their mother will never do anything about it--I simply have not, and can not come to that sort of acceptance.
I have now proceeded through the crossroads, but am not yet sure which road I'm on. I can't help but think of the so-called "Mixing Bowl" interchange, just a few miles from my house in Northern Virginia, where three interstate highways and several surface streets all come together. As you approach it, a jumble of layered ramps 10 stories tall lead in all directions, disorienting even those who drive through it every day. I have gotten on a ramp, but I don't really know where it will lead or how long it will take to get there. The only certainty is that, once I come out the other side, I will no longer be the Frequent Father, I'll just be Dad.
That's really all I ever hoped to be.
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