91,000 Miles

Another 1,000 miles have been added to the frequentfatherometer, and it seemed like just another routine three-day weekend.  My wife and stepdaughter came along this time, so it was five of us crammed into a hotel room, enjoying the free buffet, the indoor pool, running around on the beach in spite of the cold weather, and even a jaunt down to Boston for the afternoon.  It was, as always, wonderful to have some time with my kids, but sad to say goodbye to them for a while.  The difference this time was the thing in the air, the thing we can't discuss, the specter that is haunting everyone.

The custody case.

It's been 2.5 weeks since the prior hearing, and it will be another 2.5 weeks until the next (and hopefully final) one.  I have hit new lows emotionally and mentally during this period, often unable to work, think, speak, or be around other people.  My nightly phone calls with my kids have been a burden, as I am so depressed I can barely converse with them.  In short, I am paralyzed by the way things are, and am absolutely frightened at the prospect of being told "no thanks" by the judge.

I am trying my best not to think about that potential outcome, but I can't.  I know it is very possible that the court will conclude that removing the alcoholic from the home will take care of the problem, and then give my ex one more chance to prove that she can be a responsible parent.  It's equally possible that the judge will conclude that she needs to know more about me and my lifestyle before transferring custody, which would mean appointing a guardian ad litem who would then spend several months and several thousand dollars investigating my life.  That may be the worst outcome of all: more waiting and more money that I don't have.

Being back in Maine for three days was harder than ever.  First off, I hate November in Maine--the trees are barren, the sun goes down before 5:00, and the permanent midnight of the Maine winter is beginning to set in.  Second, I felt myself feeling like telling my kids what I was doing and why I was doing it, but I know that I can't put them in the middle of this.  Finally, and most importantly, I found myself looking around, knowing in my heart that, if the judge says they have to stay where they are, I will have no choice but to come back to this place, where everything reminds me of failure, of the nine years of my life that I wasted there, of the stupid decisions that led me there.

In 16 days I will be back in the courtroom again.  I get three hours to prove to this judge that my kids need to be with me.  Those three hours will, for better or worse, permanently alter the course of my life and my kids' lives.  As much as I want that day to come, I dread it as well.  Either way, it is going to be a momentous day, one that will replay in my mind for the rest of my life.  I am in no way ready for it, but really, how could I be?