There haven't been any more frequent father miles added in the past 3+ weeks, but the tickets are already purchased for the next two trips, one in mid-September and one in early November. Six short days spread over two visits--that's all I'm going to get with my kids until Christmas, as this is their mother gets them for Thanksgiving in odd-numbered years. The mere fact that I have already purchased the tickets and made hotel and rental car reservations is a sign of progress. In the past, my anxiety has been such that I haven't been able to commit myself to buying the tickets until it's often too late. The result of my procrastination has typically been that plane tickets get so expensive that I have to do some creative travel gymnastics, like taking overnight buses or trains, or flying back home at 5:45 a.m. on Monday morning. Thankfully there won't be any of those this time around.
As with last August my wife decamped for two weeks in Atlanta with her daughter; they arrive back in Virginia in about two hours. I'm not sure exactly why they need to make this trip. On the surface, it's for my stepdaughter to spend time with her mostly useless father, but all he's able to spare for her is a few hours on Tuesday and Sunday afternoons. Even though my wife has gone as far as to offer him use of our house and car for a few days if he comes to visit here, he has never come up to see his daughter, and I'm sure he never will. When I think of all I do to maintain my relationship with my kids it makes me viscerally angry at the guy for not giving two sheep about his daughter. I guess he'll pay for that when she grows up and hates his guts.
So why is she there if not for that? She says it's so her family can see her daughter, but we were just there for a week two months ago. Then she says it's because her mom and aunt are getting older and sicker, but: 1) they don't seem any different to me; and 2) they could come to visit us here, as they both have all the free time in the world. In truth it's just that, at 39, she still doesn't see herself as a grown-up, because her mother and three older sisters will always treat her as such. She simply can't live her own adult life independent of her family.
She proved that fact in spades during her time away. The first day she was gone, she told me that she had registered a positive pregnancy test. She had already been pregnant twice before since we've been back together, with both ending in miscarriages within 8 weeks. In both instances she had, against my wishes, gone and told her whole family, thus creating expectations. My thinking has always been to not tell anyone until after the first trimester, lest there be an issue. The fact that it had happened twice before, I think, validates my point of view. Anyhow, there it was. She tested positive, I told her not to tell anyone, and she said OK.
A few days later we were talking about it, and she was telling me that she was feeling very tired and nauseous, and was "worried" about what her family would think. I told her that it really wasn't their beeswax, as people are allowed to get sick. I could tell in her voice what was really going on--she had obviously spilled the beans. I asked her about it and she said that, yes, she had told her mother. She then went on to say that she had already told her mother several days earlier, and had lied to me when I had asked her if she had told anyone. Apparently her mother found out before I did; she screamed in the bathroom after testing positive, and her mother asked if she was OK, so she told her the news.
No big deal, right? Her mother inadvertently found out, and that should have been that. But, no, she had to lie to me about where things stood. As I see it, she decided to protect her mother, rather than our marriage. Up until this point I was actually doing OK during my time alone--I was certainly doing better than my two weeks alone last August when I ended up in the ER and almost checked myself into the psych ward. But then, what? My wife had just clearly demonstrated to me that our marriage did not and would never come first to her, that her relationship with her own family would always take precedence.
I have been alone with this thought eating away at me for the past week, and it has sent me back into a depression. Aside from going to work, taking a bike ride with a childhood friend, and my daily phone calls to my kids, I have had no contact with anyone else in the past week. I haven't attempted to make any plans with anyone, and I've mostly just moped around the house. I have spoken very infrequently on the phone to my wife, and have told her that she is on notice--one more lie or betrayal of my trust, and I'll be serving her with divorce papers.
I'm not sure if I mean that or not, but I think I do. I have come to the realization that, for all of my defiance about not wanting to ever go back to Maine, my marriage enables me to go on living away from my kids. Having a house, a wife, a stepdaughter, and an extended family, gives me something to hang on to. During my time alone I have thought a lot about what I would even do if I really did get divorced, and it has become clear that I would have to go back to Maine. If I'm going to be on my own, then why should I pretend that it's OK to be so far from my kids? Part of the reason why we settled on Virginia, as opposed to further north, is that it's an awful lot closer to Atlanta than is Maine.
Oh, and it turned out she wasn't actually pregnant; she had something called a "chemical pregnancy," in which the egg gets fertilized but never implants. When my wife told me this, I asked her, "well, now, don't you feel silly for telling your mother?" She did. I hope her mother didn't start knitting any baby blankets in the intervening week.
So we are going to go see a counselor. I will tell the counselor that I feel like my wife is, and always will be married to her birth family. My wife will tell the counselor that she recognizes that, and that she is going to make some changes. We will get on with our lives, and then the next time her family breathes on her, she will stand at attention, just like always. I know she loves me and part of her wants to truly embrace our marriage, but I just don't think she's capable of drawing real boundaries with her family. At some point I am either going to have to just accept that I love her most of the time, in spite of her shortcomings, or say enough is enough, pack up my life, and start all over again, again.
None of this has much to do with being a long-distance parent, I guess, but it all certainly adds more unwanted stress and drama to my already overstressed and overdramatized existence. At least I am not fixated on my ex-wife for once, which is a good thing. Onward...
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label anger. Show all posts
Sunday, September 1, 2013
Monday, May 13, 2013
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.
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.
Monday, January 30, 2012
66,000 Miles
I'm back from a slightly elongated weekend with my kids in Maine. I got in late Friday night, picked them up from my son's karate class early Saturday morning as usual, and stayed through this morning to attend a conference at his school (more on that later). There was nothing special about the weekend--it's just routine at this point. Here's a rundown of this, a "typical" weekend spent alone with my kids.
FRIDAY
10:30pm Arrive in Portland
11:15pm Arrive at motel
SATURDAY
8:00am Karate (the boy)
9:00am Dunkin' Donuts break
10:00am Dance (the girl)
11:30am Lunch--hot dogs and fries
1:00pm Swim at indoor pool at hotel
3:30pm Showers and baths
4:00pm Kids jumping on the bed while I try to rest
4:30pm Computer games (boy) and Cartoon Network (girl)
5:30pm Dinner at Japanese/Chinese restaurant (my son loves sushi!)
7:00pm Watch Netflix movie on my computer
8:30pm Bedtime
SUNDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
7:00am Girl wakes up and goes straight to TV
7:30am Breakfast in hotel
8:00am Boy plays with Rubik's Cube, girl makes me a bead necklace
9:00am Swim at indoor pool
11:00am Showers and baths
12:00pm Peanut butter sandwiches and cupcakes at Portland Market House
1:30pm Childrens' Museum of Maine (their idea...I was going to take them to the movies)
5:00pm Carry sleeping girl up to hotel room, boy reads Super Diaper Baby 2 book
6:00pm Take girl back to Mom's house (I wanted a boys' night)
6:00pm-6:20pm Girl complains about wanting Mommy, boy tells her that she's on her way there (good for him!)
6:20pm I make girl hug me while still in car before she runs off to Mom
6:30pm Different Japanese restaurant with boy (he demanded sushi again)
7:30pm Semi-successful attempt at serious conversation with boy
7:35pm More computer games
8:30pm Bedtime
MONDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
6:15am I grudgingly wake up and take a quick shower
6:25am Pack up things from around the room
6:30am I break the zipper on boy's backpack trying to cram it shut
6:31am Boy has meltdown about broken zipper
6:32am I try to tell him that it's OK and promise him that I'll buy him a new backpack if I can't fix it
6:40am Breakfast in hotel
7:05am I manage to fix the zipper well enough for him to use the backpack
7:20am Leave to drop boy at school
7:45am Drop him at school and resist temptation to hug him in front of other kids
7:50am Coffee break
8:30am Conference with Vice Principal, Special Ed teachers and his teacher confirming that he doesnt need special ed, just extra accommodations in class for his Asperger's related behavior
9:30am Leave school
10:00am Return to airport in Portland
Some might say that I packed more of the good, quality time that a father should be spending with his children over the course of several weeks into 48 hours, and that I should be proud of myself for being such a devoted father. Perhaps, but my underlying emotion throughout the whole process is a slowly simmering anger at the fact that I have to live like this.
I wish I had the luxury to go about my business in my own home while blithely ignoring my children while they go about their business. That just isn't possible when we haven't seen each other for several weeks and then are shoehorned into a hotel room for a weekend. I can't just tell them that I want to read a book or that I've got chores to do. From their perspective, I must be off doing those things (or whatever it is that I do when I'm not with them) all the time, and I came all the way to Maine to see them, so they'll have my full attention during the brief time that I'm there. It's very different from when they've been with me at my approximiations of "home" in Maryland and Georgia, when there is a whole house to occupy and other people in the vicinity.
I have to admit that, in spite of my overwhelming and boundless love for my children, it just feels all wrong spending time with them the way that I just did. It's like we went somewhere on vacation, but the only thing we did on vacation was hang around the hotel and go out for dinner. There were no sights to see, no thrills to be had, and no dear friends to visit--just the three of us with a whole weekend to kill in a place that will forever reek of depression and betrayal to me. I long to whisk them away to some other place far away from Maine and give them that sort of experience, but it's just not possible given the many restrictions on my life.
And out of this whole experience, there are three images that stick with me the most, all of which just raise my simmering anger up to a rolling boil. First, my daughter, now almost 4.5, said her first words that indicate some feeling about the divorce other than blind acceptance when she told me, "Daddy, I wish you and mommy were still married to each other." The poor kid had just turned two when her mother threw me overboard--she doesn't even remember that I ever lived with her. She had never before expressed anything of this sort, but now that it's out of the bag, it's clear that no child, no matter how young, escapes from divorce fully intact.
Second, in my attempt to have a serious conversation with my nearly eight-year old son, he told me with complete earnestness (that's his only mode) "I want to tell someone in Maine that you need a job here so they can hire you and you can come back." It just took that one sentence for me to recognize that, while he no longer complains about me being away like he did two years ago, he would be much happier if he could see me all the time. I can't describe what an awful feeling I got from hearing those words, however sweet his intentions may have been.
Finally, there's the image of my ex-wife sitting next to me in the school conference room, looking worn and world-weary, faking her way through acting like a responsible parent in front of a room full of people who are keenly aware that she is a complete psychopath. I have to believe at this point that I will truly never, ever fully get over what I let her do to me. She may be poor, miserable, and devoid of friends or close family relationships, but she still continues to possess the only thing in the world that truly has any value to me: my children.
And now I've dumped all of this poison out of me. But I'll be going back for more next month, and countless more times for years to come, because the alternative is just unthinkable. I know that all good parents make sacrifices, but it burns me up that I have to sacrifice so much just to be able to enjoy a typical weekend with my own children.
FRIDAY
10:30pm Arrive in Portland
11:15pm Arrive at motel
SATURDAY
8:00am Karate (the boy)
9:00am Dunkin' Donuts break
10:00am Dance (the girl)
11:30am Lunch--hot dogs and fries
1:00pm Swim at indoor pool at hotel
3:30pm Showers and baths
4:00pm Kids jumping on the bed while I try to rest
4:30pm Computer games (boy) and Cartoon Network (girl)
5:30pm Dinner at Japanese/Chinese restaurant (my son loves sushi!)
7:00pm Watch Netflix movie on my computer
8:30pm Bedtime
SUNDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
7:00am Girl wakes up and goes straight to TV
7:30am Breakfast in hotel
8:00am Boy plays with Rubik's Cube, girl makes me a bead necklace
9:00am Swim at indoor pool
11:00am Showers and baths
12:00pm Peanut butter sandwiches and cupcakes at Portland Market House
1:30pm Childrens' Museum of Maine (their idea...I was going to take them to the movies)
5:00pm Carry sleeping girl up to hotel room, boy reads Super Diaper Baby 2 book
6:00pm Take girl back to Mom's house (I wanted a boys' night)
6:00pm-6:20pm Girl complains about wanting Mommy, boy tells her that she's on her way there (good for him!)
6:20pm I make girl hug me while still in car before she runs off to Mom
6:30pm Different Japanese restaurant with boy (he demanded sushi again)
7:30pm Semi-successful attempt at serious conversation with boy
7:35pm More computer games
8:30pm Bedtime
MONDAY
6:00am Boy wakes up and goes straight to computer
6:15am I grudgingly wake up and take a quick shower
6:25am Pack up things from around the room
6:30am I break the zipper on boy's backpack trying to cram it shut
6:31am Boy has meltdown about broken zipper
6:32am I try to tell him that it's OK and promise him that I'll buy him a new backpack if I can't fix it
6:40am Breakfast in hotel
7:05am I manage to fix the zipper well enough for him to use the backpack
7:20am Leave to drop boy at school
7:45am Drop him at school and resist temptation to hug him in front of other kids
7:50am Coffee break
8:30am Conference with Vice Principal, Special Ed teachers and his teacher confirming that he doesnt need special ed, just extra accommodations in class for his Asperger's related behavior
9:30am Leave school
10:00am Return to airport in Portland
Some might say that I packed more of the good, quality time that a father should be spending with his children over the course of several weeks into 48 hours, and that I should be proud of myself for being such a devoted father. Perhaps, but my underlying emotion throughout the whole process is a slowly simmering anger at the fact that I have to live like this.
I wish I had the luxury to go about my business in my own home while blithely ignoring my children while they go about their business. That just isn't possible when we haven't seen each other for several weeks and then are shoehorned into a hotel room for a weekend. I can't just tell them that I want to read a book or that I've got chores to do. From their perspective, I must be off doing those things (or whatever it is that I do when I'm not with them) all the time, and I came all the way to Maine to see them, so they'll have my full attention during the brief time that I'm there. It's very different from when they've been with me at my approximiations of "home" in Maryland and Georgia, when there is a whole house to occupy and other people in the vicinity.
I have to admit that, in spite of my overwhelming and boundless love for my children, it just feels all wrong spending time with them the way that I just did. It's like we went somewhere on vacation, but the only thing we did on vacation was hang around the hotel and go out for dinner. There were no sights to see, no thrills to be had, and no dear friends to visit--just the three of us with a whole weekend to kill in a place that will forever reek of depression and betrayal to me. I long to whisk them away to some other place far away from Maine and give them that sort of experience, but it's just not possible given the many restrictions on my life.
And out of this whole experience, there are three images that stick with me the most, all of which just raise my simmering anger up to a rolling boil. First, my daughter, now almost 4.5, said her first words that indicate some feeling about the divorce other than blind acceptance when she told me, "Daddy, I wish you and mommy were still married to each other." The poor kid had just turned two when her mother threw me overboard--she doesn't even remember that I ever lived with her. She had never before expressed anything of this sort, but now that it's out of the bag, it's clear that no child, no matter how young, escapes from divorce fully intact.
Second, in my attempt to have a serious conversation with my nearly eight-year old son, he told me with complete earnestness (that's his only mode) "I want to tell someone in Maine that you need a job here so they can hire you and you can come back." It just took that one sentence for me to recognize that, while he no longer complains about me being away like he did two years ago, he would be much happier if he could see me all the time. I can't describe what an awful feeling I got from hearing those words, however sweet his intentions may have been.
Finally, there's the image of my ex-wife sitting next to me in the school conference room, looking worn and world-weary, faking her way through acting like a responsible parent in front of a room full of people who are keenly aware that she is a complete psychopath. I have to believe at this point that I will truly never, ever fully get over what I let her do to me. She may be poor, miserable, and devoid of friends or close family relationships, but she still continues to possess the only thing in the world that truly has any value to me: my children.
And now I've dumped all of this poison out of me. But I'll be going back for more next month, and countless more times for years to come, because the alternative is just unthinkable. I know that all good parents make sacrifices, but it burns me up that I have to sacrifice so much just to be able to enjoy a typical weekend with my own children.
Monday, May 10, 2010
11,000 Miles
I've let three more trips to and from Maine slip away without posting. I don't know if if it's too painful to talk about it, or whether I just don't have anything new to say. The first trip involved my parents flying up to spend a few days with my kids and me around my son's 6th birthday. It was tough, as I still have a somewhat strained relationship with my parents, and the apartment is very small, but it was great to not feel all alone. The second trip was just me, but I stayed for five days, as it was my son's Spring Vacation from school. I made plans with other adults on three of the days, so it was a lot better. This past trip was a whirlwind--24 hours in Maine, then a drive to Boston for a job interview. Yes...it's possible that I may be coming back to live closer to them.
But, yet again, it just can't be that simple.
I had made up my mind after the trip for my son's birthday that, come hell or high water, I'd have to move back to Maine, as I couldn't live with myself being so far from my kids. I re-contacted a firm in Maine that had made me an insult of a job offer (low pay on a weekly rate, with no time commitment), and told them that if they could offer more money and/or a six-month commitment, I'd reconsider. It wouldn't be a great job, but it would be 15 miles from my kids, and that would make up for a lot. Ah, but they couldn't even do that. They called back and said, "take it or leave it." So I left it. I'm not moving back north for a job that could go poof at any time.
Also, as I've been in Atlanta longer and longer, I've seen just how attached my new wife and stepdaughter are to the place. They have so much family and so many friends around, and life is, well, nice for them. I never had such a network of people in Maine, and likely never would. I would always feel guilty about taking them away from their home, and I'd only see my kids every other weekend and on occasional weeknights no matter how close I lived. If I live 1.5 hours away in Boston, at least we'd have a chance at life and careers in a bigger city, and it's a drive, not a flight, up to see my kids.
I don't know if this job is right for me (even if I get it), but I love Boston and always have, and at least have a better feeling about the potential of starting over here instead of in Maine. I suppose if I lived here, I wouldn't be getting on airplans to see my kids, but I'd still be the "frequent father." My trips would be in car, buses, and trains, but remaining in my kids' lives would still require a lot of travel, separation, angst, and feelings of hurt and loss. At least it would be cheaper.
But, yet again, it just can't be that simple.
I had made up my mind after the trip for my son's birthday that, come hell or high water, I'd have to move back to Maine, as I couldn't live with myself being so far from my kids. I re-contacted a firm in Maine that had made me an insult of a job offer (low pay on a weekly rate, with no time commitment), and told them that if they could offer more money and/or a six-month commitment, I'd reconsider. It wouldn't be a great job, but it would be 15 miles from my kids, and that would make up for a lot. Ah, but they couldn't even do that. They called back and said, "take it or leave it." So I left it. I'm not moving back north for a job that could go poof at any time.
Also, as I've been in Atlanta longer and longer, I've seen just how attached my new wife and stepdaughter are to the place. They have so much family and so many friends around, and life is, well, nice for them. I never had such a network of people in Maine, and likely never would. I would always feel guilty about taking them away from their home, and I'd only see my kids every other weekend and on occasional weeknights no matter how close I lived. If I live 1.5 hours away in Boston, at least we'd have a chance at life and careers in a bigger city, and it's a drive, not a flight, up to see my kids.
I don't know if this job is right for me (even if I get it), but I love Boston and always have, and at least have a better feeling about the potential of starting over here instead of in Maine. I suppose if I lived here, I wouldn't be getting on airplans to see my kids, but I'd still be the "frequent father." My trips would be in car, buses, and trains, but remaining in my kids' lives would still require a lot of travel, separation, angst, and feelings of hurt and loss. At least it would be cheaper.
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