It’s a boy, an amazing boy…

Three weeks past the due date, the doctors decide we have waited long enough. The day is finally here; labor is induced at about 7 am and active labor takes hold very quickly. She struggles for hours but never dilated more than 2 cm. Hours go bye and she’s getting pretty worn out. Nearly 12 hours later, a C section is our only chance. The doctors take the baby, my son is born. All I wanted was to be a father and to have a son. One of the most amazing days of my entire life…I was overwhelmed. He was an amazing little boy every single day!

5 years later our marriage had come unraveled and we became separated and later divorced. The day I left for the last time, my son grabbed me and asked if I was coming back. I looked down at him and said “sure I will buddy”. I hugged him so hard and when he noticed that I was crying, he began to cry as well. He tugged at my arm and asked me not to go. I never again felt agony like that and I can’t imagine the pain he was feeling. It was without question the worst day of my life. After I pulled myself together in the car I left our home, my wife and that amazing 5 year old boy, my son.

Honestly, I’ve never been the same person since. So many years have passed and to this day I still struggle with, not the pain that I felt and still feel, but the pain that I caused. It’s never going to go away and it shouldn’t.

Dad is home

Daddy’s home!


One additional player on the field…

In a recent post when I talked about the passing of my grandfather, I described the unexpected visit we had together just a short time before he passed. Before that day I had never experienced anything like that at all. However, since that day, there was one other time I felt like something or someone was intervening like the day when we sat together watching the game at his home.

A few years ago I was sitting at the kitchen table one evening, waiting to meet my daughter who was walking home from her soccer practice. I sat for just a few minutes and then peeked out the window and thought maybe I should meet her half way since it was beginning to get dark. The field where she practiced was not far from the house so I went out the front door and as I approached the road I noticed her coming up to the house. As I put my hand on her shoulder, it occurred to me that that was exactly what my dad did to me when I was very young and I always remembered that feeling. With that I asked, how was practice Honey, before she could answer she began to cry. I immediately thought she got hurt at practice, we stopped and I asked, are you ok, did you get hurt? She looked at me and said, I miss grandpa, she was referring to my dad. For a second or two I literally couldn’t speak. I finally said, what, what did you say? Again she said, I miss grandpa. As we looked directly at each other I tried to erase the stunned look on my face as I calmly said, I know Honey, I miss him too. Then I simply put my arm around her and we continued our walk to the house as I thought to myself, what the heck just happened here? A few minutes later I approached her again and asked if anyone had said anything to her or if something had happened earlier in the day to remind her of him and she said no. She said, no nothing like that, I just thought of him when we were walking and it made me cry. My dad had been gone for about 3 years.

Soccer days

Although we never again discussed that conversation, I often wonder what happened on the field that night. Not just how, but why did it happen? This isn’t the kind of stuff I typically believe in but when you experience it first hand like that you do begin to question what’s possible and what isn’t.

Couldn’t really blame him…

The years after dad left were a bit of a rough ride. We were young and some of those months between say age 8 and 10 are a little fuzzy for me. Partly because I was pretty young and partly because you tend to block out times that suck.

Dad left with our only car. My mother was a stay-at-home mom, so there was no income. So how did we survive in a simple but nice 3 bedroom house in a nice little neighborhood for the better part of 10 years? Well, let me just say that there were some days where we did get some “normal” mixed in, mostly when my grandparents came to rescue the 3 of us kids for the weekend but the rest of the time it was like a cross between a Kathy Bates flik and the Shining. You see, what we soon discovered after dad bolted was that mom was more of a nut case than we originally thought. I’ll be talking more about that later but my point here is, even though dad took off and left us with pretty much nothing, I still to this day can’t really blame him. Don’t get me wrong, I have had my days over the years where I would think, what a complete jerk, but you know when we saw first hand what he was up against dealing with my mother, you really can’t blame him too much…she turned out to be an violent and unpredictable whacko.

To this day my sister and I still joke about how dad was lucky to get out when he did and how if we could have left her behind we would’ve done the same thing.

Anyway, the 10 years that followed (age 8 to 18) were a combination of many things; anxiety, turmoil, fear, poverty, fun, emotion, sadness, learning, regret and even some thankfulness. All families experience much of these characteristics so we weren’t so special by any means, we just happened to do it with a person who was evil. We’ll save some of those stories for the days ahead.

Oh, one more thing…God bless our grandparents for helping us over the years. There is no way we would have survived without their love and devotion to us. She put them through hell on many occasion and they just kept coming back to help us in spite of mom’s abusive behavior toward them. I miss you both very much!

Things I won’t ever do or tell someone but wish that I had…

Tell her she was right.
You almost had me in checkmate.
It was the best day I ever had.
I fell asleep while driving.
I didn’t treat you with the respect you deserved.
Trade the car in before it crapped out.
You saved me from failing again.
I missed you even though you were wrong.
I really didn’t want peppers on my pizza.
I still have the trophy you left behind.
I always admired your skills.
I’m thankful for you having me over for dinner.
I really wanted you to hire me.
You taught me a lot about life and I didn’t thank you when we were watching the game.
I only kissed you because you cried.
Thank you for taking care of him, you are a saint.
You were a coward but I won’t tell anyone that you are.
I moved away because crazy neighbors worry me.
I knew that you were sick but never asked how you were.

This process continues so please bare with me.

More of these to follow as well.

Posted from WordPress for Android while driving at a high rate of speed…

I was born at a very early age…

I was raised in a small home in a rural setting with my sister and brother. My parents grew up in a nearby city which is where we were born but then we moved to the country before I was of school age.

I grew up in a time when fun was riding your bicycle and playing baseball. There were days when we hardly even got off of our bikes. We would literally ride around in circles in the street out in front of our house as we talked and joked around for hours. My father first taught me how to play catch with a baseball and glove when I was a young boy. At 8 years old I played my first season in the municipal little league and the night before each game I stayed awake for hours thinking about that Saturday morning game…some of the best memories I have ever had in my entire life.

Shortly after the end of that first season, on a brisk fall morning, my dad loaded up a few milk crates full of his tools into the back of our station wagon and went to work. That evening he never returned. The next day, the day after that and the day after that, he still never came home. Our mother really didn’t have much to say but even at an early age we knew what had happened, we knew he was gone.