The Land Of NeverMoreApril 9, 2008 at 8:40 PM | Posted in Journal | 1 Comment
And The Storm was right, too: They hate me. But they love me as well. I said I was going to work harder on being there for them, and they aren’t making it easy for me. I thought I could call my daughter every day….but with my work schedule and the nature of my work, that makes it difficult–plus I said I was going to call her about 5 pm, and she’s not always home at that time.
But I struck upon an idea, and I told her about it. I’ll call her about 9pm. She’s home (or should be) and generally still awake. I realize it’s a long hard road, but I did call her Monday night–and Tuesday night, and talked to her for a few minutes.
–A few minutes.
Meanwhile Detroit called her son and talked to him for a while. As I attempt in vain to assuage my guilt, I look for solace in statistics. I’m not jealous, not really–
Maybe I am. But I do realize that it’s different for men.
Today in America, most father’s spend about an hour with their kids. Per week. Per week. Can you believe that? Now, I do know that I have spent more time with my kids than that, and it shows–I’m sure my ex is tickled to have her two kids act like the ex husband she hates.
In the early days, I worked nights and The Storm worked days, so I was with Mitchell for hours and hours…every day. History will determine whether or not that was good for him. The same thing with Miranda, during her early years before she started school.
By the time she started school, in 01, I started school also. So for a couple of years I was working two jobs and going to school, and no one saw much of me at all.
And that was the time for me when I felt like I was seeing them about an hour per week. So…
So when I left, I didn’t see much of them at all for awhile. You know, it was hard on me–and I guess it was hard on the kids. I’ll never really know. It’s over, it’s done, it’s past. They’ve kind of moved on and adapted.
They are happy to see me, when they do see me. I guess. I mean–how can you really know?
So here I am, pathetically trying to force my way back into their lives, feeling a bit like an unwanted pariah. I have to try, because if I don’t, they’ll hate me more and think I abandoned them. But when I do try, I can sense distance and a little bitterness and a line drawn in the sand. I’m damned either way, and several sorts of bastard.
Either way I know that my kids will never have the life I had, or the childhood I did. While that is a shame, it is the way of the world. I mean, my childhood was not like that of my parents–and that was a good thing. Mine was idyllic, as I look back on it with the horned-rimmed and rose-colored glasses of nostalgia. I’m sure Mitchell will back on his as good. And Miranda?
I hope it’s good. For the most part, it was good. She is a basically happy person, like I am, and I feel that she will minimize the bad and magnify the good times. I hope. And if I can do better with her for the rest of her childhood, hopefully I can raise the average.
I see people–children especially–who have to change and adapt to hard situations. Kids in the ghetto, with one mamma and and many daddies, none of which are around? That’s hard. It shouldn’t be like that. What about kids that grow up never knowing one or both parents? Losing a parent…is the saddest thing that can happen to a child. At any age.
Lots of situations, many different circumstances–but you can’t point to one and use it to justify another.
Although it seems I do like to dwell on the past, there is a certain day I don’t like to go back to. July 9th, 2006. The day I left. The day I made the decision that there was no going back from. The day I ripped my family apart.
I knew I was going, but hadn’t said anything yet. Earlier in the afternoon, I wrestled with Miranda playfully as we tickled each other. It was great fun. We joked, we teased, and cuddled. Was I making it harder? Was I making it easier? Was I trying to ease my guilt?
Or was it exactly what it was–one last time of real closeness with my daughter?
So many things dwell in the realm of What Is, and What Should Never Be. But some things reside in The Land of What Was, and What Shall Never Be Again.