The Leaving

If you're looking for a somewhat amusing post to kill some time while you're bored, then this isn't the post for you. I suggest you check back early next week for my story regarding a boy and his reluctant horse.

The thing about The Leaving is the getting left behind. If you're the one leaving, there are difficulties to be faced. Sometimes, leaving is easier than being left.

The Leaving is tough because it breaks a bond between you and another. The absence of that which we have come to count on, even subconsciously, that binds us to a place and time. When one of those bonds breaks, you feel slightly adrift. Or in my case, totally adrift.

Ultimately, we're all seeking stability in a world that is anything but. We bind ourselves to others in the hopes that as a sum we'll be greater than we could be individually. When that bond breaks, you end up re-evaluating yourself, looking inward to try to determine how, and when, to replace that bond. But what if that bond is irreplaceable? What if there is no possibility of securing that part of yourself to the whole?

Five years later, and I still ask myself that question. Five years ago today, my father passed. This is always a tough time of year for me, as The Leaving has affected my life in dramatic ways.

We all have broken toys in our attics. We all figure that one day, we'll bust out the crazy glue and put them back together and they'll be like new. But real life gets in the way, and before you know it, those toys have piled up. And the task becomes incrementally more insurmountable.

There are a few toys I wish I had put together, but the biggest would be the relationship with my Dad. Sadly, I still can't get past the anger. The anger at being left behind and having to mend toys that I didn't break. I just got left with a mess.

The central theme of this blog (to the extent that my ramblings could be said to have any theme) is that I work two jobs that are very different, on opposite ends of the spectrum, if you will. None of this would have been necessary had my Dad done what I had advised him time and time again. Take care of himself, get his checkups, get health insurance, and make sure Mom is taken care of. So in a large respect, this very blog is the result of my Dad's death.

My wife's mother recently lost her husband, and despite his flaws, she was left in a reasonable situation.

I, however, got stuck caring for a woman who didn't particularly care for me. I work two jobs - one of which I despise - in order to make sure I make enough money so that she's taken care of. It's a tough thing to wake up day after day knowing that you're falling farther and farther behind because you're stuck. You're not building you're own future, you're merely preventing someone else's future from getting worse. And the years roll on.

We all start out with visions of greatness. Some of us, a very select few, are fortunate enough to realize that greatness. For many of us, that vision changes. It blurs, clouds, and the focus and clarity of thought you once had about your future and your place in the world is muddled and fuzzied with the mental fog of too many obligations and not enough resources. And that's where I find myself today. I've told my wife time and time again 'I want to do something great.' I still have no idea what that is. I fear I may never know, and without the knowing, how could I possibly work towards it? Quite the conundrum.

Recently, my friend and coworker Jim (whom caught Terrance treating the walk-in freezer like his personal grocery store) has been faced with a similar situation. His father, who left the family years ago, has attempted to get back in touch with him. Apparently, he has cancer. Jim has made it clear in the past that he never wanted a relationship with his dad.

But I could see the conflict on his face. Time is running out. There's still time to get the crazy glue out of the drawer and do your best.

And that's what I told Jim.

Staring at a toy that is forever broken isn't a good ending. Will there be the happy reunion? Probably not. We all draw our lines in the sand, stake out positions that are somewhat unreasonable, but are necessary for us to keep up the facade that makes our lives have some meaning.

My father once told me that despite all the mistakes he made, the things he really regretted were the things he didn't do.

Dad, I wish I had been smart enough to listen. You were right, Dad.

I wish I had put that toy back together. Forgive my pride and anger, Dad, I'm hoping that as the world grinds away at me, they'll both be gone soon, and I can finally start over. I hope that it all makes sense, that epiphany that it was all worth it. That I come out the better man for it all.

And I look forward to telling you all about it someday, Dad.

I also hope that you don't mind The Waiting, because I have a lot of living left to do.