DEMISE

I dreamt a lot as a kid, what I wanted to be, who I wanted to marry. I dreamt of the house I would own, and the cars I would drive (I’ll admit I dreamt of the cars a lot, still do). But one dream that never crossed my mind was raising my kids from a distance, although this is the reality, like so many others, in which I live.

This role comes with many titles, part time father, deadbeat dad or my personal favorite

“Who him, oh he’s the ex-husband…”

The last I overheard at my son’s birthday party. I never thought I would be stuffed into such a cruel heading. Yet whether by choice or imposed upon by someone else, these are the crowns we wear. This yoke can only be felt by those who wear it. Our loved ones and families try as they may, can only see this load but not feel the weight of this load we bare. Outsiders see no burden at all.

The sting of loneliness has hit my heart many times within in the last three years, from the first night in a house hollow of the memories built over six years, to missing my daughter's first lost tooth. The times meant to bring joy into my heart, Thursday afternoon visits and nightly phone calls just before bed to say goodnight, only flooded me with grief, reminders of what was no longer there. The nights are the toughest, no one to kiss goodnight, no one to hold after a bad dream has disturbed their gentle sleep. At night your mind wanders in and out of depression, distracting yourself from sleep.

My demise did not come till nearly two years after this severance that stole the life from my world.

It was my daughter's first year in kinder, my son’s 3rd school in as many years, so nothing was going to keep me from meet the teacher night. I sat next to my ex-wife as the teacher gave a little speech of what to expect from the teachers and staff. I was really impressed with her no non-sense, life is yours for the taking, you just have to go for it, attitude. After she was done my ex asked if I would go to his class and meet his teacher, while she went to hers, and after a while she would come get me so we could switch places. This worked for me; honestly I guess I didn’t have much choice in the matter. I walked into Alex's room and found his desk. I sat there with my knees up to my chest, in a chair not made for a man of my stature, amazed as the teacher went over their daily schedule, wondering what happened to recess. Before I knew it my ex-wife was there tapping on my shoulder to change places. I entered the room that my daughter would spend a good portion of the next year in, to find most of the parents crowded around the teacher on the story carpet, much like their children would be shortly. I sat quietly in the back and listened to the teacher talk about how much after only a few days of class she loved all her children, she even mentioned my Alyson twice. I looked at my surroundings at noticed by coincidence that I sat across from my daughter’s desk. Her name was printed across the top and there were a few papers on top. Looking over the papers pre printed across the top were the words “The gingerbread man crossed the street to get the ______” in which my daughter wrote puppy and below was her drawing (she loves puppies). I looked at the other papers on the desk surrounding hers. They read “there are ____ many people in my family”. I knew this was on the backside of my daughters beautiful art work and something deep in my pit of my soul told me not to turn it over. But I needed to see. I flipped the page and read my daughter’s writing.

“three”

The number stared back at me, written above, the drawing of My ex, my son and my daughter. In a matter of seconds I had been evacuated from the image of my daughter's family. Without my knowledge I became a voyeur looking through a window at what once defined my life, staring into the lives of my children, longing to be a part of their lives.

I drove home and cried.