I'm moving. It's a matter of financial necessity. I'm going to my mother's basement.
Yep, 47 years old and living in my mother's basement. But at least it means I'm going to be going to get Ethan soon, and I can't begin to tell you how much that means to me. I missed his birthday, damnit. Not that I forgot it, or didn't talk to him and send a card (saving the gift for when he gets back), just that I wasn't there with him on that day. He was a c-section birth, and I was the third person to hold him in his life, and I wasn't with him on his birthday. I cried a lot that day.
And now I'm moving, having to be out by the end of the month. It's tough to pack up what's left of a life together; tougher still when you're packing up what remains of your family. Every object, it seems, has a memory attached to it, and the better the memory, the harder it is to pack away, put it in some box and seal it, never knowing when you might release that memory again. It's like slogging through a deep, snowy field, knowing you have to reach your destination but getting more exhausted with each step. And so you put it off, and put it off, and put it off, hoping that in condensing the time to accomplish the task you can also condense the pain and heartache of the task. But it doesn't help. It just adds a nice layer of panic to the sadness.
So, that's been my life lately. Haven't had much to say - well, that's not true. I have a lot I could say. Haven't had much I want to say. I'm kind of private like that. But I know that this pain has been building, and this day has been coming, and it has colored my life and my existence for so long, manifested itself in so many ways, and I hope that sometime in the future, maybe even the near future, I can start being a little more of who I think of as myself. I mean, the last time I played poker with friends, I freaked out over a hand and was a complete and total asshole, and I still haven't apologized, still haven't said I was sorry because everytime I start to compose an email to say so I start crying and drop it. I start crying a lot these days. I cry in the car sitting out front of stores. Cry in the car sitting in the parking lot at work. I cry before I leave for work and on the way to work and the way home from work and at home after work. I run into casual friends who ask how things are and I have to fight back the tears. I can't even manage an "Okay" for most of them. I'll often say "bad" and just leave it like that, hanging in the air, and then I'll go and cry. There's a phrase in Paul Simon's Slip Sliding Away that captures it perfectly:
She said a good day, ain't got no rain
She said a bad day's when I lie in bed and think of things, that might have been
I just want days with no rain, with no tears. Haven't had any in a long time, not sure how long it will be before I have one again.
And that's who I am right now, and that's not who I want to be, cause that's not who I believe I truly am. So I'm moving, and boxing up a life and storing it away, and maybe after that's accomplished, maybe after my son's back, I can at least start to rebuild, start to reform, start to live again, live and not cry. That's my dream, and I hope it will be my future.