The History of Us: Part III

Read Part II First

I remember telling my best friend, a few weeks before I asked Carrie to marry me, "Carrie has no baggage. She's unlike any girl I've ever dated. She has absolutely no baggage that she drags with her everywhere we go."
How could I have been so blind?
While we were dating, and throughout our engagement, Carrie was very laid back. She was cool. There wasn't anything about her that I didn't like.
But on our honeymoon, things immediately changed. She suddenly showed a darker side to herself. And I remember thinking to myself, "This is not the woman that I married."
I chalked it up to stress from our marriage and the changes we both had to go through in the transition from engaged to married. Either she got better, or I bent my reality to think things got better. I now suspect it was the latter.
Soon Phoebe came along. Carrie did stop drinking for the pregnancy and didn't start back up after giving birth. However, she displayed some troubling signs: she wouldn't wake-up with Phoebe at night to nurse. I would always be the one to go to the bassinet or crib, take Phoebe, place her on Carrie's breast so the baby could nurse, and then take off her and burp her. It was bizarre. Right? But I tricked myself into thinking it was fine and moved on with my life.
And that sums up a lot of our marriage. Bizarre things. Me normalizing them, rationalizing them, and tricking myself into thinking I was happy.
We had a second child, Ellie, and Carrie was a much more caring mother this time. However, when Ellie was 3, Carrie started drinking again. It began with a bottle of wine a couple nights a week, and then went to every night, and then to at least 2 bottles a night. At the height of the drinking Carrie would go until she passed out - wherever she fell.
There was more than one night when I would be banging on the bathroom door at 3 or 4 am. Not knowing if my wife lay dead on the other side. There was also a night when I couldn't find her anywhere inside the house. So, I eventually flipped on the back door light, and there Carrie lay, spread out on the patio beside the picnic table.
My routine for the summer of 2009 was to go to bed, wake-up around 3 or 4, and find where Carrie passed out so I could get her into bed before our girls woke-up and found her. By the end of the summer, I was completely consumed with putting Carrie back together and trying to get her not to drink. I was powerless, but I still fought tooth and nail against a disease I didn't know much about back then.
Just after Labor Day, Carrie went to detox and then entered an outpatient rehab program. It her first of many attempts at getting well. None of them would work because she refused to do any real work.
And mixed in with the drinking were infidelities to our marriage that would eventually end our marriage. I tried to stick by her - to love her selflessly and eternally - but eventually I was forced out with my girls. When Carrie came home from her 2nd attempt at rehab and told me she had met a crack addict in rehab and was "seeing him," that's when I knew it was time to leave. And when she took a bus to go see him just a week after I brought her home from rehab, that's when the girls and I finally left.
And that's basically the quick, quick version of our history. It's an overview anyway. I will get more and more into detail throughout other posts. But first I thought it would be a good idea to have a reference point to start with, and now we all have that.

The History of Us: Part II

Read: Part I

There used to be a bar about 5 minutes away from where I grew-up. (It's still there but it's since changed owners and gone through a few name changes.) It was called the "Copy Cat" and the owner and operator was my old baseball coach. I used to go there a lot - back when drinking was fun and innocent, and getting drunk was a lot more fun and not quite so innocent.
When I would come home from college, that's usually the first place I'd head when I went out. And after college I liked to go there for Happy Hour after a week of work at the bank. Most times I would invite my friends from work to join me. Most of the time they would. And one Friday I asked Carrie to come out with all of us and she said she'd meet us after she went home to change.
And so, though I didn't know it at the time, we started down the path. A path that would lead to a great romance, a wedding, 2 children, and lots of laughs. A path that would also lead to a lot of drinking, passing out in the bathroom or on the patio or in the hall, throwing-up blood, and several trips to rehab.
How fitting that it all began with laughs in a bar where there was plenty of drinking. It's even more fitting that what was destined to turn sideways and spin out of control, actually began with a sideways kiss.
I remember Carrie and I were sitting beside each other in the crowded bar. The music and the yelling was so loud that we had to put our cheeks together so that our mouths were to each other's ears. And that's when we shared our first kiss - as the side of our mouths touched. A sideways kiss.
And that began our romance.
How I was in love. Head over heels.
This girl captivated me. Because there was something about her. She was beautiful with red hair and blue eyes and a smile that lit up the darkest corners of my being.
But there was something about her. Something that made me want to take her in my arms and hold her forever.  But this was something more too. Something I couldn't quite get a finger on.
But how this girl loved to have a good time. And man could she drink. More than most guys I knew.
And sure, she did a stint in rehab when she was 15 and another one when she was 17, but she was just a kid and her parents overreacted and all kids drank and she knew her limits and she loved me and wanted to be with me forever. And all that mattered was the present and the future. Who cared about the past?
Who cared? I certainly didn't. I was in love with a red-haired beauty who smiled for me when I needed her to, and that's all that mattered.
Or so I believed.

Read Part III Now 

The History of Us: Part I

Every relationship has a story. And so did mine and Carrie's. A story a lot like many other stories, but different in many ways too. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. And the beginning was about as happy a beginning can possibly be; while the ending is about as tragic as an ending can be.
Carrie and I worked together. We were both tellers at a local bank. I had just graduated from college and Carrie had been released from the Army on a medical discharge about 3 months earlier. I remember meeting Carrie but I don't remember much else. Because there really isn't anything else to remember. The day we met my car stereo had been stolen - ripped right out of the dashboard - overnight while my car sat in front of my house. So, I was more than a little preoccupied when I met her.
But it would be a few months before I found myself caring for her. I remember the exact moments when I knew I was attracted to her and when I knew I was more than attracted to her. The first was when I walked out to drive thru to grab a cash order from her. The heater was stuck on in that room so the temperature was nearly 100 degrees. When I opened the door Carrie turned around looking so annoyed with red cheeks and beads of sweat on her forehead. Not exactly the type of situation that lends itself to sexiness, yet something struck me and I suddenly saw her in a different light.
Not long after that, Carrie's car was stolen from the mall parking lot. She was telling me how the security guard kept telling her that she just forgot where she parked it. He didn't call the police for 3 hours. That made me so mad. I almost picked up the phone and called the security office. I felt such a need to help her. She seemed to be in need for the help. It was the first time we'd play those roles - roles that became all too familiar throughout our marriage. A couple weeks later I asked her out to Happy Hour. She said she'd stop by and the die was cast.
Looking back now, it seems so fitting that it all started with drinking and in a bar. Because that's pretty much how it ended too.

Read On: Part II 

Birthdays: A Time to Laugh, A Time to Cry

Last weekend my youngest daughter turned 8. It was a great day. It happened to fall on a Sunday - the day that my entire family (brother, sisters, and all their kids) - get together and eat dinner. So, we celebrated with everyone that evening. But, because everyone gets together on Sunday, we also had a smaller party the night before with just us. That - for me - was the best. We had ice cream cake and she opened her presents from me and it was great. It was great for me and for Ellie. I even threw in a new MP3 player for my 10 year old, Phoebe.
But alas, at this place in time, it seems that every laugh is followed by a cry. And last weekend was no exception.
Ellie might be only 8 buy she is plenty old enough to know that mom should be around on her birthday. Or she should at least send a present, or a card, or maybe even make a phone call.
Well, she did call. And I'm not sure I should feel this way but I was proud of Ellie when she said, "You weren't here on Christmas and now you missed my birthday too!" And then she hung-up.
She showed awareness. She showed strength. But most of all, she showed she's pretty much getting sick of her mom not being a mom. And as sad as that truly is, it's also a good thing. It's a necessary stage that will (hopefully) allow her to find a "new normal."
But she cried later.
When I tucked her in she cried and she pleaded. She wanted her mommy. She wanted a real mommy. It wasn't fair that her mommy didn't see her on her birthday. It wasn't fair that she hasn't seen her mommy in so long.
All I could do was hold her. Tell her I loved her. Tell her she and Phoebe would always be the most important thing in my life. Tell her I'm sorry.
Because I am sorry. Sorry in so many ways. Sorry I chose to marry a woman who is an alcoholic. Sorry I couldn't put that woman back together. Sorry that no matter how hard I try, I can never be a mommy.
But I think all that should be saved for another blog post: "My Guilt." Or maybe "Wasted Time." Or something like that.

Because she needed clothes from my storage unit, "mommy" decided to come-up this weekend. She stayed with her brother and stopped-by yesterday for about an hour and a half. Ellie soaked up every minute. She laughed with her mom and brushed her hair and did a few of the things mothers should do with their daughters just about every day. Phoebe refused to see mom for the first half hour and then spent most of the time sitting on the other side of the room and staring at her.
Then she kissed each of them and walked back out of our lives... for another month or maybe 2 or even 6 months. She was gone.
I braced myself for another sad scene when I put Ellie to bed. But there were no tears. There was no mention of mom at all. I pulled her covers up, kissed her cheek, heard her prayers, and said goodnight. And it was a good night.
For once, a laugh wasn't followed by a cry.
Now, I've been a single dad long enough to know that sometimes these things are delayed. Ellie could cry tonight or tomorrow night. Her friend might have a birthday party at school next week, her mom might bring in cupcakes, and Ellie will feel the sadness all over again - she'll once again realize other little girls have mommies but she doesn't. Well, she does, but her mommy doesn't bring cupcakes to school birthday parties, or tuck her in at night, or dry her tears when she cries. And then more tears will come.
But the fact that she didn't cry last night is definitely a step in the right direction. It shows progress. It shows that she is achieving a "new normal". And it proves that one day, life might just be a time to laugh... and it won't have to be anything else.

Girls Without a Mother

I'm a private person. Mostly. And when it comes to my kids, I absolutely tight lipped and ultra-protective of them. That's why I debated about whether I should even include them in this blog. (Obviously I had to sense they are such a huge part of my life.) I also figured it might be best if I kept their gender secret. But now I think that will prove too difficult. Because the fact that they are girls is as important as any other fact - including that they are kids growing up without a mother in their lives.

It's a common belief that all little girls need a mother. Just like all little boys need their fathers. In fact, there are a lot of theories out there that blame much of society's problems on the fact that so many boys have grown up without fathers in their lives. I can't say I disagree with the root of these theories - there's definitely something to them. Just like I don't disagree with the notion that little girls need a mom in their lives.

But the simple fact of the matter is this: My girls don't have a mom who is around and that probably isn't going to change. I can either mourn over everyday, or I can file that knowledge away and be the best dad I can be. I can't completely make-up for mom being gone, but I can try to soften the blow.

And that's all I can and will continue to do. Show my girls tenderness. Teach them compassion. Give them love.

And maybe someday they will be the good mother's that their own mother couldn't be. Or at least, they could be good human beings.

I like to think that the chances of both of those things happening are a little better than just maybe.

My First Post

I learned in college that when writing you want to cover the who, what, where, when, and how. I suspect I will get to all those at some point. (Except probably the "who" - right now I'd rather remain anonymous. Though I'm sure you'll learn a lot about me; just not exactly who "me" actually is.) But in this first post, I think I will just start with that why.

So, why am I writing this? There are a lot of reasons: for comfort, for knowledge, for entertainment, for me. If you're reading this then obviously this blog has in someway moved beyond just me. Of course I wouldn't be blogging if some part of me didn't hope for that. But, most of the why I'm doing this is because I want and need to do it for me.

As I'm sure you can figure out, I am a single Dad. A father of 2 little kids. My wife and my kids' mom, is completely out of the picture,. Addiction has pulled her away from us. For the last couple of years her heart and mind were far away. Now her body is too.

She decided to leave her 5th attempt at rehab and move away from us... probably for good. And while I weep for my kids, I actually think this is for the best. Nobody likes to see a car crash happen again and again and again. It's even worse when you get pulled into that car wreck again and again and again. And it's the epitome of tragic when you're little kids get pulled in too.

So, there's a little bit of what this blog will be about. And there's a little of the why. But I also hope to address issues that can help other single parents, those affected by addiction, and anyone else who is having a hard time with life.

Because although life has been difficult these past couple of years, I do feel like I'm stronger than ever. And I do feel like I'm going to run through the fire and come out cool on the other side.

And I do believe that this blog will help me make that happen.