Solitude and pangs of life.
So again I am at odds with God. It seems that he wants things his way and I want them mine. So at our crossroads I think we again have to agree I’ll respect his boundaries and he’ll respect mine. I won’t be a deity and he won’t be a dumb and ugly lonely man with a head full of words.
It squares us good and right.
Saying goodbye to my little girl is getting so hard. Living apart from her is harder. And she feels it too, but understands it even less than I. She cries and says she doesn’t want to go. And tonight she even apologized. I think she feels being sent back to her mom is a punishment or the result of some unknown transgression. It’s a kick it the gut. And It hurts so bad. She shouldn’t have to experience this like this. It’s not unique, there are millions of kids in broken homes. But this is my girl and she wants to be with me.
My daughter’s mother is an excellent provider and cares very much for her, she is a good mother and does not harm or abuse her. There is no real complaint about her specifically I could make. I don’t want to give that impression. She’s a good mother. A very good one. I am grateful I have that to ease my mind. But in some strange way I have a deep and spiritual bond with my baby. It’s almost supernatural. I think many parents experience a deep bond with one of their children in this way, a certain understanding. Like there is a connection made from secret words. I had it with my dad. As much as he could be mean and a son of a bitch, we were closer than anyone else on earth. I knew him better.
Maybe that’s why it hurts so much when I think about his death, he died of a drug overdose 11 weeks after Ruby was born. He ran when I needed him most. I want so bad to have him back sometimes. To talk to, to help me through these Sunday nights. To show him that I am a good daddy. That despite all our fuck ups and fall downs, Ruby is going to be perfect, Ruby will know more love then either me or my dad could imagine.
Maybe most of all that’s why I cannot leave her behind. Because I don’t ever want her to reach for a hand that is gone. The suicide urges, the running itches and that long road out there. It’s never as strong as the connection, the love and the commitment to be there for the entire journey.
You know I have felt the lonesome pretty heavy these past few days. The wish to be close to just one person, to love and be loves. A paradox for such a creature as me. I survive better alone. But man it sure is not a bad thing to have a running partner, an aider and an abettor, Bonnie and Clyde. And maybe it is selfish but it sure would make these tough nights a little easier to ride out if there was someone there to talk to, to be close to. To be intimate with. Not a sexual thing, but an emotional thing. To know someone and know that they know you and they will hold you up and you’ll do the same. Sharing experience and joy and sad with someone. There’s a certain buzz I always get from saying “Hey! Did ya see that?”. Knowing that they did and you’ve shared an experience together and you’ve grown in the living together. And to just sit softly beside her, to rest easy in that closeness. The tears maybe don’t hurt so bad. And the rain means something else. It’s not bad weather, it’s rebirth and the magic of life and God’s touch.
I am a HUGE Van Morrison fan and the line “And I wonder if I’ll ever remember the pain?” from Sweet Thing makes me think of love and intimacy in this way. From the same song “Just to dig it all and not to wonder, well that’s just right.” Tells of what it can be, what it can do to really fall into someone who accepts you. See the little man from Belfast has it. He knows the secret most don’t. The secret that comes from a hand slipped into an empty hand that says in a gentle whisper “I’m here, I’m here and you’ll not walk alone”
Sunday nights. And the loneliness of the long distance runner. It’s like the drag on the 12th mile, waiting for my second wind. Waiting for the love at the other end.