Learning to Cry (7 page)

It was everything I could do not to follow suit, as I gagged and held my breath. We washed Melissa off the best we could, I changed clothes and sponged off my body and hair. Then, smelling like the inside of a toilet, we made our way to the hospital. Melissa’s fever had still not broken, and we were out of time on taking chances. It had been hovering around 103 degrees for a few hours now, and that was just too high for us to tolerate. We pulled up into the parking lot, checked in at the desk, and by now it was around 1 a.m.

I’ve always wondered why these things always happen in the middle of the night. Has there ever been a baby that gets sick during the day? Do babies have some kind of internal clock built into their system where they say to themselves, “Damn, self, it is now midnight, so if I want to get sick I have the green-light.”

The three of us sat down in the waiting room, and, immediately, Melissa got down and crawled around. She had just recently started exploring and had figured out she could be mobile. She was curious about the new surroundings and seemed to be in the mood to play. If we hadn’t known she was sick, we would have never been able to guess it. Actually, as the minutes ticked by she seemed fine.

By the time the doctor saw us she was in perfect health. She had a slight fever but nothing to be concerned with, and she was moving around like she owned the place. We, both in unison, swore to the doctor that we were not making this up. The baby had been sick. The doctor just smiled and asked if this was our first child. We both nodded our heads, and he just kept right on smiling. That would have made me a little angry if I hadn’t been so tired and relieved that she was okay.

It kills me how parents have so many similar stories. You could probably talk to any parent and they would have something along the same lines. Kids are all so much alike, yet in the end, they are all different. My current girlfriend and I have this saying that we joke about all the time -- “It is exactly the same, yet different.” How true is that? Things can be so much alike, yet everyone has their own unique qualities.

I have to say that until recently I felt lucky with my daughters’ health. None of them were hurt too badly. We never had any broken bones. Nobody ever spent the night in a hospital.  Melissa had her tonsils out, but that was the extent of our trials with a doctor. Maybe if we would have had more experience I would be better prepared to face the current situation. I feel like I should have known, probably deep down I always did know, that something like this would occur, but……

Is a parent ever ready for a child to suffer? Does a parent ever know how to handle seeing his daughter deal with things a little girl should never have to face? No matter how old my children get, they will always be my little girls. I will always remember them, sitting on my lap or bouncing on my knee. I just wish……

I am crying again. I guess I have to stop at some point, but I don’t know how. I don’t really know what to do. I feel helpless again. I keep going in circles, and my life always ends up right back here. I have to force myself to breath. I know it is important for me to hold it together so I will, as always, do my best.

I love my little girls.

I love them more than I ever could explain.

I just don’t understand.

I just can’t understand.

Father

Melissa was now in 8th grade. I began to feel that every time she passed her classes for a semester it would be cause for a celebration. I had always assumed that all three girls would attend college. They would go to high school, do as well as they could, and we would find a college, after doing some fun-filled road trips. It would be exciting, picking out the best one. Isn’t that what they always do in the movies? With Melissa, I was now starting to have doubts. Kids just don’t get it at that age. In today’s society, college is like a high school diploma was several years ago. Without a minimum four-year degree you will be extremely limited in what you can do in life.

The middle school had a program through the history class that offered a trip to Washington, D.C., to all 8th graders. It was the biggest trip the school offered. I was surprised how few kids signed up for the trip until I saw the cost. I was, then, surprised how anyone could afford it. Unless they were staying at the Waldorf, which wasn’t even in Washington, D.C., I was unsure where all the money was going. I think we could have flown our entire family out there for the same price. Still we paid the bill, and Melissa kept her grades at the minimum level required to make the trip. It was good for her to have the incentive, even if she always strived for the lowest rung on the ladder.

Melissa

Melissa boarded the plane with her friends, and they were all jubilant to be heading off on their own. While she had made several trips with her family, she was still wide-eyed at the prospect of being by herself with only teachers and classmates accompanying her. This was Melissa’s first trip without her parents, and it was a big one. The agenda was tight, and she had to get up early, but she was erupting with anticipation. None of her good friends were on the trip, but there were a few secondary girls that would be fine to hang out with. She was disappointed with who was in her room. She hadn’t gotten any of her first choices, but she wasn’t going to let that dampen her spirits.

They arrived early in the morning and immediately hit the bus to start seeing some sights. Melissa had been to Washington, D.C., once before, when she was younger, but had no recollection of the trip. She had seen pictures of the family vacation, one of which hung in the hall of her house with her holding a U.S. flag in front of the Capitol building. The funny part about the picture was she held the flag upside down. Now that was a memory worth holding on to. She had felt like such a dork at the time.

The sights were fun and she joked with two other girls, but spent most of her time with Vanessa. Vanessa was a little on the wild side, more so even than Melissa who, at this point, had not done much of anything to actually earn her “wild side” designation. That was soon to change. They arrived at the hotel late that evening, had dinner at 8:30, and were supposed to be in their rooms asleep by 10. Vanessa had been telling her all day that she had a surprise, and Melissa couldn’t wait to find out what it was. Since they were not in the same room together, Vanessa came over around 9:15 and let her in on the secret.

She had a joint. Actually, she had three of them but for that specific night one should be enough. Finally, Melissa was going to try pot. She had made several attempts, all of which had been thwarted somehow or another. This one was now a sure thing. They snuck out the back door into a small alleyway and lit it up. Oddly for quite a while nothing seemed to happen. They coughed a lot, seemed like they would hack up a lung, but there was no feeling of euphoria. Melissa figured she really didn’t know what to expect. Maybe this was it, and there was nothing to it.

They were joking and laughing and having a good time when she finally realized the jokes they were laughing at were not even that funny. That must be the trick. You just felt better. She was getting very hungry at this point but couldn’t stop laughing. She felt like she could conquer the world. Nothing seemed to really matter anymore. Who cares if they got caught or were sent home. She could stay outside doing this forever.

Somebody from the hotel must have heard them and started yelling, asking them what they were doing. They were startled at first and, then, ran inside. Both headed off to their rooms, but on the way they gathered some candy bars from the hotel lobby store. My God, they were both starving. Melissa crawled into bed and slept more soundly than she had in years. It felt intoxicating to dream of faraway lands and what life would be like once she was an adult. She was tired of being a child.

Father

While Melissa was in Washington things between Cheryl and me were disintegrating. We had been getting into more and more fights over the last few months, and once the previous summer, I had even moved out for a few weeks. I ended up coming back, we saw a marriage counselor, which was worthless, and eventually fell back into our old pattern. Ironically, the marriage counselor told us the same thing I had been telling Ms. Controlling for years. If Cheryl would stop talking so much and listen a little more, we might stand a better chance at surviving.

The counselor even suggested we get a timer and use that going forward when we got into an argument. This would allow us both, a minute or two to convey our thoughts without screaming over top of each other. The timer lasted about a week. The woman I lived with was very articulate and could not get her speeches finished with such restrictions, so the timer idea didn’t work well at all. Not that I was perfect in the demise of our marriage. It takes two to argue, and I participated in almost every argument we had. There were a few where I abstained, sitting quietly just listening to her yell. That only occurred when I was very angry.

Finally we sat down and had the talk. We had exploded a few hours before, and I was finished. This was not a healthy environment for the kids, and it couldn’t continue. Our talk went about as well as could be expected. We both agreed that our marriage was over, but we would try and remain in the house for economic reasons. For the record, people, that does not work. We lasted about two days, with her making every attempt possible at reconciliation. I had checked out at that point. We had crossed the line, and for me there was no going back.

She had a business dinner to go to one evening, and on this occasion I had chosen not to attend. I wanted to begin distancing ourselves publicly so when we finally did split up, it wouldn’t be a shock to anyone. While Cheryl was driving home we were exchanging texts, and she finally told me I needed to leave the house. I needed to get out immediately, and we would figure things out tomorrow. She just couldn’t take it with me being there and not showing her any affection.

I packed up my bags, the two little kids were now sleeping, grabbed as many things as I could stuff into the back of my SUV and left. She came home and told everyone the next day that I was on a business trip. We decided to wait until Melissa arrived home from her trip and tell the children all together on a night when we were prepared. It was going to be difficult to say the least. I was not sure that the kids would be completely surprised, but as with everything when reality hits, even when it is something expected, it can still throw you for a loop.

My friend Martin had some apartments, and within a few days I was moved in. I had a pile of clothes and nothing else. No furniture, no dishes, no glasses, no shampoo, nothing. It was a small one-bedroom apartment in the lower level of a townhouse. It was dark and a little stuffy. My dog, which had been kicked out of the house with me, was there, and we shared sleeping quarters on the floor. It took me a while to recover, but new beginnings are all about fresh starts. You just had to keep things in perspective.

Melissa arrived home from Washington, D.C., to a house of women. She didn’t think a lot about my not being there to greet her, but I later found out how sad she was that I could not share in her stories. At the time she left out the part about smoking pot, but shared that with me later when the two of us had one of our private conversations. She shared a lot with me. I would counsel her the best I could, caution her about the path she was choosing, but those talks were not about her getting punished. The talks were a time where she could share her feelings with no retribution.

She couldn’t have those kinds of talks with Cheryl. Her mother was excellent with science projects, helping organize events, English papers, hauling the kids down to the local gymnastics class or setting up play dates. She couldn’t discuss topics of a delicate nature without her feelings taking over and her anger being displayed. As Melissa got older I would often say that Cheryl and I could help guide her down the right path, we could tell her about the consequences, but in the end we could no longer control her. If teenagers want to drink, they will drink. If they want to do drugs, they will figure out a way.

I am not sure my ex-wife really ever understood the dynamics of having a rebellious teenager. Damn, I didn’t understand it most of the time, as well. Experimentation is one thing, putting yourself in danger for no good reason, never makes any sense. I guess that is why they are teenagers. All you can do is cross your fingers and hope they make it out unscathed. It sounds so trivial to say at this point. I question myself, I question Cheryl. Is she to blame, am I at fault, are both of us or neither of us? I keep asking these questions over and over in my head. It feels, at times, the words beating against my skull will explode with atomic force.  Not even my sleep is restful anymore.

The plan was to gather our three children together, and I would meet them all at the house. We were to sit down as a team and present to them our plan for splitting up and getting a divorce. We still both loved the children, but we would not be doing so as a married couple. Our marriage was over, and our family as a single unit was not to be. We had discussed this several times, we rehearsed what to say, and we had a plan. Plans are only as good as the paper they are written on. Paper today just isn’t of the same quality as it was a few years ago.

When I arrived they were watching “Friends” in what was now my old bedroom. I entered the room and asked if we were ready to talk. The girls were all excited to see me, jumping up and down yelling, “Daddy, we missed you!”

I asked my bitter historical partner if she were ready, and her response has been burned into my memory for all eternity. “This is your show, say what you want,” she muttered and went back to watching “Friends.”

I realize she was bitter. We were both bitter. I think she blamed me for what was happening and maybe rightfully so. Still, I will never be able to forgive her for that night and how it affected the kids.

I have moved on, but to this day, that is a moment in my life that stirs up anger inside me every time I think of it. I talked to the kids while she watched TV. She finally did inject some comments, but by then the kids were all crying, and Melissa had left the room. I didn’t see Melissa again for a few months. She shut down after that. Refused to see me and refused to acknowledge the change in her life.

Timing in life is everything. An old friend of mine (I didn’t get many friends in the divorce) once told me the reason he didn’t like professional basketball is all the games come down to the last few seconds. The first three quarters plus most of the fourth quarter is meaningless -- unless it is a blowout, which is not a regular occurrence in the NBA. The last few seconds are all that matters. Whoever has the ball, whoever makes that last shot, whoever chokes and misses the last shot. It is all about timing.

Had I known at that moment what Melissa was experimenting with just a few days before maybe I could have adjusted the announcement to a different day. Maybe it didn’t matter. Maybe the reason she was finally trying drugs was she anticipated what was happening. Maybe, maybe, maybe. I guess second guessing helps very little. I do know with the news she received and her recent initiation into the drug scene, she opened up willingly, accepting any risk that came her way. I don’t think she lost her ability to care, but she did find a new drive for taking chances.

The hardest thing for me was not being there for her. I didn’t have the answers then, and I still don’t have them now. Should I have forced her to see me? Should I have pushed the issue? Cheryl blamed me for everything at that point. She influenced the girls to blame me, as well. At one point, she actually told them she had asked me to come home, and I had refused. Maybe I was to blame. My ex-wife would have been willing to ride it out no matter how unhappy we were. Was I at fault or was I to be thanked for liberating both of us from years of misery?

Another friend of mine at the time was very cut and dry. He, as a Catholic, feels that once you are married, you stick it out. You made your choice so you live with it until you die. I am just not convinced. I was 24 when Cheryl and I met. I was 26 when we got married. I was 27 when we had our first child. Did I need to take responsibility for my actions? Yes, I did. Did I need to live in depressed sadness until I was dead? That part has me a little stumped.

Ironically, that same friend has a wife who does not love him. She wants desperately to leave him but cannot, strictly because of their financial situation. Theirs is a doomed marriage. It is only a matter of time. I do not wish divorce on anyone. I would not want anyone to go through the suffering my children did during that hate-filled process. But I can say how much happier I now am. How much better I feel about myself. I was able to be a better father because of the change in my mental state, and I will always have the divorce to thank for that. You can never be a healthy, loving parent when you spend every minute hating the person lying next to you.

I am just unsure of how much harm I have caused and if the damage to my children is irreparable. We all have to live with our decisions, and I will be living with mine forever. Sadly, for the next several months I lived without my oldest daughter, as well. She didn’t budge, and her summer was filled with trials of sadness. Again, if only I had known. If only I had been aware of what was about to occur.