When I was fifth grade my dad worked constantly. My parents were in the messy business of getting divorced and as much as he needed the money to cover all the expenses, he needed a place to escape more. It should be no surprise that I have a tendency to immerse myself in work when things get difficult. We do what we know.
Even though he was working 60 to 80 hours a week, he always tried to make time for me and my siblings. When I was young I used to think it was whenever he could spare a few minutes. Looking back I realize it was when he hurting the most and needed to be reminded of why he kept fighting.
One afternoon while he was living in an apartment across the street from my elementary school, he called my brother and I into his room. I remember everything in the apartment was new and stood as a reminder that our family was falling apart. We didn’t know what to expect as we climbed up on the bed to where Dad was holding his bible.
“I want to read you guys a story,” he said in a very solemn voice. His demeanor was such that neither of us argued. He turned the soft pages of the book to a section that was printed entirely in red. “This is the story of the Prodigal Son.”
He read the story perpetually on the brink of tears. I don’t know what about that day was so difficult for him, given the time frame he may have just finalized the divorce papers. Whatever the reason is irrelevant though. It was the first time in my life I remember wanting to end another person's suffering and true compassion doesn’t require context.
After he finished reading the story he looked at both of us and said, “I want you to know I will always welcome you back. Just like the father in the story, I’ll be waiting no matter what.”
When I made the decision to leave treatment and return home, I knew that all I had to do was call him and I would be on a plane. He has always honored the promise he made to me 25 years ago and I have no reason to think that will ever change.
I’m currently sitting at Honolulu International Airport waiting to board my plane back to the mainland. There are so many emotions going through my head it’s hard to even see straight. I have no idea what to expect when I get back home.
While this marks the end of an adventure, my journey is far from over. It would be foolish to think that returning to Seattle is going to make all my problems disappear, it’s where they all started. I am essentially starting all over from where I was four months ago but with two crucial advantages: support and sobriety.
Every time my thoughts start to race and I can feel myself losing control I just take a deep breath and remember even if nothing is the same when I get back, at least my dad will be there waiting for me.
I hope it’s raining when I land.
No comments:
Post a Comment