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I’m sixty-five now, so I thought I’d check in. My life has been
okay, can’t complain, a little rough around the edges maybe, but I’ve
learned from it all, especially from the hard times. And I’ve done
about everything that’s important to do; almost raised you three kids,
even wrote a book. But now there’s not many things to do anymore. My body
has been good to me, I’m grateful for that, and my mind is still
straight. The thirty years sure have gone by fast, since I last saw you
guys.
I remember the day when I found myself sitting with your
mother in our van parked on Old Mill Road; a day that is burned in my
memory. Do you remember Old Mill Road; it was that old concrete road
that was a short cut to the high school. I remember turning off the
engine but leaving the radio on, playing some old 70’s tunes. Then I told your mom that I was leaving. Just before
that day, I found myself taking long, solitary walks and becoming
estranged and confused. Everything around me was changing. I didn’t fit
in anymore. I had somehow moved on into a strange world, and everything
else hadn’t, as if I was a fish out of water that longed to return
home, but no longer knew where home was. All of you, and my
wonderful life surrounded me, so why did I feel so alienated? Nobody
understood. I couldn’t even tell you what I was feeling because I
didn’t understand it myself. It’s clear to me now what was going on,
but not then. All I felt then was something pulling me away from
everything I held dear. When I told your mom that I was leaving,
it was as if somebody else was saying the words, and I was only
listening. But what I’ll never forget was the hurt on your mom’s face,
and how worried she was about you kids instead of herself, and by the
time we got back to the house, she had become very quiet. You
were sixteen then Scott, and I asked you to round up Neil, who was just
twelve. Do you two remember waiting in the living room while I looked
for Shellie upstairs? You asked me, Scott, what’s up, and I just said
that I needed to talk to all of you for a minute. You noticed your mom
and me leaving together, and when we came back, I’ll bet that you knew
something was terribly wrong. You were sprawled out on the couch,
while Neil sat on the floor hugging his knees. I was still looking for
you, Shellie, and found you in your room. I asked you to come
downstairs for a few minutes; do you remember? You said that you were
busy, and acted annoyed like a fourteen year old should, but followed
me down anyway. I’m sure that you all thought that I was going to
announce a camping trip or some such thing, but Scott; you knew
something was up. “I’ll be leaving for awhile," I said. “I need some time by myself." That
was all that I said, and I expected someone to ask why I was leaving,
or where I was going, or how long I’d be gone, but instead, you burst
into tears, Shellie, and ran up to your room. And Neil, you began to
cry too. But Scott, you just shook your head, puzzled. “What’s going on
Dad," you asked. “I don’t know," I said, “but I love you all."
Then, Neil, you got up and started walking away, and I said, “Neil,
come back here," and you ran back into my arms, sobbing. And while I
hugged you, your brother Scott and I fought back tears, like men do. Nobody
followed me into my bedroom that night. Nobody begged me to stay. I
couldn’t think straight; I was embarrassed, defeated. I had just
destroyed the ones who counted on me for everything. And that has
remained with me all these years. But it was good back then.
Wasn’t it? The camping trips and the cookouts, the football games and
family vans. Maybe you were all too young to remember moving around the
West Coast. You were our California baby, Neil! Then we went from the
Bay Area to Spokane, to Boise, and eventually back to Ohio. It was
good . . . wasn’t it? I have thought about all of you every day,
wondering how you were doing and if you were okay, and how life was
treating you. I missed the weddings, your large and small triumphs . .
. and the grandchildren, but I made a pledge long ago not to interfere
with your new lives because I saw how contentious that could be with
families, so I risked your thinking that I didn’t care. But I did. So,
I just thought that I would check in for this one last time; I won’t
bother you anymore. I’m sorry for all the hurt that I’ve caused, and
although I know that I’ll never be forgiven, if what I've done brings
you closer to your own families now, then my heart will rest easier. Love, Dad. E. Raymond Rock of Fort Myers, Florida
is cofounder and principal teacher at the Southwest Florida Insight
Center, www.SouthwestFloridaInsightCenter.com His twenty-eight years of
meditation experience has taken him across four continents, including
two stopovers in Thailand where he practiced in the remote northeast
forests as an ordained Theravada Buddhist monk. His book, A Year to
Enlightenment (Career Press/New Page Books) is now available at major
bookstores and online retailers. Visit www.AYearToEnlightenment.com |
