From a 23 March, 2009, Ana's birthday, a week ago.
I admit that this is more written for my own benefit. I never want to forget what a bad day this has been. The next time I go out the door without kissing them goodbye, that I get frustrated getting their teeth brushed, that I grumble picking up the toys from the living room for the xth time in the same evening. I never want to forget Trey’s bewildered face, Ryan’s blown kiss, or the tears running so fast down Ana’s face, or those down my own for that matter. Or how Ryan’s lip quivered for a just a second as she sat in the tub last night and wrapped her head around the fact that I wasn’t going to be on the plane with her.
A heart-wrenching day. The worst I have had in years, at the very least. From a few weeks away, it all seemed so manageable, so much the right choice.
This afternoon, just minutes after they took off, I opened the door to the apartment, to an abyss six floors above ground. The place might have looked the same if the three of them were in the kids’ bedroom napping-- some lego blocks in the living room, the toy stroller with Ryan’s latest doll (named Trey, or as Ana and I call him, 3.2) partly covered by the blinds where it came to rest just a couple of hours earlier. The remaining grapes from the bunch they devoured after breakfast, now sitting unwanted at the table. The bedsheets wadded from when they each got up with the same routine of any normal day.
Then there is the closet. No clothes sticking out the top of semi-closed drawers, no dresses on the hangers, no stuffed animal and unmatched sock blocking the sliding mirror door from moving along its tracks. So hollow, except for the clothes unwanted or unable to fit in the suitcases, set aside to be donated. The permanence of the change sinks in. A small stack of bedtime story books sit on a single shelf, the rest barren. The same books that were so valuable to us for different reasons even just last night;
for myself and Ana, for curling up with them with limited distractions before they drift off; for Ryan, for the adventures and images, as well as the chance to stay awake just a few more minutes.
No sounds: no Cinderella videos, no giggles, no one running to me —or doing the best they can—because the thing they want the most at that moment is my hug and kiss and attention.
No smells: for better or worse on this one, but I think more of Ana’s cooking, Ryan’s hair, Trey’s skin. Nothing.
Just a sterile apartment swept clean of love. Suddenly I realize how
undecorated the walls are, how wonderfully the high chair sat like a throne at the end of the dining room table. I can almost see him sitting there, his waves, his looks. I feel like I just need to go pick him up to set him there to make the chair complete.
I can’t imagine going through this for three months, much less nine, missing both kids’ birthdays, not celebrating my own with them, Christmas. I stick by the decision that in the long run it will be for the better—better job, hopefully better income. In the short term, I am getting this education without the worry that my family is not getting the basics covered, or that Ana is feeling idle, or worse resentful. But I can tell you right now that it sucks. I have been slapped awake. On the good side, this is an opportunity few
get to really feel how fortunate they are. And the images from today are more poignant than any for quite sometime. But the sadness is dreadful. As I mentioned, it makes for the worst day I have had in a really long time. I have been lucky not to lose someone really close to me, and there are plenty of circumstances that people are facing at any given moment far worse than this, but unlike most other circumstances, this has the bitterness of being self-induced, that jagged little pill. Albeit a response to outside forces, but right now other alternatives feel like they would have been better. I hope that my mind changes soon, and stays that way.
I admit that this is more written for my own benefit. I never want to forget what a bad day this has been. The next time I go out the door without kissing them goodbye, that I get frustrated getting their teeth brushed, that I grumble picking up the toys from the living room for the xth time in the same evening. I never want to forget Trey’s bewildered face, Ryan’s blown kiss, or the tears running so fast down Ana’s face, or those down my own for that matter. Or how Ryan’s lip quivered for a just a second as she sat in the tub last night and wrapped her head around the fact that I wasn’t going to be on the plane with her.A heart-wrenching day. The worst I have had in years, at the very least. From a few weeks away, it all seemed so manageable, so much the right choice.
This afternoon, just minutes after they took off, I opened the door to the apartment, to an abyss six floors above ground. The place might have looked the same if the three of them were in the kids’ bedroom napping-- some lego blocks in the living room, the toy stroller with Ryan’s latest doll (named Trey, or as Ana and I call him, 3.2) partly covered by the blinds where it came to rest just a couple of hours earlier. The remaining grapes from the bunch they devoured after breakfast, now sitting unwanted at the table. The bedsheets wadded from when they each got up with the same routine of any normal day.Then there is the closet. No clothes sticking out the top of semi-closed drawers, no dresses on the hangers, no stuffed animal and unmatched sock blocking the sliding mirror door from moving along its tracks. So hollow, except for the clothes unwanted or unable to fit in the suitcases, set aside to be donated. The permanence of the change sinks in. A small stack of bedtime story books sit on a single shelf, the rest barren. The same books that were so valuable to us for different reasons even just last night;
for myself and Ana, for curling up with them with limited distractions before they drift off; for Ryan, for the adventures and images, as well as the chance to stay awake just a few more minutes.No sounds: no Cinderella videos, no giggles, no one running to me —or doing the best they can—because the thing they want the most at that moment is my hug and kiss and attention.
No smells: for better or worse on this one, but I think more of Ana’s cooking, Ryan’s hair, Trey’s skin. Nothing.
Just a sterile apartment swept clean of love. Suddenly I realize how
undecorated the walls are, how wonderfully the high chair sat like a throne at the end of the dining room table. I can almost see him sitting there, his waves, his looks. I feel like I just need to go pick him up to set him there to make the chair complete.I can’t imagine going through this for three months, much less nine, missing both kids’ birthdays, not celebrating my own with them, Christmas. I stick by the decision that in the long run it will be for the better—better job, hopefully better income. In the short term, I am getting this education without the worry that my family is not getting the basics covered, or that Ana is feeling idle, or worse resentful. But I can tell you right now that it sucks. I have been slapped awake. On the good side, this is an opportunity few
get to really feel how fortunate they are. And the images from today are more poignant than any for quite sometime. But the sadness is dreadful. As I mentioned, it makes for the worst day I have had in a really long time. I have been lucky not to lose someone really close to me, and there are plenty of circumstances that people are facing at any given moment far worse than this, but unlike most other circumstances, this has the bitterness of being self-induced, that jagged little pill. Albeit a response to outside forces, but right now other alternatives feel like they would have been better. I hope that my mind changes soon, and stays that way. 
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