This Is What Is Keeping Me Awake Tonight

Drat.  My alarm is set for 5:30 AM, an early morning get the day started right bicycle ride planned.  It is 2:24 AM as I start writing this blog, alone downstairs on the living room couch, the realization that I will be a zombie when that alarm goes off three hours from now all too clear to me.  No way am I getting that ride in.  Riding sleep deprived is not a good idea.

The couch becomes my refuge on nights like this, nights where sleep just runs away from me, my thoughts stronger than a triple shot espresso.  Thankfully these kinds of nights are few and far between.  My normal nocturnal state is a blissfully deep sleep, rest that allows me to be ready for most every day.  I am the guy who tucks himself in at 10 PM, greets the day before morning’s light appears.  That is not me tonight.

Resentment keeps me awake, deep soul wrenching resentment that has dug its claws into me so tightly that I can not send it away no matter how hard I try.  I pray.  I lean at my bedroom window to listen to the wind rustle through the leaves of the maple tree outside, usually soothing in a way that carries my cares away with the wind.  All attempts to loosen resentment’s grip are useless tonight.

Although writing does help.

Four months.

Four months I have been asking for the capacity to forgive.  There is too much to remind me of that day, the day 24 years of my life seemed to be torn out of my book, a misplaced commitment that only I valued.  In this moment, it seems like that battle has been lost, but in reality I feel like I have done very well.  Four months is not a lot of time, the wound still fresh.  There are so many reminders each day, some days more than others, that the wound continues to be opened.

A boss who was fired by the same person who fired me.  He still is very bitter and reminds me of it now and then.  Telling it to me cleanses his soul, I think.  I usually don’t join in, aware that we both need to forget.  Fueling the resentment will only make the fire grow.

Business dealings.  Early last week I attended a trade show, my former employer represented at a booth there.

Facebook, where so many friends who were coworkers are at.  A good friend was pregnant when I was fired.  She had the baby a week ago and is posting pictures. 

Today, a Sunday of all things, was a day where one thing after another reminded me of my former employer.  At church, I saw a common cycling friend of the owner, someone who started going to my church a few months ago but I had not seen until today.  We talked about the owner.  I talked as if nothing had happened, as if the man had done nothing to me.  This evening, as I reviewed my calendar for the next few months, I added a party that Mir and I are invited to next month — and I was reminded that I will have to face that owner there for the first time since I was fired.  And for the first time I felt like I would spit in his face if I saw him.  What am I going to do if and when I do see him?  That party is in a few weeks.  The bitterness has grown in the past few months as the truth of what happened not only the day of my firing and what he told me the day after — “I have had your back for years, Steve” — in the days, weeks, and years prior to that, has become clear to me.  He knew because the firing was premeditated, planned, provoked.

Tonight, when reading my bible, three printed pages stuck in my bible came to my attention.  Those three pages are the email conversation I had with the owner, someone who had called me a friend, less than two weeks before I was fired.  I should not have read those emails tonight because the betrayal was not subtle, clear as a kiss, but performed for far more than thirty pieces of silver.  I had poured my heart to the guy honestly, the only way I know how to be.

“What do you expect me to do, Steve?”

He did nothing because he knew what was going to happen.  I shared that I was not being recognized for my work that by any standard was exceptional, not just for a few days but for years.  I realize now that I was not being recognized for my hard work because two people, a director and a supervisor, were trying to build a case against me.  They had to invent that case or provoke me.  Recognizing me for hard work, for my contribution, would harm their case.  In the end, they provoked me and it worked.  It did not need to work, did not even need to happen if that owner and former friend had chosen the honorable way.

And so the resentment does not let me sleep.  I wish I could control it.  I can’t.  Not tonight at least.  By the morning’s light, it will have shrunk to nothing.  I will sleep.  It will sleep until awakened again.

What is the saying — “You can forgive but you can never forget”?

 

Tender Departure

Big brown eyes filled with the deep hearted sorrow that comes from saying good bye to a lover, a sweet parting of two, hearts joined but torn apart by the temporary physical distance imminent for weeks and finally a reality.  My own heart reached out to my coworker as I checked in on her.  Maria had to drive her boyfriend, Szillard, to the airport this morning for his return flight to Hungary.  Her dejection was so heavy as I looked at her, all I could do was smile weakly and tell her I was thinking of her, walk away hiding the tears that I could not keep from welling in my eyes.

What’s up with that?

I feel deeply for my new friend.  Maria has offered me a kindness that I don’t often feel, an acceptance that I already treasure.  Perhaps it is her Hungarian culture that allows her to be that way, certainly some of that I felt during my two weeks in Budapest this past May.  Many of the people there seem to possess a certain softness in their heart that communicates genuine concern for how I feel.  To me it felt odd, enough that I find myself trying to figure out why that feels odd to me.

Maria came to my office the morning of June 3rd, a little handled paper shopping bag in her hand.  As she gave it to me, Maria hugged my shoulders and gave me a soft little kiss on each cheek.  There was a tin of Godiva chocolates in the bag, a birthday gift for me because she had found out my birthday was June 1st.  I felt like a silly old man as I beamed over not only the thoughtfulness, but the little hug and kisses, touch I have not experienced for a while.  Now I know how special a little touch is to the elderly, not that I am in that category, but I see how much even a small gift like Maria gave to me can be.  It was simple but special, a small gesture that was given in such a sincere way, unexpected so much that it added to the appreciation I feel.  Her kindness found a tender place in my heart.

Szillard came to visit three weeks ago.  He has visited several times this year, spending as much time with Maria as possible.  Each day I wait for them to come to the office together, walk into Maria’s office to see Szillard sitting in a chair opposite Maria at her desk, their laptop computers facing each other as they work.  The bond they have is obvious, so fun to watch.  Szillard is a very personable man and I came to know him quite well during the last three weeks.  Several times a day I would get a knock on my office door, Szillard there to share something with me.  He spent a morning with me helping get some things done around my office that I couldn’t do myself, taking a trip around the area.  I was able to show him a fantastic spot to take Maria where there are magnificent gardens and flowers, an old estate now open to the public.  I think he thanked me every day after that for making the suggestion.  They went there several times.

So I knew the temporary heartbreak of this day was coming.  Yet I still feel it with tears for both Maria and Szillard.

Dang, it brings back memories of the days when I had to part with Miriam and drove away with a shoulder damp with tears, my own eyes blurred with tears.  I remember the same thing happening with the girl that was my first love.  Maybe that is why I feel for my friends today.  There is a happiness mingled with the sorrow.  I know the love that goes with that departing sorrow.  I miss that love.

How Does My Garden Grow?

Tags

fatherhood, mountain biking

My garden grows very weed-ish. I planted flowers this year but no vegetable garden. Our Spring was just not one for planting if you are a casual gardener, a designation that I will some day attain. At this point in my life, I qualify as occasional gardener only, unless marigolds count. My marigolds are doing well this year, safe from the threat of the evil uprooter Miriam, enemy to all plants.

Dang it, writing about gardening is not why I am here this morning.

This past weekend was one of those leave-the-windows-open-spend-as-much-time-outside-as-possible times, a three day holiday weekend. The weather was pleasantly cool with almost no precipitation, which means that when Saturday morning came around, I chose riding the dirt trails on my mountain bike over the grueling grind of a road ride. Mountain biking makes me feel like a 53 year old kid as I bounce around the trails, flying over the jumps. I thought about that Saturday morning while I rode, how I would have loved to have trails available to me when I was a kid like the ones I ride around here. I got off of my bicycle after three hours on the trails, wondering if I could justify another hour of riding, even though I was filthy and soaked with sweat. I asked another rider to take a picture of me in the parking lot before I left, one of those things where I just wanted to remember that I had been there that morning.

Nate had been working at the golf course while I rode Saturday morning. We spent Thursday evening on the trails at Saw Wee Kee together, a first time for Nate and the day I have hoped would happen for quite a while. Nate asked me to take him mountain biking, enjoyed it with the awe that the boy in me also has. After I finished my yardwork on Friday, Nate and I played 18 holes of golf together (as we also did last night). When Nate asks me to do things with him, I usually don’t turn him down. I have said it before that our best times together, when we treat each other like father and son, are when we do things like golf. Mountain biking could end up being the same thing. The last four days have not just been a time to spend time outside, but also a time to build on those times my son will remember spending with his dad.

I walked through kitchen door from our garage Saturday afternoon, a little spent from my three hours on the mountain bike. Nate was in the living room watching TV. He called to me as he heard the door shut behind me.

“Hey Dad, do you want to go mountain biking? I just got home but I will be rested enough in an hour or so.”

The smirk on my face as I walked into the living room, a permanent fixture on my face, was on full. Nate looked at me and just said ‘Oh’.

“Yeah, I think I could go again.” I remembered how I felt in the parking lot when I got off of my mountain bike. Yeah, I was a bit tired, but I wanted to ride with my son and I knew I would find the energy to ride with him.

So we went out to Saw Wee Kee to ride the dirt trails again Saturday evening, another three hours of riding. The A & W root beer on the way home was cold and sweet, a stop that could become ritual for Nate and I should our mountain bike rides continue. A light rain had begun to fall, cooling us as we walked around the classic cars that had gathered for cruise night at the A & W.

Yesterday afternoon, before I walked out to the garage to take Nate golfing, I paused to deliver a little message to Miriam. She encourages Nate to go golfing, as she had done yesterday, and to ride bicycles. He needs to be active, lose the weight he has put on. I looked at her and whispered – “You know that golfing is not really what I wanted to be doing today”. She nodded in agreement that she understood. Honestly, I wanted a quiet day to putter around the house, clean the garage, straighten things up, finish that laundry room door project that has been waiting for me. Mir doesn’t often understand me, but this was a time I know she did.

If there is anything I want to happen in my life, it is for people to take a look at my son and say that he is just like his father — and mean that in a very good way. That affects pretty much everything I do, adds an aspect to every success or failure or action in my life. When I lost my job, one of my first thoughts was about how my actions would affect my son, what lesson he would learn from them. If a curse word slips out in front of him, I wonder how that is going to affect him. He definitely reminds of my shortcomings. But I also think about the positive things affect him — my faith in God, exercise and sleep habits, approach to alcohol and other substances (I don’t smoke, rarely drink and never in front of him), my choices for entertainment and what makes me laugh. My desire to provide a positive image to my son, to my children, even has helped me to stay with Miriam during the times when I would rather leave and pursue a relationship better for me. I realize the positive list is a lot longer than I might think, much longer than the negatives. I realize that what I list as positives now are not likely what he will remember years from now.

What he will remember is the time that I have spent with him. That time invested will be the cement in our relationship that will bring him to me when he needs me. It might even be what helps him to become a good man. Anyone who has read my blog knows the struggles I have had with him, the worries that I have. I know he has what it takes to be a very good man, however. I know what I was like when I was his age, know I had my own issues, know also what my own father remembers about those issues. If Dad remembers them, he doesn’t let on. And I know what I remember about him. It is the time he spent with me, continues to give to me, the example that he was and is. I am not even sure what his shortcomings were, if there were any….

The Boy Wants to Mountain Bike

I have tried to be patient, not force my son to do something simply because I want to do an activity with him. When he was younger it was easy. Nate likes sports, so he sought me out to play catch with him, kick a soccer ball around, shoot hoops in the drive way, knock a tennis ball around. When he picked up golf, I became the guy who helped support his addiction and most often his golfing partner. Some of the activities he still does, some (baseball, for instance) have lost interest with him. He is blessed with some ability, better than average hand to eye coordination, and a strong body.

Nate has never really wanted to ride a bicycle with me. He has been out on a road bike with me once, struggled when he expected to leave me in the dust. I have had him on dirt trails, on a mountain bike, a few times. He liked it but was scared.

Lately he has been looking up mountain bike videos on the internet. Nate has been asking about riding. He just called. He wants to ride tonight.

Dang.