The Band Stopped Playing
I took off my wedding band today for the first time in nine years. I won’t need it anymore. I don’t suppose I ever had much use for it actually.
After court this morning there was neither a parade nor a hug from a stranger. A simple handshake from my lawyer and a solemn, “Well, Congratulations, I guess.” How is it that something so anti-climactic and mundane can be saddening to the core?
The end of things has always given me pause. I cannot help but draw the death analogy. And those who know me know I do not deal well with death. The concept of something that once was being no longer baffles me to the point of …well, incoherence.
But in a couple hours I board a Delta flight for the Pacific Northwest and embrace a five-day bender with friends I believe were given to me by a higher Being. And I already miss Emerson. I hope I will take this low ache and use it to become a better father. Use it to gather patience.
I look forward to a 7:00 a.m. double Makers and Coke that does not end until I slide into a warm Woodford in Seattle on Thursday. I embrace the mere thought of reconnection, independence, and responsibility.
I look forward to introspection and nothingness. To crassness and conviction. To experience. Fucking Christ, how I have missed experience.
Before I leave, I will slow dance with Em in the quiet of our modest dwelling. I’ll hold him tight. Kiss his eyes and face. I’ll hug him until he pulls away. One day he’ll understand the necessity of this trip. He’ll recognize that some bands don’t bind forever. And that sometimes Daddies have to struggle with that knowledge to be better at what they do.
And I will recapture the slender crescent moon that guards Nashville tonight and make it my own. I will put it in trust and hand it over to Em when he is of age. And because he is my Boy and wise, he will say, “Why thank you, Daddy. Help me let it go, please. It belongs up there with the stars.”
Emerson knows nothing of lawyers and proceedings, of heartache and compromise. For the time being, I am so fucking ok with that.
Let us dance, Son, beneath moons that have dictated our respective destinies.
Sometimes I fear I will crumble when you no longer need me.
I love you more than love.
Always,
Daddy
After court this morning there was neither a parade nor a hug from a stranger. A simple handshake from my lawyer and a solemn, “Well, Congratulations, I guess.” How is it that something so anti-climactic and mundane can be saddening to the core?
The end of things has always given me pause. I cannot help but draw the death analogy. And those who know me know I do not deal well with death. The concept of something that once was being no longer baffles me to the point of …well, incoherence.
But in a couple hours I board a Delta flight for the Pacific Northwest and embrace a five-day bender with friends I believe were given to me by a higher Being. And I already miss Emerson. I hope I will take this low ache and use it to become a better father. Use it to gather patience.
I look forward to a 7:00 a.m. double Makers and Coke that does not end until I slide into a warm Woodford in Seattle on Thursday. I embrace the mere thought of reconnection, independence, and responsibility.
I look forward to introspection and nothingness. To crassness and conviction. To experience. Fucking Christ, how I have missed experience.
Before I leave, I will slow dance with Em in the quiet of our modest dwelling. I’ll hold him tight. Kiss his eyes and face. I’ll hug him until he pulls away. One day he’ll understand the necessity of this trip. He’ll recognize that some bands don’t bind forever. And that sometimes Daddies have to struggle with that knowledge to be better at what they do.
And I will recapture the slender crescent moon that guards Nashville tonight and make it my own. I will put it in trust and hand it over to Em when he is of age. And because he is my Boy and wise, he will say, “Why thank you, Daddy. Help me let it go, please. It belongs up there with the stars.”
Emerson knows nothing of lawyers and proceedings, of heartache and compromise. For the time being, I am so fucking ok with that.
Let us dance, Son, beneath moons that have dictated our respective destinies.
Sometimes I fear I will crumble when you no longer need me.
I love you more than love.
Always,
Daddy
posted by Ryan at 11:22 PM
5 Comments:
GODDAMN IT. I will grieve for you. I have enough for two.
My meagre portion of hope I will share too. From death comes rebirth.
So... in the words of AJ, girl-prophet wise beyond her years, " Now let's have a cigarette. Lets fucking wreck the place. Let's trash it.
I took off my wedding ring months before my husband moved out, and so did he. Before the lawyers and the paperwork and the legalese, it was over. And when he left, it was just relief; and when it's all official, it'll be relief. That seems so callous, but I used up all the grief while still with him.
But which is the better way? When there is still sadness? Or when there is little more than relief? There is no better or easy way, right?
What a mix of love, love lost, and experience with friends.
Through it all, Em'll be there. One of my favorite posts of yours.
You have a talent for capturing things unseen by most. But damn you for making me cry at work.
Emerson is a lucky boy. I enjoy your writing.
There is one part that I was curious about. You mention that you never really had much use for you wedding band. Has it been a loveless marriage from the beginning or what did you mean by that.
I hope you have a great time with your friends.
Hank
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