Wet Flor

This is the sign that was posted on my kitchen wall one morning last year. I found out later that there had been a 'minor flood' while I had been sleeping and my eldest son had taken care of the mess (he had created). I'm not sure if he had posted the signs out of a genuine concern for my safety or if it was to give me a passive heads up of what to expect on entering the kitchen. In the end it didn't matter. The smile that consumed my face when I first saw the signs was stretched even further when I noticed the misspelled word (phonetic spelling is something Zack does when he's in a rush). I wore the smile for a week.

The sign still adorns the wall a year later. Lego models in various stages of construction, or destruction, still clog up my desk and the dirt smudge on the passenger side of the truck dashboard (from Spring 2011) still remains uncleaned. Zack's collection of war men (read disposable cream containers purloined from local restaurants) still hog the bottom shelf of the fridge and Logan's headboard still remains a disheveled mess of Happy Meal toys. It would drive some to drink....but in the world of the separated Father these are the signs of normalcy that prevent you from sinking into the quagmire of loneliness and self pity. These are the things that draw your attention as soon as you enter your dark apartment. These are the things that when touched with an idle hand transport you to a world of noise and smells and sibling rivalry that coddle rather than curse the heart. These are the things that allow you to look into an empty bedroom and see the two people you love most in this world snuggled up under the covers. These are the things that can make even the darkest day scream like a rainbow.

Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't say I am lonely; rather I'm just temporarily alone. It can be hard sometimes; I can't and won't deny it. I think it would be hard on any parent in this situation, but for one that was as involved as I was in my children's lives on a daily basis, separation for any amount of time is a trial that tests even the most steeliest of resolves. You deal though. You find ways to cope with the distance and you find ways to cope with the knowledge that you won't ever again have the opportunity to kiss your boys goodnight EVERY night. You cope by celebrating every reminder of their presence, every word on the wind that sounds like they had spoken it, and every touch that feels like their hand in yours.

Out of necessity rather than desire, I find myself an hours drive away from my boys for most of the week. I know, I know, an hours drive is not that far. Heck I have driven further in search of a blueberry fritter. However, on a cold winters night with your sons on the other end of a phone line, it can feel like a lifetime separates you. Life is all about balance. We balance pleasure with pain, success with failure and love with.....I guess the absence of love. This balance is played out every week as I make that two hour round trip. The joy and expectation of the drive to pick them up is always threatened by what I call 'The Crash' on the way back - that feeling of instant loneliness that descends as I pull on to the QEW. I have spent many hours replaying my life on that long drive home, many hours contemplating the future. Its a tough drive and yes, from time to time there are tears.

I try not to dwell on the sadness though and instead start to plan their next visit. Where will we go? What will we do? What will this fledgling chef concoct that two picky eaters will consume? As I said, its all about balance....and clearing away the Lego or taking down the 'Wet Flor' sign would unnecessarily put my life out of balance. So there it stays.....and when I eventually leave this apartment that sign will come with me, a constant reminder that wherever my boys are in this world they are always in my heart.