I've been thinking about this post all week. Cause that's how long I've known I wanted...needed... to write it. And so I sit here, knowing I need to clear my head and organize my thoughts, but not knowing how to go about it. I have driven along our snow filled county roads this week playing different scenarios out in my head, thinking and wondering aloud, confronting my own feelings and thoughts and trying to get to the root of it all. And I think, with some help, I have.
I wrote a bunch of stuff down throughout the week but on the advice of a friend, didn't post it. I listened to her, and waited a few days till my head settled down. That decison was a smart one, because as I read it back now, it certainly had a different tone to it than what you will read here. While necessary and part of the process for me to write it, not necessary for you to read it.
So, a few days ago, my dad left Howick Township, the only place he has lived in all of his 49 years, and headed for Saskatchewan. To start over, to move forward, to try to find the man who he used to be.
The last year and a half has been an eventful one for my father, none of it good. It's been a trying time for my brother and for myself. The events of the last year and a half have changed who my father is, who I am, and who Mike is and how we look at life. I have learned a lot I never wanted to know, been asked a lot of questions I couldn't answer, and questioned a lot of things myself that I knew I would never get answered. I have referred to all this before.
Long story short, my dad decided this was not the place for him to be anymore and he had to do what was best for him. I agreed. He decided that, for the moment anyway, the best place for him to be is Saskatchewan, which is a 30 hr drive from here, or a $600 flight. The time between the night he told me he was going and the morning he left, was 6 days. The day he left my mom was in Cuba and my brother was in Mexico. He had told both of them his plans before each of them left. Never before in my life have we all been separated in such a way that we were all in different countries (My dad went through the States). It was only a day before my mom was back in Canada, but during that time I felt very alone. Silly, I know. My mom, dad, brother and I have all always always lived in different areas of Huron County. Always. So for him to make a move like this, it's a big deal, for many many reasons. He called me Wednesday night to say goodbye and once I hung up, I normally would have automatically called Mike, but he was in Mexico. I looked at my husband and didn't even get to open my mouth before his damned fire pager went off...for the umpteenth time that week already. He rushed out the door, and I looked around...and started to cry. I called a friend, who listened to me as I assured myself that I would be fine.
And I am. I had some rough moments throughout this past week, but I am okay. Because I truly do believe it's for the best. My dad isn't who he used to be, who I want him to be, and I truly hope that this next chapter helps him become that man again. I really do. I have a saying above my desk at work that reads "Change can lead to transformation" and I cannot express enough how much I hope this will be true.
I'll be honest; I do not like that this is the path he needs to take, I do not like that he has to move across the country, or the events that forced this hand. In fact I hate that part. But I get it. I don't like it, I wish that wasn't the way it was, but it is and I get it. I understand and I fully believe that it is for the best for all of us right now.
Sometimes "the best" still hurts.
- I grew up in a village of 500 people and now live in a beach town of 10 000. Wife to Jeff, Mama to Makenna and Jack. This is my place to share what's up with us, and the place where I sometimes need to pour my heart out about the not so sunshiney moments. This is my happy place. Thanks for stopping by :) Copyright 2012 by Melissa Wormington, that no part of this blog may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, without permission from the publisher.