My year in Mexico
was a
BIG FAT FAIL
in terms of
reaching my goal.
I went to write
THE BOOK
but got distracted
by Muchachos,
Mohitos,
especially Jesus,
NOT Christ.
While I was there,
my Step-Daughter,
Anne 29,
and I,
communicated online,
she asking questions
of things
that happened
when she was too young
to remember.
Towards the beginning,
her Mother
asked
if I could come
and help her,
and the kids,
move into a new townhouse
after she
and Anne’s Dad
had Divorced.
John was 9.
Anne was 7.
Moving Day done,
exhausted,
a Painful Knock
comes to the door
late at night,
announcing the
horrific news.
John and Anne’s Birth Father,
and my friend,
had died that afternoon,
after the move,
in a tragically-timed
automobile accident.
Church Ladies with Casseroles
began arriving
before we swallowed the news.
Their Mother and I
braced each other
the next morning
as we closed our eyes
and walked into the playroom
to break the news
to the kids,
and to knowingly break their hearts.
It was like
having to take your child
to the doctor
for their first tetanus shot,
the kid not knowing
WHY you are allowing
the infliction
of SUCH pain.
My Heart fucking broke
into a thousand pieces
for all of them.
“I CAN’T RAISE THE KIDS WITHOUT A FATHER”
(((ee-cc-hh-oo-ee-dd)))
through my head
for days.
Having grown up
without a Father myself,
I couldn’t bear
the same thing
for them
that she couldn’t bear.
Several months later,
her Mother and I
Married.
Life did what Life does.
Nine years later,
her Mother and I
Divorced,
still stunned
by what brought us
together.
I had broken their hearts once more.
Online,
years later,
me in Mexico,
and Anne in America,
chatted freely
about her Childhood,
about her Dad,
about the Genesis
of her Mother and I.
I understood her need to know the truth.
She understood my need to tell the truth.
She asked.
I shared.
She wondered.
I reflected.
She questioned.
I confirmed.
She gasped.
I swallowed.
The Christmas
after I returned
from Mexico to America,
Anne proudly presented me
with the most heartfelt,
and breathtaking gift
I could ever imagine.
She practically had to
forklift IT to me
it was so heavy.
It was a LARGE notebook,
like 6″ thick,
girly-ribboned all up,
and inside,
she had painstakingly photo-copied
every single email
that she and I shared
while I was in Mexico.
“I made this for you,
you DID write a book
while you were
in Mexico,
you just didn’t know it.
Thank You for sharing.”
I still cry
knowing
what it took
for her to do this.
Even if you don’t know
what you are doing,
and you know you need to do it,
sometimes it’s best
to just keep doing it,
even if you don’t know why
you are doing it.
One day you may.
