It was already past 10:00 p.m. when he finally stumbled in through the front door barely being able to keep his balance. Earlier I had sent a short text message to his mother letting her know that he was not home yet but since I had to get up at 5:00 a.m. the next morning I was heading to bed. I was not trying to disregard my parental role. I was simply exercising my fatherly instinct which had already told me that this night was not average and that since he rarely ever answers my calls or text messages when he is with his friends but typically does his mother's, it would be wise to find him and bring him home soon. I was right and her efforts to find him paid off quickly when he answered in a recognizable intoxicated voice. As soon as I heard the front door of my house open I got myself out of bed to assess the situation. It took me less than five seconds to recognize that he was drunk and that the odds of it being a restful night had dropped significantly. Almost as soon as he had walked in through the front door he was already walking out through the family room back door while mumbling some incoherent words which probably had been bouncing inside his head after some disagreement with his friends that night. I instinctively followed and in less than a minute we were both back in the front yard after he exited through the side gate of the house. More incoherent mumbled words, but this time they were much louder and I feared disturbing the neighbors so I demanded he go back into our home or at least the our back yard. Reluctantly he conceded and walked back and sat at an outdoor bench all the time talking to himself about some nonsense that just would not find any meaning as of yet. The best I could tell, he had gotten into some kind of discussion with somebody and his already complicated mental process was now even more confusing because of the alcohol for the other side to understand. I used every ounce of self retrain to remain silent as to not make things worse. Even though my efforts paid off I took advantage while he sat outdoors to collect all of the kitchen knives and utensils that might be tempting for him to use as a weapon if things would turn out violent as they did last time almost two months ago under similar circumstances. Eventually he came in and poured himself a large glass of orange juice while he warmed up some leftover pizza. Again he stumbled outside with the plate in hand and sat at the patio table to eat while the poured juice never left the kitchen counter until I discovered it still intact in the morning. I kept wanting to go to bed but knew that it was too soon and if he got a second wind he would be heading out to the front of the house where inevitably someone would call the cops and the drama would extend itself into much later hours. Suddenly I could hear the family room TV with at least twice its customary volume playing the movie "UP," which he had started to watch at least five hours earlier but never finished. A few more discrete trips to the family room revealed him laying on the smaller couch watching the movie which eventually was my cue to lock my door and try to get the three remaining hours of sleep before I would have to wake up to go to work. As I went to feed the cat in the morning I found him sleeping on the floor next to the same couch he had been watching the movie, apparently he had fallen off but decided not to venture back on.
Within the chaos I found comfort in the fact that things could always get worse, and they did not. Sadly that is the state of affairs in which I am currently living. Comfort in the battles that were not fought, in the words that were not said, in the simple fact that I was able to collapse in my bed for at least three hours before having to go and do my other job, the one I get paid for. I sometimes wonder if it is just me that lives in this crisis mode? I did not pick this kind of life and given the choice I would gladly pass it along to someone else. I am not sure what the numbers might be, but surely I am traveling on a very small raft over an enormous ocean of turbulent waters...at least it feels that way. It is not just that the raft is very small, but I also feel as if I have only been given access to less that 40 percent of its space to make my journey. On the other 60 percent of the raft I must carry supplies, and tools, and the necessary equipment to navigate the scary waters. On my side I carry the few comforts I can afford to have without allowing it to get so heavy as to make it impossible to steer. Maybe that is why so many people catatonically walk through life without being able to see the beauty that surrounds them. Maybe it is not by choice and the reason they cannot see what should be amazingly beautiful is because their survival instinct blocks the view. Could it be that only a handful of individuals are gifted with the ability to take pause and listen to the music?
Every once in a while someone climbs on board my side of the raft for a short amount of time. It does not take long before they realize that the ability to function with only three hours of sleep and high levels of stress are just a few of an extensive list of pre-requisites needed to ride along. Patience is not only a virtue, it is a must in the list and without it too many mistakes are made when the pressure is on. However, I'd say that the most valuable and useful trait needed is faith. Not just faith that there is something greater at work, but also faith that within all that seems so wrong, there is a great deal of right. Faith that my life is truly a blessing regardless of whether I can see it or not. Faith that I am blessed with the right child, even though days like yesterday might seem as if God sent the wrong FEDEX angel when he delivered my son. Faith that in between the notes of my life a much grander master is playing the most amazingly beautiful symphony for me to enjoy.
PRAYER - I know that I am blessed, please allow me to hear You play out the notes of my life the way You intended it to be heard. Thank You God!
Dad
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