The Long Way Home

The Long Way Home

“I can’t go home now, my mom just passed away, and my dad is trying to adjust. He also has a lady friend. I can’t impose on him.” I was frantic, going through a divorce, attempting to get my life together. I called my dad several days later, cried, and told him most of the heartbreak I was feeling. I asked if I could come home. I had to have a place to begin again. Divorce is never easy; the lies and hate are the most difficult. I packed my things and drove home to Buffalo. The divorce was ugly; I lost everything, including my children and my home. Time, they say, heals all wounds, but in this case, the wound festered when I discovered he had moved the children without informing me. He attempted to run me off the road twice. I called my dad, crying and telling him what happened; then I went to the police to get a writ of protection against him. Divorce is a strange thing; you think you know the other party, only to discover lies and deceit. I was concerned about going home again. I was married and on my own for thirteen years. I pulled into Dad’s driveway after a two-hour trip home. I sat in the car for a few minutes staring at the ivy-covered home I grew up in. I went in the back door, just as I had done most of my life. The back shed was still there, the key just where Dad had put it when I was about ten...that was after we got locked out of the house and I had to go through my bedroom window; that is another story, however. Dad was napping when I arrived, so I tiptoed in. The snow began to fall later in the day, and I was glad I left early; the roads can be treacherous. Dad asked if I would like pizza for supper, which sounded wonderful. We went to the pizza place and returned home. Dad had some grape soda ready for me; it brought back happier memories. Dad broached the subject of the impending divorce. His biggest concern at that point was to help me put my life back together. I had no idea what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I went to a two-year college, but I could not concentrate on learning; I was more concerned about my children. Dad’s lady friend, I have known since early childhood. She knew she and Dad had a monumental task ahead of them, keeping me on the straight and narrow. Dad and Ruth loved to go out to dinner, then a movie, and I tagged along with a great deal of prodding. The movie was a comedy, like I really needed to laugh. The title was “Seems Like Old Times”, and for the first time in months, I actually laughed out loud. Dad and Ruth were sure that was a good sign, but I was not sure of anything at that point. I began cooking meals for dad and I, he enjoyed French onion soup, so I made that. Pizza was a given for Saturday night, and Sunday dinner was roast beef, chicken, or pork loin. I was finally settling into a routine, something I had not had in over six months. The divorce became a nightmare. The court allowed me visitation. When I went to pick up the girls, I was questioned and re-questioned about where I was taking them. One Saturday, I picked them up and took them to a roller skating rink. They really enjoyed themselves. I hit the wooden floor of the rink, and by the time I drove back to Dad’s, there was not a bone in my body that did not ache! I took a bath and went to bed. Dad was over at Ruth’s, so that made things easier for me to sleep. On a cold, snowy day in January, I decided to go visit a friend of mine, and we decided to go see a girl we had worked with. She had a brother, and she had been attempting to convince me to meet, but I did not want or need a brother. The brother was there, we joked around, then I took my friend back to her house. I went back that night, we talked again, then that little voice in my head, the promise I made to my dad to “keep my nose clean” until the entire divorce was over, went out the window. I had a large problem and no idea how to solve it. I called Ruth the next day and asked her if we could talk; she told me to come over, whatever the problem, things would work out for the best, maybe. The next weekend was Valentine's Day, a big date. We went out for pizza, then back to his place. He went into a closet and came back with the most beautiful bouquet of red roses. Heaven help me, now I have a larger problem than the one I had. I did not want to hurt his feelings, but I was not ready to tell my dad about him either. I gave some to his sister, then called Ruth. I went to see her on Monday morning and confessed the whole story. She just shook her head, and when I finished, she told me she would pave the way for us, but I had to tell Dad the truth. That seemed fair enough. The following Sunday, we went to Buffalo for Sunday dinner. My dad, never at a loss for words, had no idea what to say to either of us. I introduced them, then dad blurted out: “My god, he looks like Grizzly Adams!” Ruth gave Dad an admonishing look, I sat there wondering what he thought of my dad. Going home was difficult; but it also taught me several things. The first is that telling the truth is better than a tall story, Second, this is big one, I got to know my dad, not just as dear old dad but as person. The third thing is, you can go home, it may niggle you but there is also the warmth and security of family. I married Grizzly, we have been married for forty-four years. My daughter came home, she lived with us for fourteen years, met a wonderful man got married. No matter what else, home is home, it doesn’t matter how old or how young you are.