I rode my bike. I was on a solo mission. I was fast, my lines were perfect. I never stopped pedalling. I went up and down. I turned in the sand. I thought of nothing else but biking. I was running away in my mind. I needed escape. I needed peace. I needed to be OK.
That morning I woke up crying. I flashed on the bird flipped in my direction. It wasn’t the first, it won’t be the last, but it is the one I will remember.
The night before, I got home, exhausted and defeated. I felt a little better after debriefing with some friends. I called 3 people to keep processing the information. It was a lot to take. I don’t know if I can do it. Actually, I know I can’t. God please help soon.
At the end of the session, I looked over at my teenager. She was scratching her eye and flipping me the bird. To make sure I noticed, she ran it under her nose. I ignored it. I was tired, defeated, and had enough. I ran.
The preceeding 30 minutes were the worst of my life. I heard my child, the one I read ‘Go, Dog, Go’ to a million times, curse, swear, and spew. She spoke of me rotting in Hell. She expressed distaste. She stated hypothesis and conjecture as facts, not wanting to know the truth. She announced that I was no longer her Dad. My heart broke. I cried outside. I yelled and screamed and stomped inside. I wanted to hold her. I wanted it to all go away. I wanted to say that I was sorry and I would take it all away. I wanted to caution her that there are three sides to a divorce: hers, mine, and the truth. None of that mattered. I sat silently. I took it all in. I let her hurt, hate, and fear. I thanked her.