I’m writing today because tomorrow (Monday: President’s Day)
I will be taking the oldest girl (a six-year old) to the Science Museum of
Minnesota. It will be her first adventure there, and she’s as excited as she
should be.
This week contained a Valentine’s Day that will hopefully
not soon be forgotten. As much as I would like to tell you all what I had
planned and orchestrated, I will leave it in Amanda’s hands if she would like
to share what transpired. I don’t gloat, and I don’t share things with you to
make you think I’m a great guy: I focus on others and actually try to be a good person.
At this moment I am standing at the kitchen table, watching
Amanda make gluten-free cookies. Both of the girls are trying to help but it
appears to be adding an element of frustration to the process. From three feet
away, I enjoy the scene…
Outside these walls the struggle is real. Everywhere are
souls searching for another way of life that once seemed so attractive. People
I know from the program are falling by the wayside and some with whom I spent
six-months of treatment
hell that I left nearly three years ago are back in—with some pretty
substantial charges. One of my squad mates recently received a 15-year sentence
for assault and will not be eligible for release until 2027. Several more have
been in since our release, and a couple of them are back out. I think of all
that I have been able to accomplish while in the real world, and I wonder how
many wrong turns I could have taken, especially at different points in my life
while sober or not. I am nearing the end of my pronounced 50-month sentence
which coincides with my sobriety date. I see my parole officer infrequently, and soon it will be not at all.
My relationship with my parole officer is…bare. I’ve met
with her three times since I decided to move to Delano, and every time we part ways, I
get the sense that there aren’t many on her caseload that consistently do the
right thing, or even communicate with her. She bluntly told me that people were
“dropping like flies” and in and out of jail.
I can’t do that shit anymore.
I’ve moved from standing to sitting at my normal spot at the
dinner table (which also functions as a lunch table, and in a lesser capacity,
as a breakfast table.) Across from me is a child who is just beginning to
understand the world around her. She knows me as Vince. She depends on me to
feed her, clean her, and teach her. Not just me, there is her mother who raises
her equally. To my left is a six-year-old. She won’t stop talking and it’s a
little maddening as I sit here and type about how I’m supposed to be a nonesuch
(look it up). She looks to me as a (I just asked her for a word that describes
me and I was going to insert that word here, however, she said, “You have a
beard and a mustache.” Fucking priceless.)
As exasperating as life can be on the daily, there is
nothing I would do to risk what I have now. There is no measure of frustration
that has pushed me in the wrong direction, and no tool that I do not use when I
find myself thinking negatively, or wondering if I have put myself in all the
right places since my release from the prison of my mind and body. I am here
now, and I can’t wait to stay.
