A Diary of Separation, Ep. 4: The Maze

Maze: noun, complex system of paths or tunnels in which it is easy to get lost.

I do not recall anything from the period after my family was gone. No matter how hard I try, these memories persistently evade my mind. I remember pain though and I recall anger mixed with disbelief.
Wrapped in a black cloud of mist, I recapture discussions and arguments. Friends and relatives attempting -and not all in good faith- to play the Good Samaritan. As if resolving my altercation is the last remaining open door to heaven.
But how could they? How could an abstract advice resolve a very personal and intimate crisis? And how could an hour of talk rebuild what took years to fall apart?

One day, maybe three months later, I got out of my room and went into the living room, for the first time.
Hesitantly, I laid down in an old sofa and tried to watch TV. I couldn’t find the remote. Then I realized it. I know almost nothing about this place I call home.
I don’t know where most of my cloths and my books are.
I don’t have a clue about what’s in the kitchen million drawers and compartments.
And although I am an engineer, I found that operating the washing machine or the dishwasher is a considerably complicated task.
It is true when they say “Home is where the heart is”
I am definitely homeless at heart.

At a certain point, during the course of life, we all meet the grey ghost of failure. However, what is far more difficult is to meet the white knight of defeat.
Especially when the fall is colossal.
Even as you are trying to get up and put it all together, you look around; everybody is staring. But none with affection.
An old track plays in my ears “Everybody loves winners that’s why nobody loves me.”

A Diary of Separation, Ep.3: Taking the Blue Pill

"The only thing you can do easily is be wrong, and that's hardly worth the effort" (The Phantom Tollbooth)

One day, my wife left home.
It was a hot spring day late March and we had just had our last fight. One of us must leave, we agreed. Our kids were starting to feel the toll of continuous squabbles and life was really a pain. But we disagreed on who should do it.
I stormed out of the house.
Coming back from work, the security guard told me that I just missed them.
"They just left for their little trip…" He said.
But I knew better, this was the start of a totally different journey. A one I knew I did not sign for.

That was it.
Just like a dream (or a nightmare depending on your perspective) my short adventure with marriage came to an abrupt end.
I never saw or talked to her again. And she basically did even try.
Life went on -of course it did- albeit slower, like trickles from an old tab days went by.
Whomever said that there is a close connection between memories and smells was absolutely right. The odors of biscuits, baby shampoos and diapers' cream were quickly disappearing. In just a week, our large house kept only the very distinct smell of locked uninhabited places. I took off all of our wedding photos as well as hers' and hid them in a closed box in the basement.

So, what is the definition of "normal"?
It doesn't really matter. However, what I knew for a fact is that I am sailing away from it's shores. Into an absolutely foreign ocean. An ocean that might or might not hold a safe port.
Strange words started to creep in my life and in my mind. "My kids are coming to spend some time with me, court and step mom" were all of a sudden in my present or my future. What meant to be for life ended. All that remains is a sour business deal, with a person who is nothing but a perfect stranger to me.

Every time you had a fight to go out when I did not want to, I hope it was well worth it.
Every time you lied to me to do whatever you desired, I hope it was well worth it.
Every time you skipped our family lunches, wiggled out of a romantic dinners and came up with excuses not to take our children on vacation, I hope it was well worth it.
The freedom that you wanted so bad is yours for good, I hope you're glad.