Falling Into A Hole

Dear Rachel,

We just never know when we’re going to get blindsided. I can be doing pretty well and then a song will come on the radio or a young woman your age will walk by and set me off. Lesley and I have talked about this, and I know that she gets hit by it, too. No doubt Amy and Debbie have had the same terrible experience.

This time it was during a business trip to Orlando. I’d gone out to give a speech to a PC users’ group. I like speaking to such groups, getting to meet readers, etc., although I hate the actual traveling: hours waiting in airports, followed by hours crammed into too-small seats on an airplane. (Not to mention the actual flying! Zooming along at 600mph in a glorified cigar holder. Ugh.)

At any rate, the trip was fine, as these things go, until I got up Saturday morning and went outside to have a smoke as I drank my morning coffee. It was then that I suddenly realized: I always called you when I was on these trips, usually in the morning while drinking my coffee and smoking the day’s first cigarette. For some reason you got a kick out of me calling from Florida, Texas, California, Washington state, etc. And I got a kick out of it, too. You’d laugh and say, “So, Dad, where are you today?” And I’d respond, “Let’s see, it’s Thursday, so I’m in Orlando.” Or Seattle or Las Vegas or Dayton or wherever.

But this time there was a hole in my morning—a huge, ragged hole that matched the one in my heart. I was on another one of those trips, but this time I couldn’t call my little girl.

I stood there drinking my coffee and my eyes filled with tears. I hoped no one would walk by and wonder what my problem was.

This is like falling into a murky, gloomy pit. I’ll be going along feeling pretty well, and then I stumble and fall into a deep, dark hole, spinning and tumbling out of control in the darkness. Sometime it feels like I’ll fall forever.

Love,

Dad