Am I angry? Not at the moment. Will I be in ten minutes? Well, there's really no telling, but I know that if I am it will pass. This was supposed to be my great exodus, my escape from the non-nutritive void that I'd outgrown years ago. No more driving down the same old streets and feeling suffocated by onslaughts of memories and bad vibes that spring out of broad daylight for no apparent reason. No more rehashing the same old experiences under only barely modified circumstances. It was going to be my fresh start, my defining moment, my throwing off of the chains, etc.
I had pictured, at least a hundred times while I was packing, myself unpacking in the new house I had found. I'd imagined myself sitting, bored but invigorated by the change, in an orientation session at Vanderbilt. I saw myself driving around Hermitage, temporarily reliant on TomTom to get me to the nearest grocery store, or Walgreens. I had visions of walking the kids to the bus stop, of picking them up at new schools, of driving Tim to the train station so he could spend a much needed weekend away in the city. I saw new opportunities for friendship, creativity, for love everywhere my imagination looked. As of Thursday morning, I expected a phone call, but never imagined the voice on the other end to say what it did.
I was trying to get Lane to take a nap, but it wasn't happening. I hadn't slept the night before, and had spent most of the day crying from a combination of exhaustion and frustration. The truck had been almost completely loaded by family and friendsWednesday night when I arrived home from court, and I spent Thursday morning packing the remainder of my odds and ends, and cleaning while I waited for a call from my attorney with the judge's decision. Finally there was nothing to do but let my mind rest, but Lane wiggled and squirmed and got up and came back, and the phone rang. I heard the words, but I don't remember them, just what they meant. I swear, over all this time I've had such trouble breathing because I've been so stressed, so anxious about moving, I had never felt like I had the wind knocked out of me until that moment, but I waited until the call ended to cry.
Angry? Not at first. Stunned. I felt such loss. Mom drafted a very articulate email to the recruiter and the manager of the SICU at Vanderbilt. I called the property manager to notify her that I would not be in need of the adorable little house I had put a deposit and taken over utilities on. The entire time I planned this move, I left myself an out at every detail. My current position was maintained for me at OSF; they knew the situation I was in, and were good enough to accomodate it. My family had no plans with the house I was vacating until they had done some renovations. I made provisions to be able to resume life here, but I never expected to be required to fall back on them.
The house has been repainted, the carpets clean. The bathroom is stripped, in the process of a total makeover. An army of family came over Saturday and cleaned, unloaded the truck into the garage of the place it was so recently loaded from. Furniture made its way back in Sunday, a new set of bunkbeds for Leah, a new bed for Lane, and everything put into places different enough to make us feel like there had been a change in the absence of any actual one.
Tomorrow I will go back to work at OSF. I'll have the same position I did on the SICU. I'll wear the new scrubs I bought to wear at Vanderbilt. Maybe I'll start wearing makeup. I've wanted to for some time, but never did because it felt silly to start doing something new all of a sudden.
Am I angry? He couldn't have cared less what I did with his children until I made him pay child support. I knew he'd get nasty after I did, but he was usually nasty anyway. He has told me a number of times that everything he does that I don't like (like avoiding Lane while taking visitation with Leah) is because I took him to court. I know that he didn't oppose my moving to Nashville out of concern for my ability to provide a good life for them there. He did it to prevent me from getting something I wanted. Am I angry? No. He is. And insecure and rotten with hate, and I won't be. I don't believe that he alone is capable of stopping me from anything, but I do believe that the Universe watches out for me, even when it means breaking my heart in the process. I pushed for this, and I pushed goddamned hard. I made it happen; I worked, I saved money, then shelled it out. I made plans, signed paperwork, but I know that had I gotten there last Thursday as I had hoped to, that something would have been askew. I have theories, but I'll never know for sure. All I know is that I did everything I could to get there.... I offered up a prayer and backed it with blood, sweat and tears. My greatest consolation is that I'll never be able to say to myself, "You're only stuck here out of complacency, just like your father." Who, incidentally says, "Alana, you'd better make that motherfucker pay." The beauty of it is that I don't have to. That 'motherfucker' already has the cancer that will eat him alive. I've done angry before. I've done hate, rage and resentment to death. He'll take care of his, and I don't even feel the need to watch him consume himself. Planting season starts in March, and I'm mapping out a garden that will put my last one to shame.
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