When February 15th rolled around, I thought about writing a post, but none of the words in my head seemed keen on being released. It’s been a full year, since my father left, since I first wondered what would happen without him around.

My parents are still technically married. My father is still technically a husband, a dad, but left the responsibilities he had as both of those things, in search of “happiness”. Has he found it? I’m not convinced. He’s traveling much too often for work, here on the weekends, living in Chicago during the week, no pets around, no family, no friends, just a bitter and lonely wind I hope rattles him at night. I do not think he knows, nor will ever know the heartbreak he caused us. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.

I remember that night, a Thursday, just like today. My brother was living with a girlfriend in her apartment, my sister was living with us, her bedroom located upstairs. My mother and father went into their bedroom to talk. They’d been “fighting” since Valentine’s Day, though they never really fought. That’s the problem, I think. Their relationship has always been too passive-aggressive for arguments, which are essential to healthy communicating.

I was sitting in the living room, on the same couch that I’ve sat on during other pivotal moments in my life. The television was on, ER was playing so it was after 9PM when their bedroom door opened. I was half expecting this to happen, paralyzed by fear, listening intently. My mother’s gut-wrenching sobs echoed down the hallway, “Danny, please.” I didn’t hear my father say anything. I swallowed hard and felt tears fall down my cheeks. At some point, before or after this I can’t say, my sister descended the stairs and joined me on the couch. She was upset, I stopped crying long enough to comfort her. I was sitting on a couch, holding my eighteen year old sister while my mother begged my father to stay not a hundred feet from us. I felt like screaming, vomiting, and dying all at once. My sister regained some semblance of composure and probably went outside to smoke. I called my brother, he’d be right over. Through all of this, the song Idioteque by Radiohead looped in my head.

We’re not scaremongering
This is really happening
Happening
We’re not scaremongering
This is really happening
Happening

My mom came into the room, and I cried at the sight of her. My sister came back inside. We were all on that couch, crying, not even trying to comfort each other anymore, the only thing we could do was ask, “Why?” I called my best friend, knowing her parents had recently split. She tried to offer some comfort, some answers, but her situation was so different. It was expected, but this was so abrupt. It caught all of us off-guard.

My brother arrived, I don’t know what happened next, I remember hearing my mother raise her voice to my brother, saying “Chris, NO!”, more tears, my mother and brother went outside, my sister upstairs to call her boyfriend.

I heard my father’s unique footsteps down the hall, into the bathroom, the door close, the door open, more steps down the hall to the kitchen, the faucet on, the refrigerator open, close, milk being poured, two steps, his voice talk to the dog. He was drinking milk, standing in his spot in the kitchen, the spot we ate Oreos at when I was eight, like it was any other evening. My mom asked him to leave later, he packed a bag and went to a hotel.

I stayed on that couch, if I didn’t move, I didn’t have to face it. I could pretend. That was the only way to cope, those first few weeks, all you could do was pretend. Pretend dad was on a trip like they sent him on, pretend nothing is wrong, maybe you’ll trick your brain into believing that crock. The first month or two it was not uncommon to burst into tears. Dad moved his stuff out one day in March. I couldn’t bear to be home to see that, so the first time I ever drove alone was that day, up the street to sit in the vacant church parking lot until he left the house. I didn’t see him for at least another month. My brother moved in, my sister dropped out of nursing school, my mom became depressed, I don’t know what I did. I probably sat on that couch some more.

Nobody tells you how to react to your father leaving a seemingly stable, happy, marriage of twenty-five years. I didn’t expect finding out about the infidelities, the money spent on escorts, the cruises enjoyed with other women, and I’ll say it once, it wasn’t my mother who told me about these things. My brother hacked into his accounts to figure the reason behind this breakup, and if he hadn’t, I expect the funds coming in would be quite a bit less than what my mother was able to get. It gave me a minuscule amount of comfort, knowing about his deceit, I felt reassured it wasn’t my fault, but it did little else to soothe the pain he left behind.

To answer the questions and statements I wrote a year ago in that post entitled “Crisis”:

It’s amazing the things you think of in a crisis. What’s Rover going to do without dad around? I’m never going to hear him doing his morning routine again. Who is going to read us stories on Christmas Eve.

I never thought my family would be one of those that are split up. But we are, apparently.

Rover will start shitting in the office, her poop is like an elephant’s, and smells stronger than anything else. She also pees everywhere. She gets over it though, and follows mom around constantly.

You won’t miss his morning routine, it’s nice to have uninterrupted sleep into the afternoon hours.

He’ll read it to you on Christmas Eve. He’ll be there Christmas morning, too. He gets mom a Wacom Tablet, and you get some really nice camera lenses. It’s a little awkward but pleasant nontheless–same goes for your birthday.

Our family isn’t one to break up, it’s one to bind together even stronger when something terrible happens. Our family will never, ever break up, even if some relationships change, we will always have each other.