Emotional Preparation
I think I mentioned a few weeks back that I was going to start getting some counseling to deal with the emotional rollercoaster I’ve been on since my ex broke up with me, robbing me of a full-time relationship with my son. It feels odd to express what happened in such stark terms but that is essentially what she did: she stole my son from me like a common thief, and any efforts she does make to get him down to me are about the equivalent to trying to heal a sucking chest wound with a band-aid.
As I’ve written before, when Sam goes home, the after-effects are as drastic as they are random. I can’t understand it really: sometimes it’s an immediate plunge off the cliff into despair, other times the plunge takes a week to kick in, and at other times (such as the last drop off) there’s no plunge at all. I don’t know what to expect, and that makes my reaction hard to predict and harder to deal with.
I’ve been going to my professional friend now for three weeks, and while it’s definitely a little early to talk about progress, she’s certainly helped me begin to look at the situation a little more critically. This week my homework (as I’m calling it) involves thinking about any preparations I make before Sam arrives and before he leaves. “What kind of preparations?” I asked. “You mean like setting up his room, packing..?
“Well, yes, that kind of stuff, but also any emotional preparations as well.”
I couldn’t think of anything yesterday, but agreed to think about it. The truth is, I realized sometime last night, I do make a number of emotional preparations, even though I don’t realize it.
One of the first ways I prepare for Sam’s visit and arrival is to find out who will be driving Melissa. If it’s her boyfriend, it’s always easier: I don’t have any baggage with the guy, and so the meeting is much more pleasant. If it’s her parents, that’s another story: I can’t stand to look at them, and her father’s contemptible and pathetic efforts to make small talk as if everything’s hunky dory just piss me off more. Upon reflection, there’s actually a lot of emotional preparation when the parents are involved: I go out of my way to be as passively unpleasant as I can be without being openly belligerent. I won’t look at them; I speak as quickly and curtly as possible; I get Sam’s stuff loaded in the back of their vehicle as efficiently as I can. Two drop-offs ago, Al was holding Sam in his arms as I finished throwing in his suitcase and said “Do you want to say goodbye to Sammy?”, as if Sam was their child.
“I can do that myself thank you very much,” I said and took him back. I turned my back to the gruesome twosome and said my goodbye privately.
And then other days I go out of my way to be friendly, just to keep them on their toes. The ideal situation is kind of like what torturers like Eric Fair and Tony Lagouranis impose on their clients: an environment that is unpredictable and out of their control. They expect bitter silence and get small talk one pick up, setting them up for the next time, when they get dirty looks and a refusal to make eye contact. They never know what to expect, and so it makes them nervous. Fucked up on my part? Yeah, probably. Totally deserved? Indubitably. Bad for Sam and me? Christina thinks so, suggesting that when Sam sees my angry body language it sends a bad message.
I guess I do prepare emotionally for his arrival as well, worrying about whether the toys and activities around my house are age appropriate, setting his room up, buying food that he likes, and arranging visits with his friends and caregivers here in Philadelphia.
One major problem I worry about is the sheer emotional costs of his visits: at this point, the benefits barely outweigh the costs, and I often feel as if dropping out altogether, reducing my relationship to nothing more than a monthly check. It’s not something I think I would actually carry out: I have to be responsible to him, and it would also mean that the MacIntyre side of the family wins. It’s what they’ve wanted for the past three years, hoping and praying that I’ll just disappear. That’s not going to happen: if anything, as he gets older I need to plan to make visits to Montreal for hockey games and school presentations. Can you imagine his grandparents’ discomfort at having to sit through a three period hockey game right next to the guy who hates their guts?
I need to get past my anger so I can really start to fuck with them in the same cold, detached, and calculated way that people like Eric Fair and and Tony Lagouranis fucked with their prisoners (minus the physical violence, of course). Tit for tat and all that. Just business.
Comments are closed on this post. Just ruminating.
June 14th, 2007 at 1:43 pm
[...] By Brendan I wrote quite a bit last week about my emotional preparations with regard to Sam’s arrivals and departures from [...]