Going Home

Our plane landed in Vegas at 9:15, Pacific time. By the time we got the rental car and were on the road to Utah it was 10:30. Rock Star slept most of the 3 hour drive and I couldn’t figure out how the radio worked so I drove in dark silence. As I drove I thought about our upcoming trip in June. The one the mobster is coming on with us.

I thought about all the different restaurants and hangouts I want to share with him, all the places I want to take him to. I began thinking about the beautiful scenery in Logan where my son would play hockey once a season. I was a bit disappointed that I couldn’t do that because it’s a 2 hour drive one way, and we’ll only be in town for a long weekend. Then I thought about how Picasso no longer gets to play hockey, thanks to CF and his selfishness. And then another thought hit me. One that almost knocked the breath out of me for a moment.

This is the first time I’ve been back since he imploded our lives. It’s been almost three years now. Granted, I’m not back in our city; we’re actually about 3 1/2 hours south of the town we called home for eight years. Still, it’s the first time I’ve been back to Utah since the bomb dropped on us. First time I’ve been back since my husband cheated on me and left me for his cousin. First time I’ve been back since losing everything and watching our standard of living circle the drain. First time I’ve been back as a divorced woman. First time I’ve been back living this new, foreign life.

It shook me. In all honesty what led to this was me thinking about how sad I was for Picasso because he couldn’t play hockey anymore; then I imagined myself dissolving into hysterical sobs as I thought of all the discarded parts of my life that I had loved and had left behind. For him. How it was all gone now.

I imagined myself showing the mobster all of these wonderful places and introducing him to my fantastic friends, and in doing so, realizing how much that selfish sonofabitch took from us.

I let myself feel it all for a moment. It is a big loss. We left it all behind for this supposed “better life” only to find out we had been mercilessly conned.

After allowing myself to feel the sadness, the anger, the heartbreak, the fury, I gave myself a pep talk.

Yes, Sam, you had a great life out here. It’s a shame he didn’t leave before he moved you and the kids 2000 miles away. Unfortunately, that life is over. Here’s the good news, though. He didn’t take it away completely. You and your kids had eight fantastic years worth of memories. You can come back whenever you want and hang out at all your favorite spots. Your friends still love you. You continue to have relationships with them, even 1500-2000 miles away. You and the kids are loved and missed, and welcomed back with open arms. He couldn’t destroy that. He couldn’t destroy you.

Just like that the sorrow left. I smiled in the darkness; as I passed the sign welcoming me to Utah I shouted out, “I’m back!”

2 thoughts on “Going Home

  1. Mourning takes a long time and hits you unexpectedly from time to time. Whether mourning a loved one to death or in your case mourning a way of life. Glad you pulled yourself out of it.

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