How and Why

Why? Why do you say that we do not want you back? Why do you allow us to cry out loud for your name while you do not answer? Why do you come, and then leave.

I want to know how you could allow such pain to come down upon yourself and us at the same time. I do not understand your pain, but I do believe that it exists. I feel it every time you walk in the door, only to leave a few hours later with a half-hearted hug and a "see you later". Neither of us knows when "later" will be. I cannot be mad, nor can I allow you to continue down this destructive path. You have to know what's going on at, what you used to call, home. We wake and cry. We eat and cry. WE drive, talk and sleep..... and cry. Do you?

Yes, I know that you do. I do not know why you left and I wish that you would tell me, and her, as I sit here each morning holding her tightly as she cries.... she cries out for you. WHY? I do not know. I do not understand. Why does she cry out for a man who acts like he no longer loves her. And why can't I be mad at you for that? WHY?

Why do I allow these tears to fall as I form these words about you in head every day. Spoken or unspoken, these words still come.

Dad.

Dad. I do not want to have to hug my mother at night because you aren't here to do so. I want to hug her as her son, not as some morphed view of the son and husband she once had. The two men in her life that she once relied on, both changing, and slipping away with each passing day, hour, minute. I do not want to tell you what's for dinner because you aren't here to smell and taste the food that your wife still cooks for four, instead of three. I do not want to pick up the paper every morning because you aren't here to take the dog out and peruse the sports section.... like you used to. Everything... like you used to. I do not want to, Dad, but I do.

Can't you see? Can't you hear? If so, then WHY aren't you here to feel? To feel our pain - to understand our relentlessness. We know of yours...so why do you not care of ours. In fact you DO. But how are we to know this?

I can see you now. Alone. Sitting on your couch watching your TV in your apartment away from your family. I see that through these blurry, wet eyes as I think about how alone I have felt and been these last seven months. AND I HATE IT. I know you hate it too. Now show me.

Please come back home.

I miss you.