GOODBYE AT ST. CROIX COUNTY

My lawyer, who first off, wasn’t actually my own personal lawyer, and second off, how much money do you have to have to have a personal lawyer? Anyway, this guy who, if you’re asking me, was lucky to get my business in the first place said to my face after DUI number two:

If you get another one, you’re gonna do time. There is almost no way out of it.

He wasn’t actually my personal lawyer so I wasn’t mad that he said it, but how could he make such a preposterous statement? I’m pretty sure I hire him or not based on how strongly I feel he’d keep my stupid a-- out of jail. Did he not know that?

After this one, it’s Tom, right?

He says yes.

After this one Tom, there is almost no way I would ever get a third one. You have to be an absolute moron to get three.

Looking at me, Dad chimed in.

 If he does get another one, he’s on his own.

He stayed true to his word, Dad that is. So did Tom the lawyer. After I officially became a Moron, even by my own definition, I didn’t call Tom the lawyer to help. I still lawyered up after my third, but he too let me know there wasn’t much he would be able to do. But he laid it out for me a lot more professionally than Tom the lawyer.

The best thing to do is simply shut up, and do your time. …in so many words.

I knew he was right. You and Dad knew he was right.

Looking back, and now having Lily in my life, I think I understand why you never stepped out of the car that Sunday morning. How did you manage to say goodbye? I can barely say goodnight to my child at the end of the day. I’ll never know what it felt like for you and Dad to watch your son (or daughter, in my case) walk into jail by himself from the rearview mirror.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t remember. I do.

Dad got out of the car to help me get the only thing that I could claim as mine for the next 60 days, a small duffle bag. In it, who knows anymore? I was about to sit in jail for the next two months, not relax at the Holiday Inn. What a strong man Dad was to have the courage to step out of the car knowing that when he pulled out my small duffle bag, with it came one of the most difficult goodbyes.

Sometimes I wonder why you guys helped me at all.

In a way, you left it up to me to get my life back in order and often I felt scared and very alone, but I never felt abandoned. You’re my parents, and my entire life you raised me to believe that you loved me and would always support me, good or bad. I knew I was in trouble, I knew I was the black sheep, but I knew that I was still welcome in this family and that you loved me, and I knew I was on my own. I wouldn’t have been mad had you dropped me off at the curbside and squealed away with a sigh of relief without looking back, but I’m glad you didn’t.

The entire family was there to see me off, send me off, say goodbye, whatever the correct saying might be.

Toni, Angie, Nick was the usual routine for anything that had to with leaving. First was Toni, second was Angie, and then Nick being the youngest had to earn his stripes by waiting in line. This day was no different, I mean, this day was more different than any other day in my life, but in terms of my goodbye routine, this day was no different.

Hug hug hug, Toni, Angie, Nick.

Then Dad.

Up to this point it wasn’t often that I’d seen Dad cry or even seen water fill his eyes. But they were filled with tears with the opening of the trunk.

We hugged. And he let me cry in his arms. I couldn’t even look in his eyes, and he never made me feel like I had to.

He told me to be strong.

He told me it would be over soon.

He told me he loved me.

He told me to go say goodbye to your mother.

My head was buried in his chest, but I nodded – ok, I will.

So, I began the walk all the way around the car to say goodbye to you. I didn’t mind, I was about to sit in jail for two months, I welcomed the long walk around the car.

The entire time I was watching you out of the corner of my eye, which is surprisingly powerful and accurate. I saw you already crying which made me cry even more. I’m not sure why I was crying. Well, let me back-up, I knew why I was crying but I wasn’t sure if it was 90% shame and 10% sadness, or if it was 90% sadness and 10% shame. Either way there was more water coming out of my eyes than out of the showerhead in the bathroom.

I walked around the rear of the car. You stayed put. I approached your door. You stayed put. The window came down. You stayed put. I bent down, leaned through the window and as I went to kiss you, you pulled your hands away from your face. Through your tears you looked at me. I couldn’t read the look on your face and I’m not sure how good of a thing that was but your touch was deafening.

It was tender.

Soft.

Protective.

Sad.

Firm.

Sorrowful.

Affectionate.

Lenient.

Emotional.

Loving.

Inspirational.

And it said – I still love you, my son.

With that, I grabbed my duffle bag, walked across the open and empty parking lot, grabbed a-hold of the handles and walked through the front doors.