We won’t let you
Later on that week, I saw my old co-workers.
Me: Apologies for the late notice but my son is away with my in-laws until Saturday. Free for a drink on Friday?
Him: We can definitely make time to see you and grab a drink or two.
Me: I get so much pity, man.
Him: It’s not pity, it’s sadness for you. For Alison. For the whole situation.
Me: (sighing) I’m worried I’m gonna f__-up the kid on my own.
Him: You won’t.
Me: How do you know?
Him: (thinking) Two reasons: Reason number one: You’re you. Reason number two: The f__ed-up things that happened to you, happened to you. You didn’t make them happen. Life happened to you.
Me: I dunno if I can do this on my own, man.
Him: You’re not on you’re own. You’re surrounded by people that won’t let you. We won’t let you f__-up.
On Sunday, saw some other friends in the park.
Her: You look good.
Me: Not eating or sleeping and crying all the time does that for a man, I suppose.
It’s all so surreal. This is my life now. I’m a 44 year-old widower with a infant kid.
Stopped drinking Saturday morning, when the kid got back.
There’s a song my brother sent me that has the line, don’t like being sober – that’s when it hits me it’s over. It’s true.
Late at night, after the alcohol wears off but before the pharmaceuticals kick in, I tell Alison in my empty room that I love her and miss her.
Then I think about how I wish it were all different.
And it all rattles around my head and keeps me up.
Location: the kitchen, making the kid breakfast
Mood: so sad
Music: don’t think that I’m that strong. It hasn’t been that long.
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