Never Welcomed Home Pt. 01

"Stop! You can't do that!" I screamed through the closed window as two men in a tow truck repossessed my car. The next day, when I walked back from the liquor store, I found all my clothes boxed up in the hallway in front of our apartment door. If I hadn't been so out of it I probably would have cried. This was only a little setback. I'll bounce back, I tried to tell myself. The only one who believed it was me.

My dad helped me transport the boxes to their house. I was back living with my parents—staying in the room where I had spent my boyhood.

Our marriage lasted two years, ten months and eighteen days. Frankly, I'm surprised Becky stuck it out that long. If it had been me, I would have dumped my sorry ass long before she did. I loved Becky and Abby, but I let the demons in my head destroy our life together.

Two weeks after Becky kicked me out, I was served with divorce papers. I must have signed them though I don't remember doing so. Most days I was out of it from the time I woke up until I crashed at night.

***

My parents tried. They dragged me to the VA hospital in the hope they could help me. The doctors there were useless. I was just one of thousands who had trouble coping with the hell they'd experienced over there.

They appeared interested and even nodded when I told them my innermost thoughts. Then they gave me drugs. All the drugs I wanted. The drugs helped, but not in the way the doctors had intended. I found that if I took the drugs and washed them down with enough alcohol, I could sleep through most nightmares, but they were waiting for me when I awoke.

I took everything I could get my hands on to dull the pain and memories. Nothing worked. Like most guys who'd been in Nam, I had seen death. When I squeezed the trigger and a body fell, I felt bad, but I became numb to it. It was my job. That's why I was over there. Their deaths were justified. Death, though, had never really touched me until the night John died in my arms.

Now that was all I thought about. I screamed at God. Why in the hell had He taken my best friend and not me? He never answered. So, I just gave up and died in my own way.

Alcohol and prescription drugs weren't strong enough to eliminate the pain. I needed something stronger. So street drugs became my crutch of choice.

My parents booted me out when they caught me stealing from them. I stole money, then whatever I could lay my hands on to pawn or sell on the streets.

I sponged off my friends until they grew tired of me. For the next twenty months I panhandled, and stole items out of cars. I slept wherever I ended up crashing at night. Two trips to the emergency room for frostbite almost did me in. I was a lousy homeless person. If not for my grandmother, I probably would have died on the street.

I showed up on her doorstep one cold night when I had nowhere else to go. I hadn't eaten any real food in I couldn't remember when. I knocked on her door shortly before 7:00. Please, please, please, I prayed to no one in particular.

She opened the door and looked at me for what seemed like forever. "Steve, you look like crap and you stink! Go take a shower and I'll fix you something to eat."

She had clean clothes waiting for me when I got out. They were my grandfathers and I was surprised she still had them. He had passed away years earlier in a car accident. I had lost a ton of weight and they hung on me, but I didn't care. They were clean. Gran watched as I ate two bowls of soup and a tuna sandwich. I had nothing in my stomach but a half pint of Mad Dog 20/20 wine.

"Grandma..."

"Steve, I'm tired of all your lies and promises. For once, be a man. If not for yourself, do it for Abby. She needs a father—not some worthless drunk. The pullout couch is yours, if you want it. And if you're wondering, I don't have any alcohol or cash in the house."

With her thin bony hands holding my face, she kissed my forehead. "You're stronger than you think. You just need to take that first step, the rest will follow. Honey, John's dead. You

didn't kill him, but unless you do something soon, you're going to join him and that would be a real shame. I would hate to see my grandson buried before I'm laid to rest."

She went to bed. I woke up.

During the Civil War, it was called A Soldier's Heart. Since then it's been called by many names: Shell Shock, Battle Fatigue, and most recently Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. No matter the name, I had it.

My grandmother got me the help I needed but only after I told her I was ready to do whatever was necessary. She wasn't the sweet old lady I remembered from when I was a kid. She'd toughened up a lot after my grandfather died and at times the things that came out of her mouth shocked the hell out of me.

Staying on the straight and narrow wasn't easy. I stumbled but picked myself up this time around. I don't know if I had hit rock bottom, as they call it, but at night I would think about what I'd lost and chastised myself so being so damn weak. I was tired of being tired. As part of my treatment, Greg, my therapist, had me write in a journal at least once a day.

"Put it all in there. Your anger, your fears, what you're currently feeling. Everything you've attempted to forget. Believe me when I tell you it will help."

It was hard and I shed more than a few tears, but I followed his advice. I came to the realization that I would have to do the hard work necessary to get better. No one could save me but myself.

My parents had thrown me out when I stole some of my mother's jewelry and pawned it for drugs. Now they took a wait-and-see approach. I didn't blame them.

After three excruciating months, Greg and I addressed what had put me on my downward spiral.

"Steve, you need to come to terms with what happened to John and move on. If not, you're never going to fully recover. I'm not saying forget what happened. What I'm saying is for you to forgive yourself for what happened. You already told me that there was nothing you could have done to save him. So, what is holding you back?"

I had been thinking about that. A lot. "Guilt! When I got orders for Nam, John wouldn't let it go. He volunteered to go with me. I should have told him no, but I didn't. If I had, he'd still be alive. I'll never forgive myself for that."

"Did you force him to go? Did you tell him that you wouldn't be his friend if he didn't come with you? If I understand you correctly, he volunteered. He wanted to be with you. You should feel honored that you had a friend that would put himself in harm's way just to be close to you. What I want you to do this week is to write me a story, My Best Friend John. Don't hold back, put it all in there and if it takes longer, don't worry about it. Just do it."

It didn't take a week. Hell, once I started everything just flowed out of me. There was no structure, no paragraphs, probably a million misspelled words, but it was all there. Finally out of me and on paper. I handed it to Greg at our next session.

"Steve, I don't want it." Greg handed it back to me. That took me aback. "I had you do it for yourself. If you're done with it, maybe you know someone who might be interested in reading it."

I didn't have the guts to give it to her in person. She had lost a lot, more than I had. I sent it to John's mother in the mail with a little note.

This is how much your son meant to me.

CHAPTER 4

"What do you have to lose? She's not going to shoot you! At least I hope she won't."

I wasn't as sure as Gran was.

I drove over to Becky's apartment complex. I had put it off for weeks. My underarms were soaked and so were the palms of my hands.

The place was showing it's age like me. I climbed three flights of stairs and found apartment #312. I was still twelve pounds down from when she'd last seen me. I wore my hair pulled back in a ponytail and the dark circles under my eyes were almost gone. Staying away from drugs and getting enough sleep can do wonders to heal a body.

I hesitated briefly.

I thought for a minute. Will she even recognize me? Oh yeah, she'll recognize me. I had this feeling of dread wash over me and a burning pain in my stomach like I had taken a Viet Cong round there. I knocked on the door and waited.

Becky opened the door, took one look at me, and slammed it in my face. I didn't even have a chance to open my mouth and say anything. I had hoped she would at least talk to me. What I did notice in that split second visual exchange was that her beautiful long hair was gone, and she looked thinner in the face, not that she was ever heavy.

Gran wasn't in the least sympathetic when I returned after only thirty-five minutes.

"Steve, what did you think she would do? Greet you with open arms? You were worthless and she divorced you because of it."

As Gran put it, "at my age I don't have the time or patience to deal with other peoples shit anymore. I've seen it all, and nothing what you or anyone does will surprises me any more." Unlike when I first came home from overseas, this time she wasn't cutting me any slack.

Frustrated, I paced back and forth in the kitchen. "I just wanted to see my little girl. She has no right..."

Gran stopped me before I could say another word.

"You've burned a lot of bridges over the last couple of years. Some of them you'll have to repair one board at a time."

"But I've changed. I'm working and going to night school. I haven't had a drink in five-and-a-half months, and I'll never get hung up on drugs again. How can I get her to see that?"

Gran touched my cheek. "Sweetheart, life isn't fair. You of all people should know that. Don't tell, show Becky you've changed, but don't push or get angry. Just put yourself out there again and see what happens."

I took her advice to heart.

Each night after dinner, I knocked on Becky's door. The third night she opened the door and told me to go away. Then she slammed it in my face.

At least she'd spoken to me.

On the sixth night, she opened the door. "Why are you stalking me? What the hell do you want?"

"I'm sorry..." is all I got out before she slammed the door again.

Day ten I got a little further. I knocked and she flung open the door.

"We're all sorry! But some things are unforgiveable." Her eyes were cold. I saw the outside of her door once again.

On day twelve I caught a break.

Becky opened the door on the first knock. She said nothing. She just glared at me.

I cleared my throat and spoke up. "Can I see Abby?"

"Come in, but you're not staying long."

I saw the two small arms wrapped around Becky's legs. I dropped down on one knee and waited. A small head peeked around Becky's left leg and looked at me for a split second before moving back to her hiding place.

"Honey, this man is your daddy."

She didn't move.

"See what you've done? Your own daughter doesn't even want to see you." There was venom in her voice.

"Abby, I brought you something." I pulled the wrapped present from behind my back.

She slowly came out from behind Becky, one arm still wrapped around her mother's leg. Abby had shoulder length long brown hair just like Becky used to have. She looked at the brightly colored package with the biggest blue eyes I had seen in a long time.

I held it out to her. "It's for you."

Abby looked up at her mother. Becky nodded. Abby took two steps forward and grabbed the present. Gift in hand, she forgot all about me. She ripped it open. Her smile was worth a hundred times what I paid for that doll.

"What do you say?"

"Thank you for my dolly," she said in a little voice.

"Okay, you've given her the doll, now leave."

I didn't argue. "I am sorry," I said on my way out.

There was no answer the next two nights but I kept coming. I was doing it one board at a time just like Gran had told me.

The next night Becky opened the door even before I had a chance to knock.

How did she know I was even out there in the hall?

"Steve, do you think one stupid doll can make up for all the hurt and pain you've caused?"

"No, but I had to start somewhere. Look, I can't take back the hell I put you both through. But, I can make damn sure it doesn't happen ever again."

"Well, your daughter wants to see you. Why, I'm not sure. Five-year-olds have short memories, unlike the rest of us. She's in the living room watching television. You've got a half hour before I put her to bed." I watched Becky as she left the room. I was right, she had lost weight.

"Hey baby girl," I said, sitting on the carpet next to my daughter and her new doll. I put Abby on my lap. With my arms around her, we watched cartoons for the next thirty minutes. I felt like the father I should have been years earlier.

"Abby honey, time for bed." Abby jumped up and ran to her mother.

I kissed Abby on the top of her head. "See you tomorrow, sweetheart." I walked toward the front door. Before I reached it, Becky pounced.

"I don't want my daughter hurt. Do you hear me? I don't want you strolling in, giving her presents, being the nice guy, and then leaving when it gets too difficult like the last time. This is our life now, not yours."

"She's still my daughter whether you like it or not. I want to see her. I want to be a part of her life."

"When you went off the deep end, you gave up that right, or did you forget that part of our divorce decree. I loved you, but it wasn't enough for you. The drinking, the drugs, I can't take another chance that you're going to conveniently check out when things get tough."

"I had issues back then that I never had the guts to face. I'm better now. I've gotten help." I was doing my best to plead my case.

"I'm happy for you, but I was the one who had to pick up the pieces last time and deal with the shit you left behind. Do you know what it's like to have a drug dealer come to your door and demand money for the drugs your husband bought? Have him threaten my baby? You don't have a clue what we went through. Even though I don't think you deserve it, I'll let you see Abby on Monday and Wednesday nights and every other Sunday. If that's not good enough, I suggest you get a lawyer. Legally, you have no visitation rights. But, I'm not heartless and Abby needs a father in her life, even if he's a piece of shit like you." She closed the apartment door.

Repairing this bridge might take a lot longer than even Grandma thought.

***

The one thing I couldn't say about my life now was that I was bored. I worked, went to school two nights a week, saw my therapist, and spent the rest of my time with Abby. In between I managed to sleep a few hours. I thought I had it all together and had turned the corner. I hadn't.

After school one night I went out with a few of my classmates. One beer wouldn't hurt, would it? One beer turned into two then I don't remember how many more. How I made it home in one piece was a miracle. The one thing I did remember was my grandmother's reaction when I stumbled in.

"Hi, Grandma," I slurred, shutting the front door. The slap came out of nowhere.

"If you ever come into my house drunk again, you'll find all your stuff on the front lawn. Do you understand?" I had never seen my grandmother this angry.

I felt like I was in grade school. I nodded.

"I'm going back to bed and if you puke you'd better clean it up." She shook her head in disappointment as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

That night, like in 'Nam, I realized I wasn't invincible.

I had breakfast and coffee waiting for her when she came downstairs. "I'm sorry, Grandma, it won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't. Not if you want to stay here. I won't put up with your shit. I don't have the strength. You had your one slip. Learn from it." Even at five foot one, she was a force to reckoned with.

***

Two weeks later, I got an unexpected surprise when I went to see Abby—Becky invited me to stay for dinner.

"I had to work over and we're just sitting down to eat. There's enough for three if you're interested."

It was a dream come true. I had my two girls back even if only for a little while.

Then for a while she waited dinner on me about every other week. I had to gather my courage, but eventually I asked if I could take them both out to dinner. To my surprise she said that was fine with her.

"Steve, just so there's no misunderstandings, this isn't a date. We're just all going out for a meal."

"No problem. Does Abby have a favorite restaurant?"

"Chucky Cheese. The pizza's garbage, but they have games and a stage show. It's not cheap, but she loves it. Just remember this isn't a date."

I was optimistic for the first time in months. I had a chance to repair some of the damage I had done. I felt pretty good until I took Gran out to dinner on Saturday. We had just gotten our meal, when out of the corner of my eye I saw Becky walk in. She wasn't alone.

"Steve, close your mouth and eat your dinner," Gran said, looking down at her steak as she cut into it. "I saw them walk in, and if you're interested, Becky also knows you're here. You two aren't married any longer and she can date whomever she pleases. If you want her back, you're going to have to do a lot more groveling and show her you're worth a second chance. Until then, it looks like you've got some stiff competition."

Dinner was ruined. At least I knew where I stood, but I wasn't happy about it.

CHAPTER 5

The ride home from the restaurant was quiet. I had a lot on my mind.

"Thank you for dinner."

"You're welcome Gran. I owe you a lot more than dinner."

"Steve, you don't owe me anything. Other people maybe, but that's a whole other matter."

I said nothing. I knew what she meant.

"You want coffee? Or maybe some tea?"

"No, thank you. I think I'll just read for a while before I go to sleep. Night, Gran."

I wrote in my journal for almost an hour. Tonight the words flowed from my fingertips onto the pages. By midnight, I was emotionally drained. I had to be at work at 7:00 a.m., so I

called it a night. I stared at the dark ceiling. Memories and regrets bounced around the inside of my brain like a ping-pong ball until sleep won out.

I worked weekends at Dunkin' Donuts. During the week I worked full time as a forklift operator. I needed to fill up my free time so I wouldn't be tempted to do something stupid again. The extra money came in handy and I enjoyed waiting on customers, many of whom I knew.

I was knee deep in the after-church rush when my parents walked in trailed by Becky and Abby.

Crap!

"Welcome to Dunkin' Donuts May I take your order?"

I talked to my parents on the phone occasionally, but this was the first time I had been face to face with them since I moved in with Gran.

"Steve, how long have you worked here?" Mom asked.

"A couple of weeks. They work with me on my hours and it isn't rocket science." The line behind them was growing. "What can I get you?"

They gave me their orders. I prayed they wouldn't be eating in. I didn't need any more emotional turmoil that morning.

Abby looked up at me. "Hi Daddy."

I reached into my pocket, took out a dollar, and bought my daughter a heart-shaped donut with pink icing. "From my heart to yours."

Becky gave me an annoyed look and pushed Abby ahead to the pickup window.

Thank God, they left.

"Your mother called an hour ago and tried to pump me for information about you," Gran said, as soon as I walked through the door. "I told her if she wanted to know anything about you, to talk to you herself. I'm not your secretary." Gran gave me an evil smile. "Kind of pissed her off, but I won't be put in the middle by you or my daughter."

The television was on. I was looking in its general direction but had other things on my mind.

"Shouldn't you be getting ready to go to dinner?"