I sat listening to the radio this morning as the show hosts debated Tiger Woods decision to possibly skip the British Open to be present for the birth of his child. Kudos on that I say. But somehow that story hit home in a shattering way. How far away such a life is for me. The odds of me having even a girlfriend are the same as me winning the lottery. The idea of a home and family is completely foreign and a pie-in-the-sky dream. But that doesn't change what I want.
My life growing up was such hell I swore I would never put my child through that. I still feel that oath today even though I live only in an empty void of despair. I have lost my family. Everyone would have sympathy for a man who lost his wife and children in an accident, but no one but me sees my loss. My life has been wrecked both for me and by me. And now these chickens are coming home to roost as I face my true desires. It's a horrible, horrible devastation to be separated from all that you love.
So it's back to the mindless numbing labor of the day. I must keep up the facade of a normal being just so I can have the privilege of another day's hell. My co-workers are joking around as you have to in day labor camps, and I throw them an understanding smile of acknowledgement of their humor. But inside I'm dying of a thousand tears as I remember my family that never was.
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