This weekend the mood in the house is better.
Liam’s face lights up on Saturday afternoon when his brother and sister arrive. Their presence links him to their dad and he gains security from that.
Having all the kids at once is overwhelming and heart warming. To top it off friends drop over and the house feels full for the first time since he left. We talk about everything and nothing, shouting to be heard over little boys and toys and dogs and Kate, I know Rick would love it.
Holden is helping with the lasagne and salad. Clowning around and dancing to the ’80s retro show on the radio he’s a younger version of his dad in looks and actions. My friend’s daughter is smitten.
Eight people around the table for supper, bellies full, everyone is happy. Rick will call tomorrow, a special call for kids only. They’re excited.
Sunday morning and its pancakes with peanut butter and syrup, a nasty looking combination that Dani came up with years ago and that all of them have adopted. Everyone is tired and happy, the way you feel when you’re 10 and you go for a sleepover.
The phone doesn’t ring.
By 3:30 the older kids have to go home.
“Daddy probably had to work,” I tell them.
They understand. They’ve been down this road last year with their stepfather. They know that sometimes you can’t call. Liam, however, is dwelling on it.
I drive them home and with kisses and love yous and promises to call they’re back at their mom’s. Liam is now visibly upset and the lack of sleep has made him whiny, I feel the vein above my left eye start to throb.
We enter the house to the sound of the phone ringing. It’s Rick.
“You just missed the kids,” I tell him. “Do you want to call them at home? Why are you so late calling?”
I know he’s only got 10 minutes left on his weekly calling card.
He seems slow to respond. I don’t know if it’s the delay or something else.
“We were under COMS lockdown,” he tells me.
My heart sinks. It’s clear in his voice that it’s one of ours.
“Killed?” I ask.
“Yes.”
More silence.
His voice is low when he says, “I knew him.”
The words drop like a stone into the pit of my stomach. The pause between each word relays more information than many would realize.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He feels guilty. Yesterday while enjoying his first day off, while he was at the market haggling for treasures and drinking Tim Horton’s coffee, someone he knew lost his life. Someone only a week away from going home to his children had died.
I close my eyes and can see the pain in his eyes as he asks me to call and explain to the kids that he wasn’t able to call.
“Tell them I’ll call them tomorrow.”
“I promise.”
And then he’s gone. The card has run out.
The vein above my eye continues to throb. Another prayer. I hope He’s listening. – Day 16
Liam’s face lights up on Saturday afternoon when his brother and sister arrive. Their presence links him to their dad and he gains security from that.
Having all the kids at once is overwhelming and heart warming. To top it off friends drop over and the house feels full for the first time since he left. We talk about everything and nothing, shouting to be heard over little boys and toys and dogs and Kate, I know Rick would love it.
Holden is helping with the lasagne and salad. Clowning around and dancing to the ’80s retro show on the radio he’s a younger version of his dad in looks and actions. My friend’s daughter is smitten.
Eight people around the table for supper, bellies full, everyone is happy. Rick will call tomorrow, a special call for kids only. They’re excited.
Sunday morning and its pancakes with peanut butter and syrup, a nasty looking combination that Dani came up with years ago and that all of them have adopted. Everyone is tired and happy, the way you feel when you’re 10 and you go for a sleepover.
The phone doesn’t ring.
By 3:30 the older kids have to go home.
“Daddy probably had to work,” I tell them.
They understand. They’ve been down this road last year with their stepfather. They know that sometimes you can’t call. Liam, however, is dwelling on it.
I drive them home and with kisses and love yous and promises to call they’re back at their mom’s. Liam is now visibly upset and the lack of sleep has made him whiny, I feel the vein above my left eye start to throb.
We enter the house to the sound of the phone ringing. It’s Rick.
“You just missed the kids,” I tell him. “Do you want to call them at home? Why are you so late calling?”
I know he’s only got 10 minutes left on his weekly calling card.
He seems slow to respond. I don’t know if it’s the delay or something else.
“We were under COMS lockdown,” he tells me.
My heart sinks. It’s clear in his voice that it’s one of ours.
“Killed?” I ask.
“Yes.”
More silence.
His voice is low when he says, “I knew him.”
The words drop like a stone into the pit of my stomach. The pause between each word relays more information than many would realize.
He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to. He feels guilty. Yesterday while enjoying his first day off, while he was at the market haggling for treasures and drinking Tim Horton’s coffee, someone he knew lost his life. Someone only a week away from going home to his children had died.
I close my eyes and can see the pain in his eyes as he asks me to call and explain to the kids that he wasn’t able to call.
“Tell them I’ll call them tomorrow.”
“I promise.”
And then he’s gone. The card has run out.
The vein above my eye continues to throb. Another prayer. I hope He’s listening. – Day 16
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