Bill was waiting when we arrived. Michael awoke as we opened the car doors. He looked around and knew where he was at once. And as often happens, he immediately started crying.
It's always bad when that happens. I feel bad for Bill, who endures it with a sense of humor, although it has to hurt that his grandchild cries when he sees him. It has to hurt, even though academically we both know that Michael isn't crying because he hates Bill, but because he misses me. "He's just exhausted," I say. "He'll probably be asleep in two minutes." "And till then, I get to be the bad guy," Bill says with a grin.
Yes, it's always bad. But this time it was much worse than usual. Because Michael wasn't just crying. He was sobbing, wailing with abject misery. He clutched at me, actually tried to leap from Bill's arms back to mine.
And as Bill made soothing noises and strapped him into his car seat, Michael stared at me through streams of tears and wailed over and over and over: "Daddy-pick-you-up! Daddy-pick-you-up! Daddy-pick-you-up!"
Bill finished strapping Michael in and turned and smiled to let me know it was all right. I smiled back to let him know it was all right. But my eyes kept going back to Michael, who was still staring at me, still sobbing, now just crying "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!" over and over.
Bill said goodbye and got into the car and drove off. I tried to shake off that final scene. I know Michael loves his maternal family. I know they love him. I know he's got a good support system in place and I know they give him all the affection and attention he deserves. But I miss him. Dear God, I miss him every day, and 15 months hasn't filled the hollow in my life one iota.
I keep seeing him as I prepared to leave him yet again, keep hearing that plaintive wail of "Daddy-pick-you-up!" Please, Daddy, don't leave again, that's what he was saying, what he was trying to express the only way he knew how. And I left him again anyway. I left him to go back to a life I'm not so much living in as drifting through, an existence that seems shadowy and unreal without him. "Daddy-pick-you-up" ... those words have been edging between me and sleep lately. I have a feeling it will be that way for some time.
At least I finally got to show him a train. I keep telling myself that. It's not much, but it's all I have. I'm trying to make it enough to get by on. He doesn't ask for much, my little boy. All it takes to make him happy is Daddy, Ma and Pa, Elmo, and the occasional choo-choo train. For at least that one tiny sliver of time in the car, he had everything he wanted.
