Following his divorce, Nick Murosky now lives two hours away from his children. He walks us through what goes through his head during the long drive back after their time together.
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“When a man walks into a room, he brings his whole life with him. He has a million reasons for being anywhere. Just ask him.”
-Don Draper
After I drop off my daughters with their mom, the first part of my ride back home is silent. No radio, no phone calls. The complete opposite of how it feels with a six year old and a toddler in the backseat.
It always takes me a few minutes to go from father to Two-Hour Father—the guy who takes care of his kids, who talks to them as much as he can, but who only sees them every other weekend because he lives two hours away.
The silence allows me to appreciate our time together. It feels cheap to play music, which will undoubtedly affect my emotions. Instead, I like to let myself breathe, understand why things are the way they are, and be okay with the fact that I will always be there for my children—even though most days I am not actually there. I’m 135 miles away. It’s not too far, but then again, it kind of is.
At a distance of 135 miles, “How was your day?” becomes distorted and almost irrelevant. A subtle nod of reassurance does not travel that far. It burns up in the atmosphere before entering anything terrestrial.
The Two-Hour Father has no routine. He has no dinner conversation. He has no nightly bedtimes or morning wake up calls. He comes home to an empty house—and, as much as he might like that sometimes, it does not make him better. It makes him complacent. He drinks too much. He sleeps in when he shouldn’t. He wastes time because he can. With this lack of challenge comes a lack of growth and a startling realization that having complete freedom is like entering the Emerald City: you get there and the illusion is gone, replaced by corruption and lies.
For the Two-Hour Father, every day with his kids is like a holiday; a special day. And so he must take advantage of every one of these days. It puts a strange kind of pressure on him (or he puts it on himself unnecessarily), because this time is short and this time will carry the highest value in their memory bank of him. What happens this weekend is what happens when they are with their dad. There are no day-to-day nuances, no normalcy. It feels like every moment is heightened.
I have been divorced and living this way for more than a year, and I still get nervous before spending a weekend with my daughters. Will I have forgotten how to take care of them? Will they have developed some new opinion of me since the last time I saw them? How can I ensure that both of them are happy and healthy and comfortable the whole weekend? Should each day be planned? Is it okay to just “do nothing”? Can I do this the right way by myself?
The Two-Hour Father can’t just move. He has work to do and money to make and an apartment lease right now. He feels selfish but he also feels responsible. Any kind of move must be calculated, because 1). More debt will hurt him and his children and 2). He must be happy to be a good father.
The Two-Hour Father is a good man who has really, really bad days. He’s stuck satisfying the people that don’t matter and he can’t easily tend to the people that do. He can’t help but wonder how the outside world sees him. Will he go down in someone’s history as “the guy who wasn’t there?”
A fly on the wall of his quiet apartment would tell you that he isn’t happy when his kids are gone and that he isn’t happy when his kids are there.
The Two-Hour Father is usually alone, but he is not lonesome. He feels romance some days and indifference other days. He is two different people.
Years ago, when he was one person, zest for life simply existed and required no forethought or afterthought. His responsibilities, his vices, his love, his hate, his joys, and his fears all spoke to one another and contributed to one “him.” Today, they don’t speak to one another and they don’t know which man they are serving. His puzzle is undone and the missing pieces are people and things he doesn’t recognize or know how to want.
I’m driving south again in silence. 129 miles to go. It’s summer and I crack the windows because I love the breeze and the ambient noise of the interstate. For now, my memories are fresh and I am content to return home.
81 miles to go. Music and the hopeful feeling that I truly am doing the best I can, and that everyone (my ex, my mom, my kids, the mailman, my neighbors, highway passersby) understands that.
Arrival. There is evidence that my children have been here. Sometimes it’s like a tornado and sometimes it’s just little things out of place here and there. So I clean and I re-organize and I put things in their place. Part of me wants to leave everything as is—would that make it seem like my children are right down the road?
No. I realize how important it is that everything goes back to where it belongs. The next time they visit, those girls will expect to find their things in their proper places. And I smile because, for now, that is “normal.”
♦◊♦
Originally appeared on NickMurosky.tumblr.com
This is a good read, I’ve posted and highlighted this on my wall to remind me of the “good” things divorce or separation brings between the relationship I have with my daughter. Most of what you wrote are exactly my same sentiments, it was just a little weird that it seems to be written BY me, this would have been the 5th time I read this – and also already bookmarked on Chrome when I need to read it. Things do get better, my 54mile drive every weekend to pickup my daughter from her mom’s place seem to be short… Read more »
Nick,
Thank you. My dad may not live 2 hours away – only 30 minutes. And he may no longer have those drives home after dropping my sister and I off with our mom – we both drive now. But I imagine that those feelings/thoughts still remain for my dad. He talks of it little, but I know enough to know at least that. I am thankful for the opportunity to step into my father’s shoes by reading this (even if only for a few minutes).
Thank you,
A Daughter of Divorce
Amanda,
Thank you. I am honored and appreciate your response to this piece.
Best,
Nick
This was good and tough to read. I’m divorced, but I fought hard to be more than an every other weekend dad. That’s because my parents divorced when I was two and my mom moved over two hours away with me. So, I grew up with a dad that wasn’t in my life as much as I would have liked. Although, I’ve grown to learn that it wasn’t just the distance that caused the distance between us. It’s the way my dad is. My dad didn’t come to a lot of my games growing up. I thought it was the… Read more »
Hi James,
Thank you for reading, and for sharing your story.
It sounds like you’re a great Dad, and one who really appreciates all the time he has with his children. I admire parents who refuse to take things like that for granted, and who always lets their children know how much they love them.
All the best,
Nick
Thanks for this Nick. You have helped me to see how fortunate I am. I am a 5 minute father who works at the school his children attend and I see them daily. While I miss dearly the daily nuances inside the home, I am fortunate for my situation. You have reminded me of this.
And yes, each moment is special, especially when they are limited.
Gil,
Thank you for reading, and thank you for the comment. I’m glad my perspective was worthwhile to you.
Best,
Nick
I am a family mediator and this is a wonderful and poignant insight into life as a separated parent. I hear stories of mothers and fathers struggling to make sense of their post-separation parenting lives, and you have captured the feelings that so often come into my room at work. Thank you for sharing, and you really are doing the best you can by making life ‘normal’ for your children.
Hi Flick,
Thanks for reading! I appreciate your positive thoughts and I’m glad this resonated in some way with what others are feeling. That means a lot to me.
Best,
Nick
I used to do something similar. My ex-wife moved many times (I avoided moving because I wanted my children to have some consistency), and each time, she usually moved further away. I went from picking them up in the same neighborhood, to driving 80 miles round trip. The every other weekend thing definitely accentuates the importance of your limited time with your children. I still have memories from each and every weekend we spent together. The downside doesn’t come until years later. My sons would sometimes talk about events that happened in their lives (that occurred during the time we… Read more »
Hi Bradley,
Thank you for reading, and thanks for the comment. Since I’m always thinking (far too much) in advance, yes I can see how years later you realize you missed something you didn’t know was there to miss. Which really hurts, I imagine.
If we look at it positively, the memories (although there might be less of them) will always be vivid and complete; their details an equivalent to the everyday.
All my best to your family.
-Nick
My son used to be in a similar situation. Why can’t Kate meet you in Grove City? I was very sad to hear of your split. Hang in there.
Hi Betsy, Thanks for reading, and nice to hear from you! Actually, Kate does meet me halfway most of the time. I still voluntarily drive back and forth to and from Erie on a regular basis, just because there are things going on there with the kids or my family, particularly in the summer. My situation could be much worse. Kate and I have a great, positive relationship. She helps me as much as she can, and vice versa. This piece is more about the distance being a hindrance to me psychologically, as opposed to logistically. I do not have… Read more »