Picking up the pieces

I never planned on having to start all over again at the age of 49, but that is exactly what has happened to me. As I stated in my introductory post, I used to have a different blog. I wrote about things like sports, movies, music and politics. I also wrote about my job, which proved to be a mistake. I won't get into what I do for a living, but suffice it to say I wrote about a very real situation at work which needed to remain confidential. I named names, and wrote about things that were not public knowledge. The consequences were devestating.

I was placed on administrative leave the day before Thanksgiving, 2006. The terms were particularly uncomfortable, I had to phone or email my immediate supervisor every morning between 8 and 8:30. And then, for the rest of the day, except for an hour and a half at lunchtime, I had to stay in my home. In essence, I was under house arrest. Oh, I could have left the house after my obligatory morning contact, but if I was caught not at home if they checked on me, I would be fired, and at that point in time, I definitely did not want that to happen.

So I accepted the terms, and I waited for them to make a decision. The holidays came and went with no decision and no timetable. It was brutal and demeaning. The truly ironic thing about the situation was that the U.S. Congress passed the anti-Internet gaming legislation, and I no longer had the ability to play poker on the Internet for money. Think about it, I had all the time in the world, nowhere to go, and I couldn't do the one thing that would give me pleasure, play poker online. Every day was just like the next, and I was slowly going out of my mind. Of course, I took it out on my wife, who was a saint for standing by me through it all.

Then, in mid-January, my father had a combination stroke and heart attack. My supervisor gave me permission to spend time at the hospital with my parents. The one positive to this entire excruciating time was that I was able to be there for my parents. Then came Monday, January 22, 2007. My supervisor and his supervisor came down to see me, and they gave me the news: I was fired. For the first time in my life, at the age of almost 49, I was fired from a job. I was in shock. Three days later, my family and I had to make the difficult decision of putting my father into hospice. He died three weeks later, on February 17th.

I was devestated. I had lost all my self-confidence. I was angry, moody and most of all, scared out of my wits. The funeral seemed like it was happening to someone else, everything seemed surreal and dreamy. I was lost. I felt like running away and never being heard from again. I felt like a total failure.

A week after my Dad's funeral, a job offer came up. It was in Phoenix, AZ, about 125 miles from my home. To quote "The Godfather", it was an offer I couldn't refuse. It meant moving, it meant up-rooting my family, and for the next three months, it meant living alone in an apartment with my family two hours away.

It seemed like the perfect antidote. A new job in a new city, a fresh start. And it slowly turned into my worst nightmare. It was, by far, the most difficult, stressful job I've ever had. The expectations were enormous and the workload impossible. There was a tremendous amount of traveling involved, for the seven months I worked there, I drove more than 24 thousand miles. The stress kept me awake at nights.

My family moved to Phoenix with me on Memorial Day weekend. The move was devestating for them. My stepson was 15 at the time, and we moved him away from his friends, his high school, and his freshman football team. My stepdaughter was 12, and she was only slightly less miserable than my stepson. If you've never been in Phoenix in the summertime, you can only imagine the unbearableness (is that a word?) of it. And when you're depressed and unhappy anyway, well, it can be absolutely miserable.

Financially, we were in big trouble. We couldn't sell our old home, although we were able to rent it out for part of what we were paying on it. My wife had trouble getting a good full-time job, and the stress of not being able to pay our bills was added to the stress I was feeling from this horrendous job situation. As each day went by, I was feeling more and more hopeless and desperate. I was ready to take the ultimate step and run away, or even worse, kill myself.

Things came to a head when I made plans to meet my mother at my father's grave on a Sunday in September. When I got to the grave, I completely fell apart and cried like a baby. I told my father I was sorry that I had let him down, and that I would make him proud of me again. And then I heard his voice. He said one thing only. He said: I've always been proud of you. And that was it.

I drove back to Phoenix and things began to change. I got a new job offer, and took it gratefully. The next day, my wife got a new full time job, and things began to get better. Slowly, my depression lifted, a little more each day. We began to adjust to our new home, and the summer finally ended. I felt like I was starting to live again. My mother gives the credit to my father, and says that he is my guardian angel and responsible for everything that happened after I went to his grave that day. Maybe so. All I know is that that moment was the turning point.

So here I am, about to turn 50 in April. I've started a new job which I like on some days, can tolerate on others, and don't hate on most of them. I like Phoenix, it seems to offer a lot more to me than where we used to live. My wife and kids are starting to feel more at home. And I feel like I am actually living again.