God Has a Plan

April 4, 2012

Two days already, and I still have this damn headache.

I have taken aspirin, and yet, it still persists. Right now, my ears are ringing. I feel like I am falling apart. No gym. No sleep. I am eating like crap. I haven't brushed my teeth or shaved and showered every other day. That's nice hygiene, said no one. The only responsibility that I have been taking up is getting up and getting my son to school every day.

This morning, after I dropped off my oldest so curbside to his waiting teachers, I took my youngest son to Walmart for some necessities. I have to go light. I had to pay a hefty bill the other day, so I must hold on to the little cash left in the bank until payday this upcoming Friday. I have one more week of paid leave before I have to use FMLA and receive no more money from payroll; that's just great.

I grab what is needed and a little comfort food and go to the shortest checkout line. While checking out at the register, the cashier asked me how I was, so fuck it, I told her.

"Things suck. My life is turned upside down. My wife passed away. She left me with two kids, and I just can't get things going." She smiled at me and placed my items in bags.

I think she still needs to fully grasp what I told her. Then, it hit her. Her facial features changed as quickly as one's face would eating a sour-tasting treat. She said, "Sorry to hear that."

She then told me to "trust in God. He has a plan." I was silent.

I placed the items in my grocery cart. Wheeled the bags and my son out to the mini-van as the statement "God has a plan" circled about my brain, and I got angry. I started to load the groceries in the back of the van and then placed my son in the car. After shutting his door, I stood silently, that statement simmering in my brain.

I got angrier about God's so-called plan, and I went on an "F" bomb-laden tyrant about my views on what God's plan was.

"What the fuck does that mean? God has a plan. A plan for who? Was his plan fucking thought out? Is his fucking plan based on humor? Who the fuck is she? How does she know he has a plan? If it's a plan, it's one fucked up plan. Maybe he should have given me a memo of this fucking plan. Maybe I should have agreed with what the fuck he wants to do with me if his plan involves me. I mean, really, what the f#*k? A plan my ass."

After getting home from Walmart, I watched the clock for my six-hour countdown to pick up Nico from school; I decided to try cleaning. And by trying, I swept and mopped, and that's just about it. My motivation is zilch. My energy is gone. Maybe this was God's plan to give up.

After six hours of dicking around, it was time to pick up my son, great. What to do once I get him. The house is dreary, and I need more ideas on where to take them. I am so tired.

After I picked him up, I decided to call and meet a potential nanny for the boys. I may take them to Chick-fil-A, a chicken restaurant with an indoor playground for the boys. It was perfect for them. Excited about the prospect of a new nanny and finally having a place to go with the boys, I pick up the twenty-three-year-old with some optimism. Maybe I found God's plan.

I drove to a place downtown and picked her up. She didn't have a car. I pulled into the driveway of her home. It was nice. I figured she still lived with her parents. I was excited about God's plan.

While driving to Chick-fil-A Fi-lay, I began the conversation by stating, "That house is very nice." And then I asked, "Is that your parents?

She stated, "No. That's a clean, sober house I am staying at."

"Oh, okay." That statement settled in my brain, much like the cashier in Wal-Mart earlier. Then it hit me. What the fuck did she just say?

We arrive at the restaurant, and I place my kids in the indoor gym, buy the food, and talk to this young girl and potential childcare person for my two young sons. She told me about her life and her clean living situation. I nodded and looked interested, but after she told me about her problems and thought about her sober house, I zoned out, losing interest in hiring her. I heard her talking, but all I could feel was this anxiety of emotion coming over me. Wait, is this God's plan for me or for her? My mind wanders.

How did I get here?

I thought, "No, Chris, how did I get here? Why am I interviewing people to watch my kids?! Who the fuck is this girl, and why are you still interviewing her. I suggest giving her a second chance. Was this God's plan?

My emotions were running high, and it took all my strength to keep my composure. I still can't believe this. I am still in shock. I am so angry I am interviewing strangers. My wife should be here. I am so fucking mad. With that, my deep thoughts started to wither away with the sound of my texts going off. Like a bell, a boxer would hear in the ring to bring him back to the reality that he was getting his ass kicked, and this round was coming to a merciful end.

With my conscience coming back to reality. I looked at my potential hire and said, "Well, gotta go." With that, I drove her back to her sober living residence. Forgoing God's plan with this one.

I thanked her for her honesty, wished her good luck, and drove off.

Back at the house, the boys were calm. I tried to unpack some items that I had brought home with me,e but Nico wasn't about to let me. He wanted my full attention. The one time I decided to get motivated to do something was wasted, and my energy was focused on my sons. Where it should be, of course, but I need to get myself together, too. Was this God's plan?

I went outside with them, and everything reminded me of Mimie. I just thought over and over, "Why. Why me. Why am I going through this?!" My energy was wasted. My vulnerability kicked in. I just can't get it straight. My texts go off on my phone. My mind is so occupied with life issues I can't keep up with the texts. I have no network. I need support to guide me. It's like I'm taking on four or five different things only not to finish them. Like home projects sitting there in their dust, begging to be completed.

I disengage in the texts because of frustration, and I lash out. I am ungrateful for the thoughts placed on me. It isn't that. It's the easiest part to ignore. I can always remember the most significant issues in front of me. Still, ignoring a phone call or giving a one-word reply via text is much easier.

Deep down, people would instead say that I texted them anyway because it gave them the satisfaction that they had tried to reach out. It is easier to blame me when I push them away and ignore their text.

Tired, I lay on the couch. The boys are uneasy and fight to stay awake with me, refusing to go lay in bed. I think they are worried, especially Nico, that when they wake up, I'll be gone. They only trust falling asleep in my arms. They did while we lay on the couch watching Rio. God's plan for rest.

I woke up at 12:30am. I tried to move, but with both boys in each arm sleeping, it wasn't easy.

First, I moved Nico to the other couch. He woke up, and I had to lay with him. My knees were placed on the floor as I laid my torso beside him, comforting him to sleep.

I struggled to my feet as my knees almost gave out from kneeling so long on the floor next to Nico. I quickly grabbed Christoper and carried him to his room.

He woke up mid-carry, and he was pissed. I laid him in bed with me beside him until he fell asleep. I almost fell asleep myself but realized I didn't feed the dogs.

The poor dogs have been ignored and following me everywhere, starving for attention. A luxury I can't give them. But I recognize it and feel bad for them. I fed them and gave them water. Patted Champ, my yellow lab, on the butt and apologized to him.

I situated myself on the couch and wrote this update. I'm off to bed now it's 1:30 am. No shower again. Didn't brush my teeth again. But no time. Gotta be up at 7am. I can't make too much noise. My boys will wake up. I'll just sit here and contemplate God's plan for me.

1,562 words

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Christopher Fusaro is the author of Captain Imperfecto.

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