Shattered Concrete
Saturday afternoon, same as any other. The sun was blazing somewhere in the low 100 degree range, the yard was freshly mowed, the cars were washed, and the little brother had all of his friends over playing some form of wiffle ball in the front yard. Then at the drop of a pin, everything changed. The sun could have gone to dark, the temperature could have dropped to below freezing, the grass could have died, the cars could have exploded. None of those things would have been nearly as shocking as what was about to happen.
This was a summer that was supposed to be the most special to every happen in my life. I was a recent high school graduate, a young man eager to go on a mission, and a kid with a group of friends that anyone would want. Things were going perfect, I had my mission papers in the works, a girlfriend who was going to wait for me, and a family as firm as a concrete building. Then as if a terrorist were to drive a truck full of explosives into that concrete building, the concrete shattered and the building crumbled to the ground.
A week before the apocalypse the hit my family I was working at my part time job. Two nights a week I was a janitor at my dad’s office building. Cleaning the toilets, wiping the doors, and taking out the trash was a job that every kid would hate. I did too. However, it helped my dad out so I did it with a smile on my face. This particular day my mom decided to come down to help me out and to print some things off for church.
“Myles, can you come here for a second.” I heard.
“Yeah I’ll be right there.” I answered
I walked in to see a look of panic on her face. She had an email open and her hands were shaking on the key board. There on the screen was the messages between my father and a close family friend. The content was that of an extreme emotional affair. The messages each signed at the bottom carefully, a “T” for Troy and an “S” for Suzanne. Was the moronic code really supposed to fool anyone? An elementary aged student could have figured this complex code out.
My dad happened to be out of town on his way to North Dakota with some of his friends on a Harley trip. This was an annual trip that he took. When my mom and me arrived home, she decided that she would call him on the phone and present him was an offer he couldn’t refuse. Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, voicemail.
“Troy, I found some things on your computer that we need to talk about,” she said calmly. “I want you to call me back and come then come straight home,” her voice got more and more sad. “I need you to turn around, we will talk about it, and then I will never bring it up again,” her shaky voice reflected the tears in her eyes.
After she hung up the phone she sat in disbelief. I was at a loss and didn’t know what to do. The concrete that had held my family together for 20 years was beginning to chip away. He didn’t call back, he didn’t respond, he didn’t give us any response at all. We waited around for the next few days, not knowing what was going to happen. While we waited life had to go on. We put on our fake smiles and pretended that everything was okay. During that week my mission papers were finalized and away they went to Salt Lake City. Then the bomb went off, and the building came crashing down.
It was Saturday again, the chores were done and friends were over playing. A small roar of a motorcycle could be heard in the distance. As it grew louder in noise so did the nervous tension in my house. Then he came around the corner and up into the driveway. He came into the house and headed up the stairs.
“Does he really think nothing is wrong,” my mom asked me.
I responded, “I don’t know what should we do, do we go talk to him or leave him alone?”
She replied, “I guess we will give it a couple minutes and see what happens.”
Those few minutes were the longest I have ever experienced. We sat and waited patiently, too patiently. We could hear movement upstairs but we had no idea what he was doing up there. Then he came down stairs with something in his hand that I never expected. A suitcase. He headed for the front door. My mom went out after him.
“Are we not going to talk about this,” she asked.
He responded with the coldest, shortest answer possible, “No.”
As he drove away in his truck our world began to shatter. I can’t believe to this day that he did not see the destruction he was leaving behind. A simple glance in the rear view mirror would have revealed this, a world shattered.
We had to start over, confused about where to go from there. My brother, twelve-years-old, was too young to even understand what was going on. He continued playing with his friends with not a clue in the world of how his life was going to change. An average student, huge social life, and happy little boy were complete and accurate words to describe my little brother. Five years later, the complete opposite. His light had gone out. He was now anger driven, depressed, and spent all his time not with friends, but on the computer and in front of the TV. My mom, a woman who was goal oriented, fun, and extremely outgoing. Now, she is heart broken and no direction. She wants the best for her children but has absolutely no idea on how to give them the life they once had.
We learned from the hard times that followed in the years to come. From the power being turned off in my house, to the orders of protection, to the DNA test and the brand new half-sister, we learned how to deal with things. Through the hundreds of hard times, to the very few and far in between good times, we learned how to cope. The stories that could be told, from that awful day 5 years ago to the Thursday of Thanksgiving 2009 when my dad got engaged, could fill a book. These stories could make people laugh so hard their stomach hurts or they could make people cry until they use a whole box of Klenex. Either way, we try to move on and learn from the past.
As for myself, I had to learn to not put myself first. I had to deal with the changes that I was not expecting to have in my life. A mission call came in the mail but the mission would never be served. Who knows how the people of Nashville would have been affected. A change in education plans, BYU was never on the list of schools that I wanted to attend. For years I had to pretend to be happy, I had to deal with phone calls everyday. These phone calls were not those that most people experience, these phone calls over a period of time made me absolutely numb to the sound of my mother crying. I eventually had to just say, “it’s okay,” even though I didn’t know if it would be or not. I had to deal with a couple suicide attempts in my family, constants fights, and multiple court dates.
However, through it all we learned to rebuild the concrete that came crumbling down. Eventually, it will be stronger than it was before. The concrete has been laid and it will dry. I can’t quite say when it will dry but I do know one thing. I know that it will dry. I know exactly what I want for my family in the future because I have seen first hand everything that I do not want my family to be. In church we sing, “Families can be together for ever, through Heavenly Father’s plan.” The second line is what matters the most, I do not know what Heavenly Father’s, but I have to trust that he has a plan where everything works out. If Heavenly father is the concrete in the building of my life, then I know those buildings will never come down.
