You Can Visit, but You Can't Go Back

Did you know it's Marine Week in Boston? If so, you're one up on me.

I drove into the city last night with Felix to see Big Brother J play Little League baseball, and to give Felix the opportunity to run around with O. The weather was scrumptious, the traffic awful, everything that is familiar about Boston in spring.

What shocked me was coming up out of the parking garage under the Common to see half a dozen military vehicles (four massive Marine helicopters), a trio of event tents, and a motherload of people milling about on the emerald turf of the parade grounds.

Did I mention that my traveling companion is a 2 year old with a vehicle obsession?

We watched J play centerfield (and hit a runner home, even if he was tagged out at first), Felix played with his erstwhile brother-figure, and I got the chance to catch up with a former colleague whose company and conversation I'd always enjoyed.

After the game, we went to look at the helicopters, and Felix discovered that the carousel is back on the Common. There was no avoiding that, so I shelled out the $3. After our ride, on the walk back to the car, we met a French Bulldog puppy, who was enthusiastically pleased to meet us.

So, to sum up: his idol playing Little League, running around with his friend, giant military helicopters, a carousel ride, and a puppy. He won the preschooler lottery.

So why then, did I come home feeling so utterly crappy?

Because, in part, you can't go back. When they decided to let me go last fall, I left with a lot of unresolved hurt and bewilderment, not to mention a healthy dose of resentment. It was all made more complicated by the fact that I genuinely like and respect my former employers. Then there's the fact that I love their kids, and so does Felix. He's missed them so much.

I hated being on the outside. I hated having to be polite to the woman who stole my job, and now looks like she's sucking a lemon whenever I see her. I never knew why she didn't care for me as a caregiver for her grandchildren, and since I'll never have the opportunity to ask her, I try not to dwell on it. She doesn't look happy to be the one in charge, but then, I rarely saw a smile reach her eyes, so I might not recognize it if she did look happy.

My former colleague was chatty, but we don't have as much in common now that I'm not a daily part of the neighborhood, so that was weird.

And of course, I'm still unemployed, which is a large purple elephant following me around.

When I left before, it was my choice, and it was planned for, and everyone got what they needed. I never felt like an outsider when I visited. This time has been different. And not in a good way.