Lady, do yourself a favor.
We moved to Kansas City in 1988 so that I could be a part-time-stay-at-home mom. We didn’t know a soul, and without extended family, there was no one available to give my husband and me a break from caring for our toddler and newborn.
Funk worked days and I worked nights, but both children preferred being with me.
I was one of those moms who couldn’t bear to hear her children cry, so I drove myself crazy trying to fulfill their every desire. In retrospect, I would not recommend this tactic. Still, it was my life back then.
My son had a lot of health issues and only wanted his mom. Many days, I was emotionally and physically spent from being overly needed.
Funk was a high-level public servant. However, because he was one of those goody-two-shoes who wanted the government to work for the people—and since his salary relied on a city council which didn’t have his same goals yet who controlled his salary—he was one of the lowest-paid government executives.
Given we had no discretionary income, the kids and I tagged along on his business trips.
With Funk’s travel and hotel already paid for, his conferences doubled as a family vacation. One of our first trips was to Colorado. I think our son was three and our daughter seven. As usual, once Funk’s meetings were over, we extended the stay by two days for the vacation, and yes, on our own dime.
Day one of this particular trip had us taking the Narrow-Gauge Train from Durango to Silverton, a three and a half hour ride up the side of a mountain, two hours in Silverton, and the ride back down. Arriving at the Durango station with little time to spare, Funk stayed outside with the kids while I ran inside the terminal to purchase the tickets.
And that’s when all holy hell broke loose.
Funk, hearing the train whistle, yet with no wife in sight, just assumed I had hopped on-board to find four seats together, so he hopped aboard with the kids.
Problem was, I was still in line purchasing the tickets.
With the fares in hand, I ran back outside only to find the platform empty. No crowds of people waiting. No train idling. No husband. No children. I circled the grounds looking for my man, but he was nowhere to be found. I ran back into the station and told the ticket agent that I couldn’t find my family. She suggested that maybe they’d gotten on the train that had just departed.
I told her there was no way my husband would have gotten on that train without me, that only a dumbass would do that. Noting my frantic demeanor, she picked up her walkie talkie and phoned the conductor and asked if there was a very tall man with a beard and two small children on-board. I could hear the man’s crackled reply, “You mean the guy who is carrying the sobbing toddler and dragging his daughter car-to-car screaming for someone named Gloria?”
Hearing those words, I went into a blind panic.
My baby is crying and needs me, and pretty much hates his father. Incensed, I asked the agent to turn the train around, and of course, she just looked at me as if I was out of my mind. Which at that point, I pretty much was. She suggested I take the next train that was due into the station in about 60 minutes and meet my family up in Silverton.
The only time I’d been alone the previous seven years was to teach birth classes or attend a labor. Actually I wasn’t by myself then either, I was just apart from my children. I wondered if I even knew how to be alone anymore. I couldn’t imagine getting on that train by myself, but I had no other choice.
Soon enough, the platform was filling with the next set of passengers, most of whom stayed clear away from the lunatic woman with the black cloud swirling around her head. Clouds filled with terrible thoughts aimed at my husband, like, “How could Funk have gotten on that train without me? He knows the kids need me. My babies are distraught because of that ignorant bastard.” And those thoughts didn’t include the cursing that was going on in my head. My husband’s initials are MF, and that was the least of how I felt about him.
With tunnel vision obstructing my view, I boarded the train and took a single seat next to the window that hugged the mountain. Before long, the train was rolling and the conductor came by to collect the fares. He lingered by my seat to ask how I was doing, which was really nice. The thing was, now the entire car knew what had happened to me.
Shortly after, some guy across the aisle and a few rows ahead could feel my utter despair. Likely, my dark energy was interfering with him enjoying the scenic ride. The guy turned to me and said, “Lady, there’s nothing you can do about your kids. They’re with your husband, I’m sure they’re fine. Why don’t you do yourself a favor and sit back in that comfortable seat and enjoy three hours of unplanned freedom?”
My first thought was, “What the F would you know, you’re not a mother.”
However, that judgement quickly vanished and was followed by, “He’s right. There’s nothing I can do about this. I need to calm down.” And that musing led to my next few reflections, “I haven’t been untouched for seven years. I haven’t finished a thought of my own for that same length of time. I love the mountains! What a novel idea to relish this break. Okay, Gloria, sit your ass back in your seat and enjoy your guilt-free liberty.”
And love it I did. The train ran alongside the cliff, and if you were brave enough to look, you could see a river winding through the valley below with mountains scattered in the background. It was breathtakingly gorgeous. I loved the ride so much that I was disappointed when the train whistled its approach to Silverton.
Here’s to you! if you also have a spouse who tries to do his best but oftentimes fumbles it. I de-boarded the train three hours later only to find Funk standing on the platform looking as frantic as I had been before the man on the train told me how to cope. Never one to pass up a dig, I asked my husband if he honestly thought I’d board a train without my babies. Leave him, yes, my babies no. I grabbed my son from his arms and held him tight, at which time my boy—completely baffled—earnestly asked, “Mom, why do I hate dad so much?” I responded, “Don’t worry about it. At the moment, I don’t like him much either, but we love him all the same. Families are like that. They come with yin and yang.”
The Photo: Me and Funk before we had children. I cannot believe I had a cigarette in hand. That said, smoking was my first love! I quit when I was 24, and thought I’d die. I’ve never taken a drag since, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to quit twice.