Navel Gazing

Depleted Funds

I was unemployed for a majority of the time. Seasonal jobs with UPS and Costco helped supplement holidays. Short-term accounting assignments paid the bills but never led to consistent full-time work over the 7-year duration. The lengthy stretch of self-reflection may have been invaluable toward repurposing my life, but also resulted in a self-indulgent lifestyle that, over those years, depleted my retirement savings in quarterly withdrawals of ten-thousand-dollar increments.

As the funds dwindled, we cut expenses. Cable and internet were discontinued. We used the Norwood public library for connectivity and checked out DVDs to watch at home. Clothes were purchased from Goodwill, a continued practice to this day. SNAP benefits, administered by the Department of Transitional Assistance (DTA), helped cover a portion of our food expenses. Our medical benefits and the boys' dental needs were covered under Obamacare. My unemployment benefits had long been exhausted, and the source for 1099 accounting work, terminated.

One morning during a phone call with my parents, things suddenly came to a head, and I shut down mid-sentence. I don't recall what in that conversation caused the emotion that tightened my throat and choked off the words—just that I felt broken and terribly alone. Maybe I was overwhelmed by loneliness following the breakup and subsequent move from the apartment previously shared with my girlfriend and her daughters, or perhaps I was still reeling from thoughts of failure, reinforced at an end-of-season awards ceremony for Josh's football team. His normal aloof acknowledgment of my presence felt especially painful sitting there among the seemingly happy families in attendance. Maybe it was the stress of filing for sole custody that got to me, and the fear of what action might follow from Samantha, who had been hospitalized, again, under a third 5150 order. Whatever the reason, the wave of emotion caught me off guard and made talking impossible. I hung up the phone and was surprised by the sobs that followed.

After minutes had passed, I regained control and returned the call. The abrupt end to our earlier conversation aroused their concerns. I sketched the details of my financial situation, and it was determined that my father and I should meet.

We met in North Londonderry, at the Bacon Barn Restaurant. It is conveniently located halfway between our Westwood, MA home and their Laconia, NH residence. It had been our meeting place throughout the years. My dad served as our insurance agent, and we gathered there to sign documents or to swap out kids who were taking turns staying with grandparents during their summer break. He was standing in the parking lot when I arrived.

My father is not an imposing figure. He stands at 5 feet 8, and other than a pronounced belly, is well-proportioned. He has thick coarse hair that didn't start showing hints of grey until much later in his life. Whenever we'd get together, he would be pleased to see me. Not with overly grand gestures, but with a hint of a smile and kind eyes.

Together we entered the restaurant, where each played the part of polite customers as we waited to be seated. After escorted to a booth and ordered coffees arrived, we focused on the details as we reviewed my finances. He was shocked at how dire the situation had become and said he wished I had said something earlier. The review complete, we paid our bill and left the restaurant. Both were quiet, each without words. No judgment or disappointment conveyed on his part, no unhinged emotion displayed on mine...just what I imagined was a shared yearning for the comfort of our old familiar roles. We drove around the corner to a local Citibank branch, where he withdrew seventeen hundred dollars from their account and gave to me.

I reached financial independence from my parents in the early 1980s while still in college. I had been proud of that fact. I was fond of telling the story of when I bought my first car. It was my dad's used Scirocco. I made monthly payments to him until paid in full. He charged me the high blue book value for the car and 10% interest on the loan. I enjoyed telling that story because it poked fun at my dad, who through the years had earned a reputation for stretching the value of a dollar, but also because of the responsible light that was shone on me with each retelling. I wanted that light back. Neither parent had since mentioned the money. The funds received were a lifeline that will always be remembered as an act of love, but also brings shame as I recall the concern that the free fall from my prior life had caused. I realized that as bad as things were, bottom had not been reached. Things could get worse. I didn't want to continue in that direction. My parents and siblings had always been a source for reassurance. The rift that my actions caused left me feeling stranded. Meeting with my Dad started my journey back. I no longer felt alone, out of sorts and aimless.