Last year I only blogged four times, and all of them came in the Fall.

So what was I doing last year in the first half that wasn't blog-worthy?

I had gone back to Los Angeles. The move to the Midwest occurred in December of 2010 but I was having trouble finding a job out here. If I'd stuck it out I probably would've been hired at my current job in February of 2011, but we were living with my mother-in-law and she's retired, gets a pension check and the money was tight.

I had to take care of unfinished business: We left my truck and half of our belongings in Albuquerque, New Mexico after one of the tire pegs on my truck broke. I also had to pay off some tickets in L.A. and grab some things we didn't take with us. But the clincher was when my cousin said there was a job opportunity that was paying well.

With the help of family in Denver, Colorado, I was able to get to New Mexico, fix my truck, drive it back to L.A., apply for the job with my cousin's company, and work my ass off until I had enough money to bring my wife and son back to the West Coast.

But I was going to have to be apart from my wife and son for at least six months.


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I stayed at the house where my grandparents lived, but the house was already filled to capacity. After my grandparents' passed away my aunt and her family took over the house, plus my aunt and some of my cousins were staying there as well. There was room for me in the garage. My dad converted a section of it into a small bedroom the size of a jail cell.

I had to do this because I could not afford rent. I was sending the majority of my weekly pay to my wife and keeping only enough money for gas and food. I crashed on a lot of couches as well. Many of my friends who tried to help me out couldn't understand how I was making so much money and yet sometimes had to sleep in my truck or rent a crappy motel room for the night.

Meanwhile, I got the job with my cousin's company: Bank Of America. Foreclosure Department. As if my situation wasn't depressing enough... but it was money, and I hadn't worked in almost two years. That job kept me afloat and got me through a rough time.

And during that time I began to realize that, while I was back home where I was raised and came of age, my real family was living in Indianapolis, braving the worst winter in recent memory without me.


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I saved up enough money to fly out to Indianapolis for Easter. When I called my wife to tell her that soon we'd be coming back to L.A., she told me she didn't want to come back. Things were going good for her out in the Midwest. She was working in her field, something she couldn't do in L.A. Our son was making friends and going to a good daycare, and they were on the verge of getting into a nice apartment thanks to the money I was sending.

While this made me feel a little bit sick, I also knew that my family was happy. The only thing that would make it perfect would be for me to be there.

I remember the morning after my flight arrived. I hadn't seen my son when I got in because he was asleep. My jet lag caused me to wake up extra early, and I hid behind the couch when our little man woke up and walked into my mother-in-law's living room to watch cartoons.

When he saw me, it was a look I will never forget: a mix of incomprehension and familiarity. He didn't know who I was, and yet he knew exactly who I was, and he was trying to figure it out. It took him ten minutes to warm up to me, but when he did it was as if I'd never left.

That Easter was special, and when it was time for me to go back to L.A. I took a walk with Little Man in the park and talked to him.

"I'm leaving tomorrow. But I'll be back." I don't believe in talking down to children, just talk to them straight up and they'll understand.

Little Man lowered his head. He was not happy about it.

"Hey, listen to me," I said to him. "You have to be brave, for your mama. Take care of her. You're the man until I come back. But I will be back. You have to be strong, OK?"

He nodded his head. He didn't cry or whimper or anything. We just enjoyed our time together for as long as we had it.

The next day at the airport, he was so happy, so chipper. I was the one who couldn't hold back my emotions, but my son made me so proud.


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Six months turned into seven, then eight. But I was now ready to drive from Los Angeles to Indianapolis, with a stop in Denver to recharge with my uncle who had so graciously helped me to get back out to L.A. in the first place.

It would take me five days.

As I drove, I started to manifest symptoms of high blood sugar and diabetes. It runs in my family, and I was overweight with a bad diet. My eyesight became blurry and I had to stop almost every hour to urinate. But I soldiered on.

I think I could've made the trip in three days had I not stopped so much, but it was better to take my time. Soon I would be back with my wife and my son, for good. No more having to send me money from afar, or relying on photographs and video text messages to keep my memory alive for my son. I would not have to miss any more moments with my family.

On August 15th, 2011, I entered the Indianapolis city limits. I was in the home stretch, as they say.

By that time, my wife had moved into the new apartment. It was there that I drove, and when I entered our new home I heard Bob Dylan playing, and I saw my wife and son, and I hugged them and kissed them, and I swore that I would never leave them again.

The year anniversary of that trip back to Indy just passed, and it fills me with a strange sorrow and a complex joy. I can't believe I went through all that. There were some lonesome nights out there, to be sure.

And I wonder if I really had to do all of that, just to end up here. I mean, I think I could've found work if we'd just held out a bit longer. But then again, if we'd been the types to hold on just a little bit longer, we would have never moved out of L.A. to begin with-- we would've just stayed put until that Bank Of America gig came along.

We all did what we had to do. And I suspect that somehow we are better off for it, as a family. My son will never remember that for eight months I was away, and even I have forgotten how long it seemed I was out there until now. My wife is embarking on the career she always wanted, and I am a working stiff once again.

As for how I feel about the city of Indianapolis, that's another blog entry. But suffice it to say, I'll endure anything if it means making things better for my family. And I am not just saying that-- I can back it up.