We tend to make a lot of promises during our lives.  Well, maybe you don't, but I think a lot of people do.  Sometimes things work out, and sometimes they don't.  Sometimes you keep them, sometimes you don't carry through, and sometimes you promise something that was never in your power to deliver.

I have made lots of promises, and I like to think that I've kept the vast majority of them.  I'm not the sort that enjoys being the bad guy, the let down.  Lots of promises, anyway.  Most of them are small things.  I've made three of what I consider cornerstone promises.  The big ones that have done a lot to define my adult life.

One was broken because I never had the power to deliver.  I promised my son, when his mom had been in the hospital for a couple of days, that mommy would be home soon.  He actually asked me if she was ever coming home.  I had no idea that it was the end.  We'd only found out that she was probably terminal the week before.  The cancer was supposed to take time, but the chemo killed her first.  It took a long time to come to terms with breaking this one.  I never should have made it, wouldn't have made it if I'd known.

One was broken because I ran out of time.  I promised Denise a house of her own.  When we first got engaged, her parents told her she'd never own a house and that she'd always need to come back to them for help.  God damn, I hated them for that.  It's so cowardly, taking your fear and trying to pass it back to your kids.  So I promised her a house with a nice yard where our future kids could play.

I ran out of time a lot sooner than I ever expected.  When we found out that she was almost certainly dying, and I knew that I'd failed her, I broke down.  I couldn't stop apologizing for failing.  She told me it wasn't my fault, that the cancer took away the time I needed.  She had me make a new promise, one that she said would make up for this failure.  Get the house and raise the kids in it.  So I did.

We closed yesterday.