Robin and her parents, Emma and Jay, left for New York City this afternoon on a mile-long Amtrak Train heading South from Canada.

We drove them to the Albany train station just before a series of storms brought a much-needed cold front.

Emma send me this photograph of Robin watching a movie on the DVD player I bought her a few months ago. It was thoughtful of her to send it.

This was Robin’s first real exposure to the farm. She was quite at home feeding the donkeys, sitting with Flo the barn cat. She paid little attention to the sheep, she liked watering the flowers and collecting eggs from the roost.

The next step for me is spending some time along with here, which has not yet happened.

More than anything, she loved the fish and the snails, she watched them for hours, talked to them, fed them, wondered about them. I might have to go to Brooklyn and install a fish tank for her, it is one of my few specialities in life.

She is a beautiful child, charismatic and bright. People loved her, she has a strong presence wherever she goes. We had a successful visit to the bookstore.

Emma seemed tired but happy to be here, it is not simple living with a two-year-old, no matter how beautiful or how curly is the hair.

Emma has a toddler to watch over, and a big-time editing job to do, I don’t think she gets much rest. It seems to me the weight always falls mostly on the women, no matter how evolved the men are.

I’ve been thinking a lot of Emma and my sometimes complex relationship with her – we were very good together this weekend –  and I am just beginning to understand what it is that has sometimes caused us trouble.

The thing is, I suffered – suffer- from mental illness, and part of that illness was that I was very disturbed for many years before I was able to absorb the help and guidance I was getting.

I remember very little of the years before coming upstate, and especially the years before Maria. It is almost a complete blur to me.

My ex-wife, with whom I was married for 35 years, and I came to see the world in completely different ways, and what is difficult for me to sort out is that I was, well – crazy is the word – and our relationship together deteriorated slowly but continuously.

We never fought in words, or even talked about what was happening to us. But I realize now we were fighting all the time. I didn’t understand what was  happening to me. I can’t speak for her or about her.

But I am just beginning to understand how difficult that must have been for Emma, I was often elsewhere, or unhappy, and increasingly restless about  my life: where I lived, who I was living with,  how I was living, what good parenting was.  I came to understand the meaning of passive aggressiveness.

In that other family, we did not ever talk about these important things, they just festered and deepened, and I don’t really know what I was like then.

I don’t like to think about it,  to be honest, I don’t like to look backward, but I need to.

This is not about blame, it takes two people to destroy a relationship, but I only feel comfortable writing about myself. Self-loathing is never productive.

And a father has heavy responsibilities that can’t be ignored or dismissed. How could Emma possibility have understood what was happening to me and inside of me?

Empathy is, to me, the key to being a moral human being. You have to stand in the shoes of others to see yourself.

I do not loathe myself or take all of the blame. I have no right to blame anybody else, either. I think the challenge or any writer or person aspiring to a spiritual life is to acknowledge the worst parts of themselves, not just the best.

I was always able to get good and exciting jobs, and always stormed out of all of them.  My illness never seemed to show itself on the surface, but it was there.

My rage and pain was all self-directed, I beat myself up, nobody else. But I can’t imagine I was good to be around. I am surprised the marriage lasted as long as it did. And I understand why Emma might have been – and still is – wary of me. I was hardly a predictable anchor in her life.

But I think this realization is the key to resolving this difficulty with my daughter, who I love very much, and also to moving forward. That involves grandparenting as well, one thing is tied to the other.

I think Robin has broken it open, inspiring me to think about who I want to be and what kind of family I want to have. Emma and I will deal with it, we already are. Through all of this, we have never walked away from each other. I never will.

I’ve talked with Emma about this, and she is listening. We are having the dialogue, not the argument, that we need to have.

I don’t want to discuss the details here – especially those involving her, she can speak for herself if she wishes. But part of my healing experience involves learning to face the truth about myself, and until recently I don’t think I really grasped how my illness affected my family, and especially my daughter.

The thing about being crazy is that you don’t have a clear perspective on your own life, not without a lot of work and a lot of help. You can’t see clearly.

It isn’t about blame for me, rather it’s about taking responsibility.

Beating myself up was a great waste of time. Healing myself was meaningful and productive. The two things – responsibility and blame – are very different from one another.

All in all it was a tiring, but very good and important visit from Robin and her parents. It was another big step towards understanding who I really am and fulfilling my promise to never lie to myself or about myself again. I might even learn some important things about being a father.

Robin is an unknowing angel, she comes to tell me to get my s— together, to keep at it, the process is never over.