I wanted to protect my children. But who protected me?

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I sleep in a twin bed in a child’s bedroom and have four bunk beds in the master so I can have my children with me. But what does having a bed for them have to do with being a good father? Nothing. Some of our fondest memories together were when I lived in the two room condo and we all slept in the living room / kitchen / family room in our sleeping bags. When I moved into a bedroom of my friends’ home for a year, we did the same; my friends allowed my four children and me to take over the basement family and game room with our sleeping bags. But my wife’s amended divorce decree mandated that to have my children stay into Mondays on the weekends I had them (I’d take them to school Monday morning), they each had to have their own beds.

I was blessed by my friends’ goodness, who allowed me to set up four bunk beds in their basement family room when a neighbor just “happened” to be giving away four. (Can we possibly think God’s hand was not involved?)

My ex wife’s seemingly silly and nonsensical demand for beds became a burden on my friends’ hospitality.

The irony is that  my children have never stayed over into Monday. I invited them, but didn’t want to have them caught in the middle of my “war” with their mother (to use my sister-in-law’s words). “War”? How can my love for my children and my hunger to see them more than six days a month be considered war? If I’m at war, it’s not against my ex. The irony is that I love her, but my war, if there is one,  is not against her but against the system of lawyers, state enforcement agencies, the plunderers of my privacy who have pushed into my personal life, stuck their hands into my family, my bank account, my work, my personal life,  and become the Big Brother to make sure I live by every point of my ex’s divorce decree. They are whom I am at war with. A war and daily battle to be involved with my children as much as I can.

So I make every excuse I can to be with my children. I offer to take them to the dentist, the orthodontist, and I volunteer at the school in my son’s class where I help children behind on reading skills … and I then sometimes see my son from a distance as I arrive at the door to the classroom.

The insanity  of it all  is without the words. I want the government out of my life so I can be a father to my children.

Prison

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Since the day I left my home upon separation, I’ve used the word “prison” often to refer to my experience. It’s used many times in my journal. And when it’s not used, it’s often been in my mind. I felt I was put in prison, even though from every outward indications I was freed. I no longer had children at  my feet, no longer responsible for the home life of my children and wife, no longer tied to their day-to-day activities. I no longer had responsibility to tuck my children in at night, I no longer prayed with them, I didn’t need to help them with their homework. I no longer helped around the house, no more honey-do list, no more yard upkeep. I was free!!!

But what the appearance may have been on the outside, that was not my reality. My now 10-year-old son hates swearing of any kind. Words that others use in movies and on the street, he refuses to let leave his lips. Even when we read the scriptures he skips those words, the most notable being “hell.” And that is the word that well describes my experience. My life in the condo where I first moved is described by that word. Whereas to others it appeared that I locked the door behind me as I entered the condo, the reality was that my action was simply symbolic of what I felt my wife had done to me, locked me in prison. To be alone at night for dinner, to spend those hours in the condo before bedtime was in every real sense a feeling of being in prison.

I often left as darkness descended in the evening, to wander the sidewalks of the condo complex and the surrounding streets. I couldn’t take the prison any more. But, you see, the prison followed me. Whether on the inside or outside of the condo door, I was a prisoner. There was no relief.

Once a week for a few hours I was allowed visitors. They came on a weeknight evening before dinner. We were allowed to eat together, to “laugh” and play until 8:30 when visiting hours were over. As much as I enjoyed my young visitors, and as much as I would smile and “laugh” with them, the reality of my prison, knowing that my visitors would be leaving all too soon, made their visits painful. So painful. I could no longer tuck them in. I was no longer part of their evening routine. Everything we did felt forced. Throwing Frisbees in the courtyard, tossing lacrosse balls back and forth, reading from the scriptures or the “Friend” magazine, all of these were “pretend.” They were fabrications of what used to happen, going through the motions of what we used to do as “family,” but now being done as my prison visitors.

I was also allowed these same visitors every other weekend. That meant that twice a month I had my favorite evening. Fridays we usually went out to a movie, a park, or some activity, because having my four visitors in a one-bedroom apartment made us all stir crazy. So my favorite night became Saturdays. This was the closest semblance I had to my pre-incarceration life. We would sit around on the floor and talk, read, and fall asleep on the floor and couch. Although still forced, if I ignored the reality, it felt similar for that one hour, but only twice a month compared to the 30 of a real family.

During the five months I lived in the condo, I had only one other set of visitors. Oddly, these visitors were my wife’s brother and his wife. Even though I have a wonderful brother, sisters, and parents, none came to visit. No friends, no other relatives … nobody. “The silence was deafening,” as they say, hours alone.

The feeling at this time (and it hasn’t changed, but I ignore it better), was as if I was a criminal. In every sense of the word.

Why do I share all this? For those of you who have not experienced what I’m describing, you may think I’m exaggerating. For those of you who have gone through this yourself, I hope to let you know that you’re not alone. But lastly, this post is a precursor to things I’ll share in future posts. I have learned much since my separation and divorce.

Know, dear brother, that these feelings are real, not imagined, and that they are not your fault. Yes, we men tend to be a wicked bunch, and we are complicit in the failure in our marriages (there is no pancake so thin that it doesn’t have two sides), but the feelings of imprisonment are real, and mostly caused by things done outside our control.

You may recall from a previous post that when my wife and I were first separated, I was out of a job. I  started a new job just a couple weeks after our divorce was final. Another “nail in the coffin” of my prison experience was when I learned that my wages were going to be garnished for my alimony and child support. It wasn’t that I wasn’t willing to support my children, but the whole method in which I was told, and that it came about, solidified the feeling of my prison sentence. I was not consulted, I was not offered options, nobody talked to me as a human being. The sentence of “alimony and child support shall be taken from your wages” was violation of my freedom. Multiple thousands of dollars were extracted from my paycheck with no consent or action on my part.

To complete my illusion of feeling like a criminal (in actuality it was no illusion, more on that in future posts), at a family gathering to which my sister-in-law invited my ex, I overheard my father speaking to her, asking what he could do to help her. My heart sank. This “poor” woman was being put on a pedestal as the victim, when she had divorced me, and I monthly was paying her thousands of dollars for the right to see my children about 114 waking hours a month out of 720, or about 16% of their monthly lives. (You may think it odd that I took the time to count the hours, but after all, prisoners have plenty of time to scratch tick marks on prison walls, and it’s what they live for and focus on.) And later I was hurt when my father mentioned they sent my children’s birthday presents and cards to their mother’s, even after I reminded them that I see them weekly.

I digress. My point of all this was to describe my feeling that I was paying a huge sum to see my children for only a few hours a month. My wife and children were free, living in a beautiful home going on with life as usual, and I was imprisoned. Night after night I have envisioned them sitting around the dinner table, doing chores and homework, jumping on the tramp, walking the neighborhood, going to the park, going to church, bringing friends home to play (that I no longer get to meet), going on dates (how is a father to protect a daughter or counsel a son?!), crying and laughing together … (the list is endless).

There is much more I could and want to say. But there will be plenty of posts to share.

But, dear brothers, it is important that, as painful as our experience may be, that we persevere. We must not leave our children. In spite of the difficulties imposed upon us, we must not check out of our children’s lives. So much is against us. In spite of embarrassment, belittlement by the system, by family and friends, we must love our children, and most importantly and sometimes most difficultily, remain true to our covenants and activity in the Church. It seems nearly insurmountable, but it is possible and critical.

Brother Carl

Letter to a Friend. Marriage Woes.

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A dear friend and I chatted a couple months ago. She shared that she was considering divorce. I was saddened. I sent this email a week or so later (genericized to take out personal details):

As you may suspect, I’ve not gotten you out of my mind. I think of you often, and pray you are well.

Hi [Friend],

Marriage is such a testing ground for us . (Our families, too.) No other relationship tests our patience, love, commitment, understanding, and so much else. I’ve spent five years now, and time before that when [my Ex] and I were struggling, learning about me and marriage. I’ve prayed incessantly that I might know my Father’s will. I’ve learned much from the Spirit and what it has led me to and confirmed in my heart.

When you and I parted after lunch, my thoughts were turned to a divorced sister in our ward. Her name is [the same as yours]. Perhaps that’s no accident. She has [several children]. (Ha, I just realized that connection as I typed it. Never got that one. [Both have the same number of boys and girls.]) I don’t know her ex-husband, but ward members do. He was not the best husband, apparently. But she has said several times that if she’d known how difficult divorce is, she would have worked harder to save her marriage. I feel for her. She struggles in so many ways, being single. There are a dozen or so singles in my ward, surprising to me since it’s such an affluent ward. All of us struggle.

I wrote the above Saturday evening, and now Sunday evening I’m reviewing what I wrote getting ready to send it. “By chance,” [this sister] came to visit with [my bishop] this afternoon. As we waited together [I’m executive secretary and greet members as they come to their appointments], we shared. I told her of [you] and a few general thoughts about your struggles. “Have her give me a call!” she said. She again expressed how she’d wished she’d fought harder to stay in her marriage. Divorce is not what you think it is.

I know in my heart that a husband and wife, as long as they are doing their best to follow our Father, can work out a marriage. It may not be ideal, the most loving, nor what we imagined years ago before marriage, or as starry-eyed newlyweds. There will always be trials. That’s part of life. But when we stand face to face after this life, as John Pontius describes [in his book “Visions of Glory”], we will know a person’s heart and mind in an instant, with no words shared. We will know why we acted, why we thought, and why we were who we were. I sense that will allow us to let down our wall, take off our blinders, and love our spouses more fully. And as I’m told Brigham Young said (but I can’t find the quote), we would kneel down and worship our spouses for the glorious beings they are, that we can’t see now.

I have thought and prayed often about [my Ex’s] and my relationship and all we did and didn’t do. I think about it daily. For most of the past four plus years I’ve taken the blame for everything. I hurt [her] deeply. Her tender heart was broken. I weep at my wickedness. But about a year ago the thought came to my mind that divorce can be a sin, too. I won’t go into detail here, and have never told anyone this because I don’t want to make light of my part of our issues. But I wonder in our case how the sin of divorce compared with my sins. I don’t want [her] to hear that, because I’ve caused her enough grief, but I don’t believe divorce is the answer to most marriage ills. Post-divorce, I am crippled to make amends for my own weaknesses in marriage, because I am not with [her] to learn to do it right. I understand better now how now is the time to repent, before we die. After death, repenting without a body will be like repenting now of marriage problems without a spouse.

I have also read and prayed much about the children of divorce. Little of divorce in our day takes into account its effects on children. This is the great sadness of divorce, and little spoken of. “No fault divorce” takes no account of the innocent victims. It most profoundly affects the young ones. It turns their lives upside down, and affects them deeply for the rest of their lives. But it affects all of the children, of all ages. The foundation of their world is torn asunder. They have lost the one object of stability they grew up with. No longer do promises and working-it-out and sticking-to-it have the same meaning. Above all else, over the past years I have cried for my children. My heart aches continually for all of them, top to bottom. I have countless concerns for them, and for each one of my children my concerns are different. But they now have the permission to call it quits when times get tough.

[The sister] in my ward is a school counselor. She said she can’t even talk to children of divorce who come in for counseling, and there are many, because it saddens her so deeply. I wish she could. She could bless their lives in ways married counselors could never. I’ll chat with her about that.

Divorce is not the divorce as you imagine before divorce. You are inextricably tied once you have children. The relationship just becomes awkward. Family reunions, every gathering, everything you do has memories tied to what used to be. People look at and treat you differently. You lose contact with most of your married friends because not only do you physically leave them behind when you move and divorce, but without a spouse the relationships are different and don’t work.

I sense in my heart you and [your husband] can work out a long and loving relationship. It would be, like any marriage, a constant and continual effort. But like working a weak muscle, it grows stronger when you focus on building it, repeatedly and daily, don’t give up. And an earthly marriage can and should be a wonderful blessing.

I love you, [my friend]. My heart aches for you. I know the difficulties of marriage. Too well. But I also know the difficulties of divorce. I know why men, and many women, go inactive after divorce, why fathers separate themselves and give up on trying to keep a relationship with their children, why there is for so many so much sin and despair among the divorced. Satan does all he can to break up the family. He is incredibly successful.

This email was raw. Not much sugar coating. I didn’t give much thought to how I wrote what I wrote. But it had my heart.

I hope we can chat again. You mean much to me. Family is everything. Our eternal ties will last … eternally.

Carl