I haven’t considered writing about suicide until the last couple weeks. Is it an issue with single fathers?

The son of some good friends is just starting the divorce process. His wife asked him to leave three weeks ago, so now he’s back with Mom and Dad.

At the request of our bishop and my own desire to assist, I connected with him to provide support.

I’ve seldom seen such anger. But I know where it comes from. He has the most darling two-year-old daughter, and is being kept from her, and living an hour’s drive away. And as all divorced fathers know, there is little more gut-wrenching than being rejected by someone you love.

How difficult it is to leave my children with my ex after my little time with them, and head home alone! It’s gotten easier. But I vividly remember crying inside, and often openly, on the way home those first years, and feeling incredible anger that I couldn’t choose when I wanted to see my own children! How could a piece of paper, a divorce decree that I never wanted, stand between me and my children? I was imprisoned. In my case the anger wasn’t at first as much directed toward my ex, as toward the entire inconceivable situation. But then it was directed toward her because there was nobody else I could direct it to. With a seeming touch of her finger she had pushed the first domino that set in process a system that bound me hand and foot from ever again being a significant part of my family. There was no face to the “family” law system that allowed and supported the insanity I was now being subjected to. The lawyer who helped my ex through the divorce process, who I disdained at the time, was long gone from the scene and I’d only seen him once anyway.

So yes, even mild-mannered me often got angry, even though it was not always intentionally directed toward the woman I had loved for 27 years, and still did, but now in a different way.

I got on the freeway one Thursday evening, in the dark, overwhelmingly hurt and exasperated. My natural instinct to love, protect, and be with my children was blocked. I grew angry. I was lonely, empty, with nobody to turn to, heading home to an empty apartment, leaving my family of eight, five of whom were still at home, to laugh and play, do homework, and enjoy the rest of a happy evening together, then all go to their own rooms and slumber peacefully, while I was being kept from what mattered most to me, confined to a little empty apartment to slumber fitfully and awake after four or five hours, exhausted but unable to sleep for the incessant hamsters on the wheels of my brain churning over every imaginable thought. So I had this nearly overwhelming desire to end it all. Driving up I-15 I pictured a cement wall on the side of the freeway that I could run into. It was real in my mind. I can still picture it, my foot pressing on the gas, pedal to the metal at breakneck speed as I neared that wall. …

I wouldn’t have done that, but the image, desire, and feelings were real.

Numerous other times I’ve prayed to the heavens that some mountain would fall and cause me to cease to exist so I could end the pain.

But knowing this would only end my mortal life. The spiritual me would continue on, I knew suicide was not the answer. But I still prayed I could cease to exist in every form, to end the pain.

I had told myself I wouldn’t share these things. They aren’t “me.” But sharing and trying to lift the burdens of my dear friend these last few weeks has made me realize that others have these feelings. But he may actually consider it.

Experience #2:

A number of years ago I was counselor in an LDS bishopric. The Bishop and I visited a young family that had just moved into our neighborhood. I was struck by the beauty of the home, but more so by the handsome and clean-cut father, beautiful wife, and three immaculate and happy children.

I have a good friend the past six or so years who was three years ago office manager for a legal firm. Her firm had donated a grand sum of money to a local charity, and in return got eight seats at a table and dinner at a posh hotel, one of the finest in Salt Lake. I was her companion. Except for one, the events of the evening are for another time and place.

During the indescribably wonderful meal I looked over her shoulder and saw at a neighboring table that same young man. He was with a woman I didn’t recognize, who by her dress and demeanor I could assume was not active in Church and likely not a member. Her provocative dress and appearance exuded worldliness and lust.

My heart sank for this man. I pictured his now ex wife and children living a separate life, a broken family.

This last weekend I was with my married son, his wife and son, and my two younger children, to walk Temple Square to admire the Christmas lights and get lost in the throngs of happy people. We began the evening at the food court of the neighboring mall. I’ve seldom seen so many people, shoulder to shoulder sitting in every chair and filling every space. As I sat with my children I turned to my married son and my attention was grabbed by a man walking behind him … this same young man I’d see a couple years earlier and visited with our bishop years before that. He was with yet another woman.

For some reason my Father in Heaven wanted me to see him again. Amidst the bustle, I couldn’t share with my children these three experiences, but did later when we were in the solitude of the car.

I’m concerned about my new friend, son of my friends, who told me a couple weeks ago he doesn’t plan to stay active in the church. “It has done no good for me,” or so he thinks in his anger. His anger and choices may lead him down the same road as this young father of my three encounters. Will he, as with Scrooge, allow his experiences to eventually turn him around, to “come to himself” and remember the goodness the Christ has brought him?

As I’ve shared with him and considered my own experience, there are a few things that have kept me sane and active in the Church, which now over time have been undeniably good choices:

• My children. I’ve seen too many children of fathers who have removed themselves from their children’s lives or left the church. These children often leave the Church or flounder themselves. Those I know seem quiet and confused. I want to find data on this.
• My own life is vastly different than it would be had I left activity in the Church (which would certainly have been the “easier” choice; it took incredible willpower to attend church).
• I have good, clean, and supportive friends. The darkness of the “other” life I could have had I’ve seen in the eyes of too many men who remarry and remarry, and to remarry again.
• I have joy. Yes, in spite of indescribable sadness, I have joy and peace in my life. The sadness is there, never-ending and painful. But I know that part of this life’s experience is to see if I’ll remain faithful to my Father in Heaven and my covenants in spite of my trials.
• My decision to work in the temple baptistery set a foundation spirituality that has affected me deeply.