Reflections

I have pitied you so much these last couple of months.

You were my confidante, my aggressor, my best friend, my abuser, my lover and yes, at times; my victim.

I have spent the last eleven months coming to terms with the last third of my life. I have examined the mistakes that I made, the choices that I should have and given myself credit for forgiving so much and trying so damn hard. Let me be clear... I am fully aware of the damage I caused in the beginning of our marriage. I was ready to divorce and run at the slightest transgression. I was belittling. You didn't make enough money, you didn't dress the girls how I wanted you to, you drove the wrong car... I didn't praise you enough.

I know my transgressions fully. They are numerous.

You have had eleven months as well. Eleven months without a family, without responsibilities and I was hopeful that you would have examined your mistakes as I have mine.

And today? Today I want to hate you. I can only pity you for your inability to learn from your mistakes. I don't believe that you will ever evolve because you are incapable of truly examining your actions. Rewriting history, blaming medication, blaming a lack of medication, blaming me, blaming your parents, blaming children... you have learned nothing except that if you don't admit your mistakes than you never have to take responsibility for them.

J, I am sorry. I am so sorry for the pain I caused you. For emasculating you and tearing your apart when I should have been your greatest supporter and partner. I didn't believe in you enough, and for that I am ashamed. Looking back has taught me to ask myself, "Would I want to be with me?" And being able to do so will make any and all of my current and future relationships better. I am sorry that I had to hurt you to learn that lesson.

Our children are watching us. They are learning how to handle a mistake that can have devastating consequences. And you are teaching them to bury it. To lie. To make sure that everyone you come into contact with knows that you are not to blame.

They don't buy it J. They left you and told me that you lied. You blamed your Bipolar medication. When you were sentenced for Child Abuse, you blamed a lack of medication. Now you're telling our children that you were never ill. That your medication made you angry and aggressive. A is old enough to remember what you've been like off of your medication. She knows the truth. You are not fooling her, you are simply reaffirming her belief that you can't be trusted.

Reflect J.
Learn.
Grow.

It's the only way you'll ever get your girls back.

Six Months Later

Dear Fatbear,

I dream about you sometimes.

We sit and talk about everything. The future I wanted us to have. The mistakes that were made. The choices I still wish I could stop you from making.

You are an open book. Full of more honesty and integrity than you've ever possessed outside of my subconscious. I wake up feeling cleansed. It's cathartic.

I spoke to the prosecutor's office last Friday.

I called because D keeps asking me when all of this will be over. She's terrified that she'll have to speak in court. It doesn't matter how many times I reassure her that she won't have to see you, no matter what, it's just not enough.

I wish you had to see her tremble.

The prosecutor assured me that you were still being reviewed. That you hadn't fallen through the cracks. The police have charged you with one count of child abuse and one count of violating the Order of Protection. The prosecutor will then decide to keep, modify, drop or add to the charges. I'm still expecting a Violation of Probation charge and probably more Violation of a Court Order charges for the week you just couldn't seem to stay away.

Everything is done by chronological order. Did you know that? From the time you're charged, that's when they get to you. So no matter how horrible your crime, you still have to wait for the people who were charged before you. Seems like a silly way to do things, but I guess it makes sense.

Here's what I want you to know: I don't want you to go to prison. I never did.

Not after your first two Domestic Violence convictions.

Not after your first Child Abuse felony conviction.

Not after you gave me a concussion. I lay there crumpled on the floor, sobbing until my throat was raw, and all I could think was, "I can't tell. He'll go to jail."

So I didn't.

This time, If I'm asked my opinion, here's what I'll say: You have completed over two years of court ordered Anger Management. You started counseling in 2003. You began medication in 2005. You have been on supervised probation since 2007. You have been treated by renowned doctors at Mayo. You began and quit group therapy. You've had every opportunity to receive help. You've been given THREE chances to avoid prison.

I cannot stand by you anymore.

It kills me.

This time, I will not organize a letter campaign, lauding you for being an exemplary father.

I will not speak on the stand for you.

I will not hold your hand and reassure you that we will make it through together.

Most likely, you are going to prison.

Most likely, you will not see your daughters for a very long time. D is no longer yours at all, and you will only see her if she decides to contact you as an adult.

What a shame Fatbear.

I look around, and there are memories everywhere. We had the cozy house with the caring neighbors, and the lucrative business and the three beautiful little girls that everyone envied. You were my high school sweetheart. You built me my picket fence and I would have followed you anywhere.

And now you're someone I don't even know.

You don't ask about your daughters.

You don't pay child support.

You pretend like we never existed at all.

I will be in court, when you are finally convicted.

And I will stare you in the eyes.

Because we do exist.

Everything happened.

And I will never let you forget.