A couple of weeks ago we moved out of our apartment.
I’m staying at my mom’s house. Living in the basement.
My wife and kids are living with her parents.
I’ve been spending most of my waking hours with my boys. I miss living with them, but I’m glad I get to be with them so much.
It’s more than most separated/divorced dads get.
Sometimes when I can’t be with my boys it hurts. It feels like there’s a huge hole in my heart.
Other times I’m fine.
I don’t know what makes the difference.
When I was younger I would dream about marriage. I wanted to get married as far back as I can remember.
Fatherhood was something I rarely gave any thought.
I figured I would have kids at some point. I didn’t think about it beyond that.
Sometimes it’s all I can think about now.
I want to spend as much time with my boys as I can.
I want them to have the best future they can.
I want to do whatever I can to make that happen.
I want to have the best relationships with them I can.
I want them to be the best men they can be.
I want them to learn from my bad choices.
To not go through what I’ve been through.
It’s been a while since my last post.
I’ve moved out of our apartment. Into my mom’s basement.
I’ve only spent one night there. A long night.
I’m still staying at the apartment most nights.
I got a new laptop. The old one kept overheating.
The wi-fi connection on the new one is flaky. I’m not sure why.
No job yet. I’m not sure what to do about that.
I ought to start a business. I’m not sure I’m up to it.
I need to do something, though.
I hate moving.
I started moving stuff as soon as I could. I didn’t want to be scrambling at the last minute.
Moving my things hasn’t affected my emotions.
A few days ago my wife had my kids start packing, though.
That got to me.
My boys they were oblivious. “Dad, can you tape this box for me?”
It made it real for me.
I think of myself as a humble person.
I don’t go around talking about how great I am.
I don’t even think it.
There is one area I need help with:
I don’t ask for help.
I’ll do anything I can think of to avoid it.
When I move I do as much on my own as I can.
I’ll visit forums looking for answers to questions. If no one has asked the question, I’ll move on. I don’t want to ask it myself.
Look at all kinds of do-it-yourself books, websites etc. If a task requires a second person, I’ll lose interest.
I wonder what refusing to ask has cost me.
Separation from my babies?
Moving into a dungeon?
How much worse will things have to get?
Sometimes I’m thick-headed.
Sometimes I have to be taught a lesson multiple times.
Those lessons can be painful.
Lessons like, “Get to know someone really well before deciding to marry them.”
Or, “Don’t have sex with someone you’re not married to.”
I think I’ve finally learned those lessons now.
I hope so. They’ve come at a high price.
Then I broke down the door.
She hadn’t show up to the party. We were all waiting for her.
She’d had a terrible week. The last few months weren’t the best, either.
No one else seemed concerned.
I asked one of her roommates for her key. I drove to the house they were renting.
The door to her room was locked.
I tried to talk her into opening the door. She refused. She sounded distraught.
I thought I smelled blood.
I did what I had to.
Once I was in I saw them. Ibuprofen tablets scattered around the room.
I tried carrying her up the stairs. I made it almost all the way up. I wasn’t quite strong enough.
She got away from me.
I called my friends for help.
After what felt like an eternity they arrived.
So did the paramedics.
So did the Bishop.
The paramedics took her.
We went through her room. We made sure there were no more pills stashed away.
We went to the Emergency Room to check on her. She seemed much calmer and happier.
Eventually all the roommates moved out.
She moved away.
I heard she got married. Then divorced. Then married.
I hope she’s doing okay.
“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”
– J.K. Rowling
I haven’t hit bottom. Not yet.
To be honest, I’m kind of looking forward to it.
I’m not looking forward to being divorced from my wife.
I’m not looking forward to living in my mom’s basement. (Sigh…)
I’m especially not looking forward to being separated from my boys
I’m looking forward to making progress. To getting myself on the right path. To really working toward achieving greatness. To being a good example for my boys.
With the help of a loving Heavenly Father I can do it.
With his help I can do anything.
It’s my boys I worry about.
I’ve never been divorced before. Neither has my wife. But we’ve both been though painful breakups before and come out okay. We’ll both be okay this time, too.
My boys grow up in an intact home. Now that’s not going to happen for them.
I worry how their parents’ divorce will affect their ability to have good marriages of their own.
I worry about not being around to protect them. They’re not big enough to defend themselves against an adult.
I worry that if I’m not with them every day if will hurt our relationship. Will we be as close as we are now? Will we drift apart?
I worry about so many things.
Worrying won’t solve anything. All I can do at this point is the best I can.
I just wish it was better.
Last Thursday I blew up at my wife.
She was filing for divorce online and asking me questions.
I got irritated and eventually exploded. I said a lot of hurtful things that I regret.
At one point I thought about killing myself. I hadn’t thought about that for a long time.
Eventually I calmed down and apologized.
Later I realized I wasn’t as okay with the divorce as I had thought.
Part of me was still hoping she’d change her mind.