8/18

This past Wednesday marked the second anniversary of my arrest. There are so many dates I vividly recall: the first time I saw the woman I married; the birth of both our sons; the day I found out I passed the bar exam. Those were all amazingly, wonderful days. August 18, 2008 was not one of those days.  Yet, everything that happened – every second of that day – is etched in my psyche.



It had started out well enough. It was a Monday morning, typical hot, humid August morning. My folks had come up for the weekend. I had cooked all weekend – a passion of mine: fillet kabobs Friday night; lamb with rice pilaf Saturday; pasta with a sausage Bolognese sauce Sunday. It was a relaxing, carefree weekend. My wife and I even found time alone and made love.


I left for the office at 5:00 that morning as I did everyday. Everything was normal, in sync. That is, until the call from upstairs, the company president, who asked to see me. The time was 8:32. I will never forget the time.


I won’t go into detail here about that morning (Hint: you can read all about it and more in my book. Literary agents – it’s a good story!). Suffice it to say, I was asked about one $30,000 check, admitted I had been gambling and going on spending sprees for family, friends, and coworkers, and asked for help. Instead, within minutes law enforcement arrived. I was arrested, arraigned, and denied bond (the prosecutor argued I was a flight risk).


At 1:36 pm, I made the worst telephone call of my life. I called the woman I loved, the woman I had dreamt of spending my life with, and broker her heart. I unleashed consequences I couldn’t begin to comprehend.


I was transported later that day (6:00 pm) to the Henrico County Jail. I was placed in an “observation cell” by intake because of fear that I would try and end my life. I spend the remainder of that night staring at the walls of my new home, my mind racing as I tried to come to grips with what I’d done.


At one point, I looked at my watch and realized it was 8:30. Trying to regain my equilibrium, I decided to calculate my “living space”. I counted each concrete block, deducted space for the commode cut out, and concluded there were 326 blocks making up my cell and approximately 62 square fee of total floor space. Satisfied with my calculations, I looked back at my watch. It read 8:35.


I was crushed, despondent. I lost all hope. I spend the remainder of that night in the hell I created.


I’d like to be able to write that within a day or so I found my bearings. But I didn’t. As bad as things were on the 18th, they got worse. My marriage completely unraveled in the days and weeks ahead (though looking back now, I wonder what really kept us together anyway. She obviously didn’t love me). My court appearances brought newspaper articles. I was threatened by inmates on at least two occasions. The court – with me in handcuffs and shackles – sentenced me to more time in prison than the typical second degree murder case.


Within weeks of sentencing – almost 30 days to the date that the court rejected my motion to reconsider and I had signed everything over to my wife – I was served with divorce papers.


I was shipped by DOC on August 12, 2009 to a hellhole called Powhatan Receiving Center and placed in a 8’ by 10’ roach infested, leaky toilet cell with a 24 year old psychotic gang member who was beginning to serve 76 years for the murder of two rival gang members.


My divorce was signed by the court on September 4th. Ironically, I didn’t learn of it until the 22nd at 3:30 a.m. when an officer brought the papers to me. “We misplaced them.” The 4th – the day of my divorce – was significant. It was exactly 29 years after my wife’s and my first date.


Throughout those months my darkness began, albeit slowly, to be replaced by light, by hope. I’m not sure exactly when, but at some point I knew I would overcome this.


There had been a night shortly after my arrest, when I believed I couldn’t go on. I determined then and there I’d end it all and planned out taking my life. I began to carry out my plan, and then paused. As I closed my eyes and prepared to step off my bunk and hang myself, I saw someone, an angel perhaps. At that precise moment I promised God I wouldn’t quit.


There were so many days those past two years when I really thought I couldn’t go on. But, somehow I did. I memorized scripture and would recite them over and over.


It’s odd really. You think you can’t live without certain things. You think your life is all about the people beside you. Then, everything is taken away. The love you thought people had for you, you learn is really fiction. You find yourself alone, broken and empty. And, at that precise moment you realize you can overcome. You realize no matter what, God loves you and is with you. You find faith, and in faith – hope, and with hope you endure.


This past Wednesday – my second year imprisoned – I went outside and ran 13-150 yard sprints then walked 3 miles. I went to the law library and put the finishing touches on a young man’s pardon application.


And, I prayed a great deal, mostly thanking God for seeing me through this. Prison can’t break you. Only you can break yourself. Faith, I’ve learned, can overcome these walls.