When I Was …

In a few days I’ll turn 54. My life is so much different than it was back in 2008, back just weeks before my arrest. And, I’ve had a week of heartbreak. I’m trying to make sense of it all, trying to move forward, trying to accept that these are the consequences of my behavior. They probably are. And, some will say I’m getting what I deserve. Others will feel I am being punished to the extreme. I’m not sure. I just know this past week I have felt heartache and despair – and also blessings and clarity – in immeasurable ways.

            

James Lee Burke, the one author who I would love spending a day with, said in a recent interview that if you learn anything with age, it’s that ultimately you don’t solve the great mysteries. “I don’t know why the good suffer,” he said. “I’m a believer, but I don’t understand the nature of God.” His words rolled through my mind these past days as I tried to get a handle on my future, and my dreams, and the mysterious path my life – my God – has me on. Whether you think I should wear my emotions on sleeve, or I should or shouldn’t write this doesn’t matter to me. I’ve filled notebooks, thousands of pages of thoughts and journal entries and stories trying to understand it all.

            

I read an interesting statement the other day. “Who you really are always shows up at the end. Those words gave me hope. They tell me I’m not a label: an embezzler, a felon, a divorcee. I am, at my core, a man capable of insight, and compassion, and courage. I’ve needed all that this week.

            

Last Saturday, my older son married his college sweetheart. I watched the day approach with bittersweet memories. I was there the moment my son was born. I held him mere seconds after his entry into the world. I whispered the words to Bob Dylan’s “Forever Young” to him as he looked at the world – and his father – for the first time.

            

And, I watched him grow up into the man he is. I remember so many milestones in his life and all the times he and I shared. We were, for so many years; almost inseparable.

            

I remember when he brought her to meet us back in 2006 and I saw the look in his eyes as he introduced us to the beautiful young woman who would be his wife. And, I understood – without a word being said between us – how he felt. I had that same look twenty-seven years earlier. I had my breath taken away at a college dance that moment when she turned and I saw her blue eyes for the first time.

            

As my son’s wedding approached, I thought of my own marriage. It’s strange. You’re twenty-one and you think you know everything. Your heart dances and your breath skips with just the thought of her. You have your whole life mapped out. Graduate or Law School in some metropolitan area; a great career doing work that matters. But small things crop up. Families object to moves and question whether she’s old enough to get married. And her turmoil: your parents’ divorce, finding out your father has a girlfriend and has left your mom, interferes in your idyllic life.

            

You’re a knight in shining armor, a hero. The hell with dreams of Atlanta, or Dallas. None of that matters because you and she are together. Nothing can break the warmth you feel when you look into her eyes.

            “Remember when the days were long

            And rolled beneath a deep blue sky

            Didn’t have a care in the world …”

            

Don Henley. F-n’ Don Henley. I remember hearing that song, “The End of the Innocence,” back in the 80’s and learning those soulful, cryptic words as a father speaks about his child and the couple’s divorce, and I said to myself that’ll never be me. I love her, I thought. And I will sacrifice everything for her because, well because that’s what you do when you take a woman as your wife.

            “With mommy and daddy standing by

            When happily ever after fails

            And we’ve been poisoned by these fairy tales

            The lawyers dwell on small details

            Since daddy had to lie”

            

And I wondered about hearing my son say those words in the vows, “honor and cherish; in sickness and in health,” forsaking all others; “til death us do part.” How did my ex react to those words? We meant it, you know. We meant to love and cherish each other and hold ourselves close as the sands of the world shifted. We would, we believed, have a relationship that endured.

           

I remembered her eyes that day. I looked at her and thought nothing could ever come between us. I was the happiest man alive. She was my Beatrice, the woman Dante meets in “The Divine Comedy” as he’s traveling through purgatory and the rings of hell. Beatrice, his salvation, his life, his wholeness.

           

People make assumptions. They “know” who someone is and they draw conclusions based on what they see. And they judge. I sat in my law office one morning a lifetime ago. I had won a trial, a federal court case involving Title VII and sex discrimination. I was a guy who viewed trials like professional boxing matches and I wouldn’t let anyone beat me.

            

I sat there. Nine months had passed since the miscarriage. Nine months and she still cried when we went out. Nine months and we weren’t going to “try again.” There was the new house, the “dream house” under construction. The numbers didn’t work. So I sat there and weighed it and I wrote a check. Truth is I knew I was violating my duties as a lawyer; knew I couldn’t go back. And I felt like shit, but I also felt whole.

            

It’s easy to sit somewhere else and say you know what you’d do. Many times I’ve thought, if I could just go back. But Caesar couldn’t uncross the Rubicon, and I don’t know what would have happened if I didn’t write that first check.

           

We conceived our first son while waiting to hear that the house sale went through. Nine months later, I looked at her; exhausted from childbirth, and looked at the life we created and knew I did what had to be done. My life was never the same.

            

Responsibility? Live with knowing you destroyed the most important thing in your life. Live with knowing you missed your son’s college graduation and wedding. Live with knowing she’s remarrying. So yeah. I’ve suffered this week.

            

And that’s ok. I also discovered beauty and a host of other things during this week. I was reminded again that I have friends, both inside and out, who care for me and see beyond the “facts” (as if anyone knows the facts) and sees the person. Contrary to what my anonymous blog responder thinks (how “anonymous” are you really?) the reason people stuck with me was I owned up. You never heard me say, “Woe is me.” In fact, I wore this – and a whole lot more. It took some other people to finally say “That’s not your responsibility Larry,” for me to quit accepting blame for things unrelated to my crime.

            

I’m not 25 anymore. I’m not the guy anymore who thought his life would be charmed, his marriage easy, one accomplishment after the other. I’m 54 and I’ve seen disappointment and despair. I’ve watched my marriage to my soul mate collapse; not all my fault; but still the pain of that loss weighs heavily on my heart. Friends have left, but friends have stayed. I’ve watched guys in here return twice since they first left. And life on the outside has gone on. There are people I knew who have died, children who have gotten sick, or had their own relationships crumble.

            

Youth is a funny thing. It really doesn’t prepare you for life. Only the scars from the battles you’ve waged remind you living is not all about ease and comfort. There is meaning, and beauty, and blessings in the pain. It was a tough week. But, like other weeks, this one ended and another began. And that’s where hope lies. There’s a new week. I can’t uncross the Rubicon, but I can proceed to Rome.

            “Who knows how long this well last

            Now we’ve come so far, so fast

            But somewhere back there in the dust

            That same small town in each of us

            I need to remember this

            So baby give me just one kiss

            Before we say good bye

            Just lay your head back on the ground

            And let your fall all around me

            Offer up your best defense

            But, this is the end

            This is the end of the innocence.”

            

You may not understand what I’m getting at, but Don F --- in Henley does.

Dear Anonymous

I received a print copy of your 10/20 response to a recent blog about a “typical” week here.  I’ve been busy teaching my own class (yes, they’ve given me some independence to get guys ready for the GED!) and thinking about the election, but your comments deserve a response.

First, I appreciate you reading my blog.  When I started it two and a half years ago, my goal was to connect – in some way – with the outside world.  Too often, prison – with its security apparatus and “scarlet letter” understanding that “bad people are behind the fence” – isolates and alienates those incarcerated.  Simply put, we forget what its like out there.  Twenty-four seven we are watched and cared for.  We lose connection with decision making and those things that should matter in your daily life.

Compounding that, most people locked up come from less than desirable lives.  Drug and alcohol abuse, broken homes, poverty, lack of education, lack of stable employment, the list of social ills that most of the incarcerated have lived through is enough to teach graduate level sociology.  And I don’t say that to make excuses for people’s decisions. But, until we as a nation have the collective will to – as the words of the U.S. Constitution so eloquently state it, “provide for the general welfare” – tackle the manifest despair in poor, broken families, we will fail as a nation.  That’s not a Republican or Democrat idea.  If anything, it’s part of my faith journey.  “Am I my brother’s keeper?”  After four and a half years in here, the answer is a heartfelt “yes”.

As for your boyfriend not “sharing” the world in here, I understand that and I hope you do to.  I’ve noted and told self described “tough guys” in here that they aren’t so tough.  Many men refuse to admit they’re scared, or lonely, or just tired and ready to quit.  In here, that is a sign of weakness.  And too often weakness will get you in trouble.  I have something that counters the toughest.  From the day I was arrested inmates knew I’ been a lawyer, knew I had multiple degrees.  Knowledge, education trumps all the rest.  They fear that their ignorance will be exposed.

Your boyfriend keeps you from the “real” prison because, frankly, it’s not pretty.  For most, it is nothing but a waste of time and money.  And sometimes inmates behave in ways they know are wrong.  Getting by, getting along, sometimes is the best approach.

James Lee Burke is one of my favorite American authors.  He understands broken men better than many.  In one novel his protagonist said “the bravest and most loyal and loving people in the world seldom have heroic physical characteristics or the aura of saints.”

I love those words.  They remind me that you can be decent even in a depressed place like this, and love, friendship and loyalty can survive even prison.  I know that in my own life.  I am blessed to have a wonderful group of friends “outside” who have loved and upheld me in the worst of days.

As for your generous comments about my ex, I have a certain sad ambivalence about my divorce.  At some point in this past four and a half years, I had my “Lt. Dan” moment.  I yelled at God and demanded to know why, why was my punishment worse than my sin?  And it hit me.  God is sovereign.  He knows more than I ever will.  And if I truly have faith I have to accept the divorce, the rejection, the loss, as part of His plan to make me to be what He sees.

I hurt, I ache over the loss.  Fact is, I will always love her.  But, it’s OK.  In this – as in every part of this journey I realize I’m not alone and there are amazing lessons – and stories – for me.

Keep reading.  Keep the faith.  And, thanks for your comments.