Letting Go
I’ve spent nearly three years of agonizing over what I would write when the time came, and I’m really no further along than when I started. All I know, and all I have known this whole time, was that I needed to write something. To say that I’ve procrastinated would be putting it mildly. I needed a place to write it, so I spent over a year thinking about and developing a website. It was a fine looking website, but the idea of promoting it also meant promoting my story and that was something I was never comfortable doing. So I waited even longer, to the point of almost giving up. Finally, I found a spot here, and for the first time am putting words to paper, having lost dozens of nights’ sleep worrying about what I would say and how I would say it. I know that sharing this story is important for me in order to move forward. I think that’s what caused the procrastination and worry: What if I’m wrong and this doesn’t make a difference?
That wasn’t my only fear, though. What if I can’t put into words what I need to? What if it is better to just keep quiet? What if my kids don’t understand that whatever we do, it’s always been out of love for them? I am not, nor have I been, worried that no one would care about my words. It’s not because I’m vain, but simply because this was never about you, the reader. I am writing this for me, and for my wife, and for my daughters. You see, that’s how this story begins, and that’s how this story should end.
I’ve got a beautiful wife, and there isn’t a single doubt in my mind that she was sent from God to not only help me on this tough trek through life, but to give me joy I never knew possible. I’ve got two equally beautiful daughters, both of whom have their mother’s heart, the hearts of angels. That’s not to say we don’t have the odd struggle, but I think we all recognize how lucky we are to be together. That’s certainly my hope, and like every parent, my desire is that my children know how much they’re loved through thick and thin and realize just how blessed they are to have a family that would do anything for them.
I know what happens when that hope fades, though, and when that relationship with one’s family is nothing more than a distant memory. What hurts me the most is that I’ve allowed my children and wife to know that loss as well. I was supposed to protect them; that’s my job. I am supposed to provide for, care for, and protect my family. I’m sure most dads and husbands feel this way and have a desire to stop even the everyday hurts and challenges. Seeing my daughters cry is something I wish I could forever erase from my mind. Not the cries over scraping their knees falling off of their bikes (those are bad enough), or the cries from not getting what they wanted when they were younger. I’m talking about the sad cries alone at night because someone they loved just walked out of their lives, and they don’t understand why.
I did that to them. No, not the walking out, but I did it by taking a stand. That action set in motion a chain of events that I couldn’t have imagined. That series of events led to my family being rejected by ones we loved. I don’t know whether I hurt more now because my kids are hurt, or because of my guilt that even now, knowing the outcome, I’m not sure that I would do things differently. Not simply because it is important to be right, but there comes a time when a person has to stand up and say, “I love you, but you’re wrong,” or “I love you, but you’re being dishonest.” I did that, and I’m glad that I did. But it pains me to no end that my children and my wife have had to pay the price for it.
Am I only guilty of taking a stand for righteousness? Of course not. I’ve been hateful in so many ways, as my anger grew and grew at those who hurt my family. I justified it quite easily, but a person can’t live with that anger forever. It’s time that I let it go, and my hope is that writing this piece is a part of that process. I’m hoping that this site can be a tool for others in their processes as well. But this story is mine, so I’ll get back in track.
Over the past two and a half years, my plan for this story has changed at least one hundred times. I wanted to rant mostly, to tell the world all of the unspeakable horrors that were done to my family, to lay blame not just on the individuals but also atop some of society’s largest institutions. I wanted to get angry on paper. I’d be lying if I said that a small part of me still doesn’t want to rant; to lay out a play-by-play of decades of wrongdoings. But what would that accomplish? What would blaming others really achieve?
The fact is that I am the guilty party. I failed to protect my kids. Ironically, my wife was told at the onset that we’d never be able to protect our kids — by the very people who hurt them. I didn’t believe it, but I didn’t know just how far things would go. The truth is that after over forty years, I should have known what could happen; I’d seen it before. But I won’t let it happen again.
To my wife and girls, who are just as angry and hurt as I’ve ever been, I say I am sorry. I am sorry for putting you in a position to have your hearts broken. I am sorry that my need to stand up for myself led us down a path that I didn’t allow myself to imagine. But mostly, I’m sorry for being angry these past few years. Not a day went by that I wasn’t angry and hurt by what had transpired. It’s time now that I let that go.
I don’t know how easily things will change now, to be quite honest. I simply know that I refuse to be a forty-four-year-old man who blames his feelings and actions on what others have done. We are all responsible for our own actions. Does that mean forgiveness for those who hurt us? I don’t know; I suspect it will need to. I’m likely not ready for that just yet, but it’s time I forgave myself. I will continue to do everything in my power to protect my family. I simply won’t be so angry while doing it. I don’t want my family to remember that anger above anything else. I can control that by taking responsibility for it. I must do it, because life is too short to be angry. My family and I deserve better.
