Friends, family and positive communication

I came home this year for Thanksgiving. Yes, I've been home for a while now, as I look to regroup and figure out the next steps in my life.

It was a very good holiday. I was at my sister's house, and a lot of her husband's family was there, including some people I'd only seen once before. They were good people, and my mom was there, and some friends of hers, and others.

I met a lot of people I'd never said more than two words to before. Over the course of two days, I discovered that my sister and her husband are gracious hosts, and they've got things pretty together. It's a beautiful thing to watch, as they juggle family, work and social activities. I'd guess you could say they "get it."

I spent a lot of time talking to these folks, eating way too much food and doing my best to mingle. For a very long time, I was a good conversationalist. Then, about two years ago, I kinda went into a shell and stopped talking to a lot of people. Oh, I was friendly, but not the person I once was, for obvious reasons.

I had a long conversation with a lifelong friend of my brother-in-law's. He has gone through many of the same things I went and am going through. I spilled a lot to him, much of which I've written about in this blog. We seemed to click on a lot of levels. He understood where I was coming from in regards to the treatment of my family up to, and after we drifted apart and split. It was probably more than I was willing to divulge, but this guy listened, like a lot of people have.

I tried not to mince words -- there's no point, really, because what I did, I still feel much shame and embarrassment and hurt over. I hurt people more than I ever realized, and that's the bottom line.

What I have a problem with is mending that hurt. Too often, my hurt gets thrown back into my wife and childrens' faces. I'm still learning to stop that.

Having said that, Cherie and I had a decent conversation this Thanksgiving, which is a lot better than the conversation we had last Thanksgiving, when I went all "woe is me" on her. I didn't do that this time. Not a chance in Hades. Besides, who are we kidding? We both know that we hurt each other. Anyway, she actually asked me if I was planning to see the kids for Christmas. I told her yes, that I actually had plans to do so, and that my mom might come too. I don't know if she will, but I think I must make plans.

Our conversation was even-keel at best. I want so much more, of course, but she has to want it, too. I don't think her relationship with her man is legit, but that doesn't matter either, except if he's teaching Isaac how to smoke meth or Savannah how to doll herself up inappropriately.
At this point, I'll take even-keel. The trick, the goal, is to treat her in such a way that these conversations develop into meaningful ones about life and the kids. I have such a long way to go. She doesn't trust me from Adam at this point, though if she gave me a sign, I'd blow that door so wide open the Pacific Ocean would flow through.

I am not perfect. Never have been. Never will be. But I have to drive this boat here. She's not coming with me until she sees that I'm not the man she left. Even at that, she may never come back. But she might realize, and we might realize, a better relationship for everyone involved.

Back in the game, sort of

I've been writing freelance articles for my hometown paper for a week now. It feels good to be writing again, on many levels. I'm working from home, and at the moment, have to be careful about scheduling my appointments, but it's something to do for the moment.

My family has been very good to me during this time. I spend about half the time at my sister's house, with the other half at my father's house. One place is far more relaxing than the other, though neither place is unfriendly. I am grateful to have family close by, and it makes me less nervous about having to provide for things on a day-to-day basis. But I know it must be temporary, and can't be a long-term goal.

I told my mom I wondered if she would like to see the kids for Christmas. It's been more than two years since my mom saw Isaac and Savannah, and of course I'd probably have to make some kind of arrangement with Cherie. She's not going to like it, I am sure, and will try to put a monkey wrench in the plans. I wonder if I can simply ask her without having to go through a long drawn-out ordeal. My mom doesn't have any plans for Christmas, and I figure that's the best Christmas present I can give her.

I know I have things left to accomplish, like going to school and losing weight and saving my money. I'm working on all three of those things.

It sure would be nice for Isaac and Savannah to see their grandma. I have to try my best to make that happen.

Journalism comes calling, again

It's like an old, trusted friend. Or, a jilted girlfriend (or wife) who keeps coming back.

For a long while there, I had a pretty good string going on in journalism. I had been employed continuously for nearly 10 years in newspaper journalism.

Then, in the first week of October, I got dropped.

Since then, my interest in journalism has been more of one of two kinds: my seemingly insatiable appetite for newspaper-driven news chiefly, and news in general. I read probably three to six newspapers a day online, and I've walked a mile to get hard copies of my hometown newspaper since I was let go from my last newspaper gig. I can't seem to start a day without a newspaper, it seems, even if that's so 1959 than 2009.

My second interest has been voyeuristic in nature: I read a lot of the trade journals on line, and a bunch of blogs.

I do scan journalism job boards these days, even if jobs in the field (especially newspapers) are as rare as finding a replacement automatic transmission for the old Ford Edsel parked in the driveway.

But I'm not working right now. So I searched out an old acquaintance of mine via Facebook and asked if she needed help. Sure, she said. We pay peanuts, but yes, we're always looking.

So as soon as next week, I'm going to start doing some freelance work for the paper I grew up reading, and at one point dreamed of working there before working in newspapers became as glamorous as being the guy screwing caps on toothpaste tubes.

In truth, I am looking forward to writing. It's something I know how to do (I think) and the work I'll be doing will be more easy for me, more like cotton candy than trying to decipher the second law of thermodynamics.

I've told them this is not a long-term engagement, that I desire to return to my wife and children soon, and that I'm just trying to earn some cash. I figure this keeps whatever skills I have sharp, and I'll be earning some money in the process. It's not ultimately what I want, but I certainly am not going to turn down an opportunity to provide the publication with some quality copy or fill my pockets with meager money. I have to be grateful for that.

I never disliked journalism, really. She was always the pretty girl with whom there was limitless potential. With this gig, we're setting the bar fairly low on expectations.

And doing our best to keep our eyes out for anyone (or thing) that might offer us more.

Taking the high road

It appears my estranged wife read this blog for the first time. Her response was typical, I suppose, and what I expected.

But I told her to read more, that there's plenty in here for her to ponder, laugh about, remember and reminisce.

I write this blog mainly because it keeps me writing and allows me to put some personal details about my life in a space that's not confined to a single piece of paper.

I would encourage her to keep reading. It's not always about bad stuff. You get to know someone a bit just by reading about what they've written.

In the old days, a diary used to have a tiny lock and key on it, and you would be hard-pressed to find any girl willing to open said diary for fear some boy might be reading over her shoulder.

Nowadays, with the Internet, darn near everything is as public as you want it to be.

So go ahead, Cherie. Read on. You'll find that it's not always going to be about you.

Now, if I can just figure out how to master step aerobics...

Like an open wound

In relationships, if you are fortunate enough, if you say something that offends someone, you generally have the chance to apologize or at least clarify something that you said that offended the person.

Furthermore, I believe that if you say something to offend someone, or if someone says something to offend you, the reason why it offends you is because you perhaps care about the person who said the offending message, and you want that issue resolved.

It has been 18 months since my wife and I split. And to this day, she still feels as if I "wronged" her in some way. Now, granted, this blog is written from my point of view, and I try to be objective. Maybe I can't effectively put myself in her shoes, or vice versa, but here goes.

At nearly every turn, when she asks for money, I oblige. It's not always as much as she wants it to be, but I certainly don't ever ignore those requests when she asks. We're still married, so legally, I'm not obligated to give her more than I would. I do my best. I don't like throwing money around as a show of my parental fitness -- being a parent means more than just flashing the plastic. But I give her money when she asks, and often when she does not.

I have been out of work for a month now, which makes it hard for me to give her any money. She's not working either. Yet, she feels it necessary to rope me into a guilt trip about money, saying she has to take care of three kids, etc., etc.

We're not divorced. We're still married. I have nothing against the woman that I love that I married nearly nine years ago. I've certainly made my mistakes since we've been separated, and mistakes I'm not proud of. And yet, she still thinks I have it out for her, that me not contributing to her means I'm trying to punish her.

If a well has no water, can you drink from it?
If all you have to offer is fool's gold, is it worth anything to a jewler?
If you buy something on credit with no means to pay it back, is it fraud?

That's my point. This woman, who still sees fit to draw wedges between she and I and our children, criticizes me for not giving her money. If she wants me to bust out my parents' Monopoly set and give her cash, I'd gladly do it. But that money is as worthless as a piece of ocean-front property in Wyoming.

And yet, I'm given the same old song-and-dance about how she's supporting the children. Really? How? Through the state of Idaho welfare department? Why not ask her tatted-up, drugged out fiance for cash? Never mind that he, too, is unemployed.

After all, she's the one who took the kids away from me in the middle of the day, leaving me with no say as to their well-being. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye.
It was a choice that she made at the time that she felt was justified.
From my perspective -- and the perspective of each member of both of our respective families, many of whom she no longer communicates with, that decision she made has not been justified for some time. The only person who somehow believes she is justified, is my wife. And she is blind.

I have nothing against my wife. I screwed up a ton of times. I've apologized and owned up to my mistakes a thousand times. I've had nothing but a year and a half to think about what I've done, and all the hurt I caused. This blog is full of my own self-loathing about that subject.

It's time to move on from the stance that I am somehow hurting her or the children. I know those children are not happy, nor are they being given the love and support they need.

And yet, why am I the one who is hurting about our most recent conversation? Because I love her, and I still have feelings for her. For the first time since she left, I can't bring myself to pray for her and the children at night or in the morning. Why?

Because I'm hurt, too. I'm hurt by the fact that after a year and a half, she's still at square one with our relationship, just like the day she left. She hasn't grown a lick or even tried to understand where I'm coming from. I have no choice but to try and understand her. I've failed so many times, yes, but I am always and forever hopeful she'll listen to me, and I will listen to her, and we can have positive communication beyond a simple, "Do you have money" request from her. Because that's the only time she's positive with me. When she wants something.

It's why this hurts so much. I pray about it all the time, but I can't get my heart or soul wrapped around the fact that this woman deserves my love and compassion and forgiveness. It's like, for the first time since I realized the magnitude of what I've done, that it has become nearly impossible to ask Heavenly Father for me to soften my own heart to pray for her and the children at night.

All I have been thinking about for two days is, "why should I?" She doesn't care about me. She doesn't care about my financial situation any more than she would a beggar on the street. Why should I pray for someone who pretends with all her might not to even care about the father of her children?

In just writing that, I feel Heavenly Father tapping me on the shoulder and saying that I should pray for her and the children, that no one man is bigger than the situation, and despite our differences, every person deserves to be loved.

I keep hoping that with each passing day, she'll understand me, and I'll better understand her. I really, honestly pray for that each day, even if I don't tell Heavenly Father that out loud.

Now, I think I'll go to bed and pray for them all. Because they deserve my love, whether they choose to return it to me or not.

A hefty challenge

Tomorrow I head to the gym for the first time in several months. Realistically, it's the first time in like three years that I'm making a serious go at losing weight.

While I haven't ever been one of those yo-yo dieters, I certainly am in a class of people for whom eating, unfortunately, is more than just sustenance. It's an adventure. And that's wrong. Anyone who has seen me recently will probably agree.

It may be a few months before I can see the kids full-time. I'm setting a Feb. 1 deadline for myself in hopes that will give me enough time to save up enough money.

Now, I'm hoping I can lose enough weight so that it makes a difference. I'm doing it for myself, first and foremost, of course. I'd like to walk more than a block or two before becoming winded. I'd like to be more mobile and have more agility. Getting around is not difficult for me...but what I've noticed is, I'm actually thinking about the possible difficulty in climbing stairs or going uphill. For a 35 year old man, this is pretty inexcusable.

I need to get in better shape so I can run. So I can stand in line for an hour and not have my back hurt. It's quite embarrassing to write these things, but it's true. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact that I haven't prepared my own meals for myself in quite a long time, and that depression at some point had something to do with it. About a year ago or so, I had the opposite problem. My depressed state made me feel embarrassed to eat, and I dropped probably about 20 pounds.

Now, I'll have to work hard and diligently about that. I want to lose weight for my son and daughter, so that when I go live near them, I can teach them how to run, I can teach my son how to play sports, and I can keep up with them. Truthfully, I can say that even now, I probably can't. That's a sad thing to say, but I can't lie about it. I sweat at the drop of a hat, and I don't want to be like my mom, who has trouble moving from place to place. I want to help people, not be a liability to them.

The only way I know how to do that is to hit the gym (and another weight-loss program) hard, as if I had everything to lose if I did not. It means more than just to me. My children and the people I love are counting on it, too.