Living Happily Ever After
test123

Life Cycles…And Jewels

Date: April 1, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

You know, it’s funny how life cycles.

I’ve noticed how just when I think I have conquered a challenge in my life, or overcome a shortcoming, sooner or later life comes at me again, in a new way, and I get to refine myself even more in that particular area.

For example, patience.  I struggled with patience as a child, yet by the time I became a young adult, I felt I had mastered my temper and impatience.  I was patient.  All was good for a few years, and then I became a mother.  I developed patience in entirely new ways as a result of being blessed with children.  I was really patient.  All was good, and then I became the daughter of a mother with brain damage and personality changes as a result of strokes and health challenges and I developed new aspects of patience.  The list of life experiences that have helped me refine myself in the area of patience is long and continues…even with the events of 2009.

Honesty, however, is one area of my life I can honestly say (pun intended!) I have been close to perfect in.  My parents drilled the importance of honesty and integrity, in all things.  We were raised to be CHRISTENSENS, and as such, we had to be an example to others, we needed to be honest and live good lives, and bring honor to the good name our ancestors had passed on to us.

So 2009 was a shock to me.  I couldn’t believe the dishonesty one man was capable of.  I couldn’t believe I knew a person so dishonest–much less, was married to him! But what shocked me even more were fleeting thoughts I had.

I had been left in poverty, homeless, unemployed, and had four children depending on me for survival.  I would be dishonest if I didn’t admit to thinking, fleetingly, “I could hide something of value from the government.  I could try to hide something that I could sell to support my children.”

And then just as fast, I thought, “I have lived a life of integrity my entire life!  WHY would I throw that away now?  And for worthless THINGS that will stay here when I die?  I’m not going to sell MY soul for THINGS! I am honest, always have been, and I will remain honest even in this.”  I also didn’t want ANY of Him to have rubbed off on me.

I remembered a story from the life of  a good man named David B. Haight.  He played college football at the University of Utah and told of how he could have moved the football half an inch to win a championship game and no one but him would have known what he had done.  Instead, he chose to be honest and his team lost the game.

Sure there was a moment when I shocked myself with the thought to try to secure something for my children.  In fact, that was the moment that surprised me–I was an honest person, always had been, I didn’t expect to think even a thought about another alternative. I chose to remain honest.  I chose not to attempt to secure something for my children. I “didn’t move the football.”  (I even thought, “Maybe if I am 100% honest I will escape some hatred and persecution.”  That didn’t work out, to my knowledge, but I stand by my decision to remain honest!)

And really, the bank, the government, anyone could take my home or anything I owned, they could take my diamonds and other jewelry, but I would still have my jewels.  My children.  My children have always been my jewels.  And they are priceless to me.

So I did it.  Some would say I lost practically everything, and I did lose a lot materially, but I kept my honesty and integrity intact AND…I got to keep my jewels!

The price of integrity? Priceless.

At The Church Building

Date: March 30, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Prior to March 18, 2009, it had been my privilege to love and serve 225 women as president of the women’s organization of my church congregation.  A few days after He revealed His crimes to me, I received word that our pastor wanted to meet with me.

The pastor had been a good friend AND a business partner of my spouse in a construction project.  He, more than anyone else in the world, knew exactly how innocent I was of any crime or wrongdoing because he had been deceived as completely as I had. We both knew the extent of the other’s innocence and betrayal.  I will never forget that moment of seeing him for the first time after everything was out in the open.

He stood, at the far end of his office, with tears streaming down his face.  I stood there crying, too.  He said he was sorry; I said, “Me too.” And we talked about our shock, grief, the betrayal, my children, his problems, and a host of other things.  Then he mentioned my service to the women, told me he felt I should be released, he apologized that it would make me look guilty to some but that releasing me sooner, rather than later, would be best for the women of the congregation.  However, he told me if I wanted him to wait a week or two, they would consider it.

For the first time in my life, I felt I was in no position to serve anyone else.  And the damage to my reputation was done–guilt by association in the eyes of some, but those who knew me, who really mattered, knew the truth about me.  I, frankly, couldn’t afford the mental energy to worry or care for too long what anyone else thought of me.  I had enough problems of my own to solve. I told our pastor I had no objection to taking care of my release as quickly as possible. And that was that.

I drove away from the church building, shaking my head, and thought, “That certainly wasn’t how I envisioned my service ending! Cut short due to the criminal activity of another, the timing making me appear guilty of something, and not  a thanks for your service, good job, or even a thank you for trying!”

I laughed outloud as I drove down the road toward what had once felt like home.

Life is full of unexpected experiences.

I had never lived my life, or served in my church, to be praised by others OR to be thanked.  It didn’t matter.  And my poor pastor had other huge personal concerns.  I am sure what he thought he said sounded better than what actually came out of his mouth. No worries.

But Sunday, that first week after my spouse revealed His crimes, was a worry.

Church.

I knew I belonged in church. I knew I needed to be in church, for me and for my children. But I can’t tell you how I dreaded it that first Sunday.  My former spouse had served as a pastor of our congregation for five years and the news about him was out.  I had served and been active in our congregation, as well, and didn’t look forward to facing everything and everyone in church as my own ponzi-victim version of a “fallen woman” or an “outcast.”

But as I’ve said before, you can’t go over it or around it, you have to go through it.

One of my kids asked, ‘We don’t have to go to church this week, do we?”  I answered, “Of course we do!  That is what we do on Sunday.  We don’t stop doing what we should do just because life gets hard.  We need to be there! We believe in choosing the right! ”

So we went to church.

We pulled into the parking lot and I forced myself to get out of the car.  As I headed toward the building, I saw HER across the parking lot. A member of the congregation and a victim of my spouse. She saw me, changed course, and headed right for me. Her steps were quick and determined. All in my direction.

My heart sank.  I fought panic and fear.  My kids were with me, I was feeling pretty fragile, I had already been verbally assaulted by a few victims and I wasn’t sure I was up for another confrontation. My mind raced as I thought, “What am I going to say? What am I going to do? How am I going to do this?”

I should have given HER more credit.

She came toward me…and embraced me.  I was so overwhelmed by fear, by her charity, by my sorrow for her loss, by my sorrow for my loss, by her love and compassion for me in spite of what my spouse had done to her all I could do was sob as we stood in the parking lot.  I will never forget her character in that moment (and in the many moments since that day.)

“I’m so sorry!” I cried.

She stood back, grabbed me by the shoulders, looked me in the eye and asked, “What are YOU sorry about?  YOU did nothing!  YOU don’t have to apologize to anyone for anything.” And she hugged me again. I don’t know everything about her life, but I know, like all of us, she has had challenges and hardships she has worked diligently to overcome. But that moment has to be one of the finest of her entire life–past, present, or future. I will never forget it.

It gave me added strength to continue toward the building and enter the chapel. I was there to be released from my service to the women of the congregation and to be an example to my children of carrying on in the face of adversity.  I sat on the bench, tried not to cry, and was completely unsuccessful.  I felt like all eyes were on me.  In many ways, I think they were. But every time I dared look up, or mustered the courage to look someone in the eye, they looked back at me with tears in their own eyes and smiled encouragement.  Some passed me quickly jotted notes on scraps of paper, writing words of support and love and gratitude for something I had taught them.

But my children were another story.

My daughter sat through church perfect, silent, closed, and angry.  She didn’t shed a tear.

My oldest son sat through church with tears streaming down his cheeks the entire meeting.

My youngest, too little to understand but able to sense trauma, clung to me and cried.

And although the reactions of my grief-stricken children trying to get through their first Sunday after life as we knew it had ended broke my heart, my middle son shattered it.  He sat next to me and wrote his thoughts on a piece of paper, “My dad is going to prison.  I can’t believe our dad tore our family apart for money.” And, the one I haven’t been able to forget, “There is a hole in my chest where my heart used to be.”

Nine years old.  With a huge, gaping hole where his heart used to be.

It’s Not A Movie, It’s My Unexpected Life

Date: March 30, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

They came.

Government representatives, approximately eight of them.  Wearing dark jackets and sunglasses, flashing gold badges, they arrived at my home in dark Suburbans with tinted windows–just like in the movies.  Only this time it wasn’t a movie, it was my new and unexpected life.

I was embarrassed.  I was humiliated.  I was ashamed to be associated (by marriage only) with anyone and anything that required government agents entering my home, doing inventory of its contents, and compiling lists of things for seizure.  It was surreal.

They were very kind to me.  Very polite.  They quietly chatted, walked from room to room filming the contents, narrated what they were filming, they asked questions. I mostly stood in one corner of the house, in the dining room, looking out the window, seeing the same view I’d gazed at for the past 16 years so differently. Sadly, I saw everything very differently now. I tried to come to grips with what was taking place in my home around me.

But I don’t think I ever reconciled it.  I just endured it, and waited for it to be over.

I had so many questions, but hardly dared speak unless spoken to, much less dared to ask my questions.  (And it wasn’t because the officials were sullen looking, tough, or anything else.  It was completely the opposite, in fact.  They were a group of nice looking, clean cut, friendly, polite, people.  They seemed trustworthy and good.  Had I met them in any other circumstances, I really would have liked them!  That day I was just completely out of my element, still in shock, and very afraid.)

Before they left, I dared ask if they would be taking the painting my mom had painted and the things I had inherited from her.  (They weren’t worth anything monetarily, but they had huge sentimental value to me and I was prepared to fight for them.)  They assured me they would not take anything of my mom’s.  Then they told me what I could expect to happen next and when, and gave me permission to remove any personal items, household items and furniture.  They also told me they weren’t interested in my jewelry.

Then they were gone.

I went from there to meet with my attorney. The attorney I had to hire even though I hadn’t known anything was going on and had never participated in any illegal activity. It was our first meeting.  To my surprise, it actually was an encouraging meeting.  (Maybe the only encouraging meeting I attended through the whole experience!)  Not encouraging regarding money, there was no money, but encouraging regarding the rest of my life.  Here’s why.

The day my spouse told me of His crimes, He also told me He, and I (even though I had no involvement in any part of His crimes), would be “watched” the rest of our lives.  Talk about a life sentence that never ends!  Instead, my attorney told me that when everything was settled, I would be free to move on and live my life.

I had to make sure I’d heard right.  ”Free to live my life as a private citizen? Free to live a life of anonymity again?”

Yes.

What a gift freedom is.  And the opportunity to live life, quietly and privately, unexpected as it may be?  A true gift.

It’s amazing when you think you’ve lost it all, to realize that you still have the greatest gift ever given:  life.  I am so grateful for mine.  It’s not the one I imagined for myself or the one I worked to create those many years, but it is still a gift; a life of possibilities. Mine to make of it what I can and will.  That is my responsibility.  I believe that is the responsibility we each have, whatever the “life gift” we receive.

“Life is a gift, and it offers us the privilege, opportunity, and responsibility to give something back by becoming something more.” (Tony Robbins)

I also believe life is a choice.  We can choose to laugh or cry (as I’ve mentioned before); we can choose to educate ourselves or remain ignorant; we can choose to make stumbling blocks or stepping stones out of our experiences; and we can choose to press forward and carry on or give up and quit. I am grateful to have been taught to make the most of mine.  That is one gift I can give myself. All of us can.

“God gave us the gift of life; it is up to us to give ourselves the gift of living well.”  (Voltaire)

The Price of Crime? Don’t Ask!

Date: March 29, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Five days into the nightmare I had to ask:  How big was your initial mistake?

You see, if I understand it right, His ponzi scheme began when He did a stock trade that lost money.  He said He did a bigger stock trade to cover that loss and lost money again.  So he chose to omit those two trades from his statements that month to make the account balance sheet look better. And after that, He said it was too late.

The ponzi scheme was in place.

I remember, now, why you shouldn’t ask questions you don’t REALLY want to know the answer to.

$5,000.

My ENTIRE life, my marriage, my family, my dreams, my children’s dreams, our forever, our future, everything of mine and everyone else’s was destroyed…for $5,000.  It made me want to throw up.

Even back in 1994, $5,000 was not a life or death amount.  I was stunned that I had lost everything, and every other victim had suffered their own losses as well, for a measley $5,000.  I hope I recover from that revelation.  I don’t think I’ll ever look at $5,000 in quite the same light.

I remember thinking, “That’s all the mistake was–FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS?  And now ALL OF THIS?”

The answer to my next question was even more unsettling. (To me.)

I asked:  When did you do it?  When did you suffer the loss and hide it?

He didn’t know. The man who had never forgotten a birthday or an anniversary (had even thrown in an “extra” one one year–what can I say, He was a good, kind, thoughtful and patient husband in many ways–yet another reason I had loved and trusted Him and had no reason to suspect what He was doing while at “work” those many years) didn’t know the date His crimes began.

How can the date you stole, how can the date you broke the law, NOT be etched in your memory forever?

Note to self:  AGAIN, don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to!

Paranoid…But Trying To Laugh!

Date: March 28, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

His attorney came to our home within a few days of March 18.  The lawyer warned of media coverage, publicity, paparazzi stalking the house, public questions about ME, etc… With every sentence he spoke, I worried the nightmare was about to worsen.

Shortly after the attorney departed,  one of my spouse’s clients called our home.  Although this particular client had shown up on my doorstep the evening of March 18 moments after my children had been informed about the situation, and had yelled at my children and I when we answered the door and all stood there huddled together crying, I was still stunned when this same client called my home that day and directed his venom toward ME.  He yelled at me and said my spouse was the most despicable man he had ever known.  When he was done ranting, I thought, “It is totally his right to feel that way and believe it, but I don’t know how it’s going to help his situation by subjecting me to it!”

And I laughed as I realized I had politely listened to all of it, didn’t hang up the phone during any part of his tirade, endured his yelling fury, even had the presence of mind to thank him for calling before HE hung up on ME!  My phone etiquette was alive and well.  (My parents would be so proud!)

That afternoon I played outside with my three-year-old and saw a dark Suburban cruise slowly by our house, turn around, and cruise slowly back by.  I guess I’d seen too many crime-themed t.v. shows and movies because I wondered if it was a criminal casing a new opportunity, a reporter, a former client of His, or someone out to do my children and I harm.  I couldn’t believe I didn’t feel safe at home anymore.

Again, I laughed at myself and my crazy fears that seemed to have come out of nowhere.

Later that day I went to my spouse’s office behind our home to get a fax.  When I turned around, my three-year-old was gone.  I hunted everywhere in the yard and on our property but he was nowhere to be found.  I told my spouse of the situation and He joined me in the hunt.  We looked for 30 minutes–the longest 30 minutes of my life.  The entire time I worried an angry client had kidnapped my three-year-old.  I wondered if a client’s loss would be so great that they’d mentally snap and kill my child.  I thought, “I’ve lost EVERYTHING AND my three-year-old!” I fought back waves of panic like I’d never felt before, and thankfully, we found our little son next door.

That time, I was so afraid I couldn’t laugh.

By that evening, when the doorbell rang again, I was in full-blown paranoia.  Through the glass front door I could see a man in a baseball cap and jacket who appeared to be holding some type of recording device.  I debated about answering the door, but finally decided to get it over with.  I braced myself to face a reporter.  I hoped I was in control enough to rely on my professional media training (but seriously doubted I was–it’s different when YOU are in the negative spotlight for something you had no knowledge of and no participation in.) I  thought to myself, “So it has begun,” and grasped the doorknob.

I was SO afraid, but I opened the door anyway, and discovered it was only the Schwann man selling ice cream and other frozen products! My terror must have been written all over my face because before I could speak, the man put both hands in the air and said, “It’s ok, ma’am! I’m just the Schwann man! I’m not going to hurt you!” And he slowly backed away and left without even attempting to sell me anything!

I imagined the story that Schwann man was going to go home and tell that night.  I closed the door…and laughed.

I had become paranoid in less than one day. The insanity of it all made me laugh. And I’m happy to report that I’m still laughing.

Remember:  it’s a choice.

Another Stranger

Date: March 26, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

Day two or three after the nightmare began, my college friend called.  She told me she was having trouble dealing with the whole situation. (They were our friends.  Her parents were some of His victims.)

“Do you realize,” she asked, “That we have been so upset that we can’t do anything?  We literally can’t function.  We can’t even feed our children!  We’re devastated.  We’ve been so betrayed.”

I could relate.

She told me she had learned things about Him she needed to share, to make sure I understood all that had been going on under my nose for 16 years.  Those clueless years. I listened.  I learned things I’d never known.

Then she said, “Andrea, do you realize if you walk away with anything, ANYTHING, from this you will be stealing like He did?  If you walk away with anything other than the clothes on your back, and your children, you’ll be stealing! Don’t you agree?”

Unfortunately I didn’t.

“Actually, no,” I replied. It was one of the few times, maybe the only time, in the history of our 22-year friendship I could remember disagreeing. “I will take anything the authorities allow me to have, and I will use it to rebuild a life for my children.  I guess until you have been left as I have, utterly destitute–with no home, no job, no money and four children to provide for–you can’t understand.  But I WILL take anything the government gives me and be grateful for it.”

We finished the conversation (I don’t remember the rest of what was said), said goodbye, and hung up.  I didn’t know that would be the last time we talked to each other.

Suddenly, another stranger in my life.

Sudden Strangers

Date: March 26, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

March 18, 2009.  The first of many nights I allowed a stranger to sleep in my home.

That is exactly the way it felt.

I heard Him sleeping that night, probably the best sleep He’d had since 1994 when His crimes began.  He had lost everything, including His family, He was headed to prison, but He could finally sleep.

Ironic that I couldn’t sleep anymore, isn’t it?

I lay awake all night, crying, in shock, filled with dread and terrified at what lay ahead for my children and I.  And even more frightening than all of that was having Him in the house.  I felt like I didn’t know Him anymore.  At all. It was exactly like opening my home to a stranger off the street and fearing what He might do to my children and I in the middle of the night.

Sudden strangers.

I couldn’t believe how quickly a man I’d known for 21 years, and had been married to for nearly 20 years, suddenly became a stranger to me.

Day three after the nightmare began we were walking up the wooden steps to His shop behind our house.  I stepped on a broken board, my foot slipped through, I caught myself but not before He reached out to steady me.  As He did, His hand accidentally grazed my backside.

I didn’t anticipate how strange His touch had instantly become.  I was amazed at how wrong it seemed and how uncomfortable it made me.  But I didn’t say anything. He apologized for touching me; said He was just trying to steady me.

How strange this man who was once my husband (I thought) apologizes for touching me.

How strange that his touch made ME feel uncomfortable.

Sudden strangers.

The Felony Diet

Date: March 25, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

There’s another bonus of the unexpected life I can’t forget to mention.

I call it “The Felony Diet.”

It’s simple, really.  No special workout regimen, no special meals, nothing to prepare.  Just live a day like March 18, 2009, and you won’t believe the results!

I lost SEVEN POUNDS the first day, Wednesday, March 18, 2009.

I lost two pounds the second day.

Without even trying.

Beat that, Weight Watchers.

But I have just one question:  what kind of shock and stress results in weight loss like that?

More than any words I can conjure up to attempt to express how I felt and what I lived through, to me, “The Felony Diet” says it all.

The Price

Date: March 23, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

That decision, to allow my spouse to stay in our home, had a price.

It gave me time to ask Him questions.  It gave me time to bring closure to the life I thought I’d had but never really had, knowing what I know now:  the truth.

It gave my children time to be with their father.

It gave us all time to “process” the situation. (Or begin to attempt to.  How do you REALLY ever understand something like that?)

The emotional processing of our situation and beginning to deal with our circumstances for my children and I, meant we allowed ourselves to joke about it or look for the positive, in addition to expressing our grief.  You’ll read jokes we made about our situation and the criminal who put us there in future blogs, I’m sure.  To some, it may seem inappropriate.  But I heard a very wise and inspiring woman named Marjorie Hinckley once say something like, “In life, you can choose to laugh or cry.  I choose to laugh.”  I agree.  It’s how I was raised–it’s what my mom taught me as she lived her unexpected life.  So I choose to laugh as often as I can muster the jokes, and my children do too.

For example, that first night, after telling our children of the situation, my oldest went into his basement bathroom to brush his teeth before bed and saw a mouse.  He grabbed some toilet paper, picked the mouse up, threw it in the toilet and flushed, and came right upstairs and told me of his experience.  He couldn’t believe it!  YUCK.  I joked, “Well, that is one thing I won’t miss about this house and living in the country when we move–the mice!” He agreed with me, we laughed together, and found a way to look on the bright side.

But at the same time, it was a tough time for us in every way.  Not everyone outside our family understood my decision to let Him stay…or any other decision I made. And I paid a price for that.

For example, some of my oldest and closest friends (from college, who had become like family to me, the friends I vacationed with, the friends I called right after He told me the news) called throughout the first day, March 18, for updates, to check on me, and also with one burning question:  Where is He staying?  I could tell my answer wasn’t what they wanted to hear, so I offered as much explanation and rationale as I could.

When I shared this with another friend (a friend who stood by me through it all, who still stands by me, the friend who gave input as to what should be written into my divorce), seeking her counsel, she said, “Andrea, it’s not anyone’s business but yours.  You don’t have to tell anyone anything.  You don’t have to explain yourself to anyone.” (I quickly learned this friend was right.  But at this point, I hadn’t learned that lesson yet.)

It turns out, the information I offered wasn’t enough.   The college friends then wanted to know WHERE He was sleeping in the house. And when I evaded that question, they had their children text my children and ask the same question!  My daughter innocently offered the private details of our family life to them–which they passed along to one of His victims, which that victim then shared with EVERY victim, and suddenly very private things I had shared with only those closest to me, in strictest confidence, were publicized.

It’s amazing who your true friends are.  And in the worst moments, the largest betrayals, and due to the criminal actions of one, they aren’t always who you think they are.  But those who are your friends are truly golden.  You realize that’s one bonus of the unexpected life.

What WAS I Going To Do?

Date: March 23, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

As I’ve said from the very beginning, my only goal was and is to do what is best for my children.  The problem? Knowing what is best for my children.  And in my case, with children of various ages, I quickly learned no one solution was a perfect fit for all of them. And no time did that become more evident than March 18, 2009.

The first day of our nightmare.

I spent that day in shock, but knew the worst was yet to come because my children were still innocently living the last moments of life as we’d known it.  They had no idea what they were coming home to at the end of the school day.  What WAS I going to do?

I consulted a friend who is a therapist by profession.  I told him the situation and he, also, asked me THE question of the day:  what are you going to do?  I told him I didn’t know; the only thing I knew was that I needed to do what was best for my children.  And instead of judging me, he responded, “Andrea, I wish all women thought that way.  If only all women, all parents,  thought that and did that, their children would be SO much better off!”

I didn’t know where I was or where I was headed for the short term, but at least for the most important thing, my children, I was on the right track. There was a lot (like everything!) I didn’t know if I had the strength or courage to do.  But doing what was best for my children was one thing I could do.

So we talked about what I thought was best for my children, how to tell my children of our new circumstances, who should tell them, and other things I was on a deadline to decide before the kids got home from school.

The plan:  somehow get through the rest of the day, but tell the kids that day, before they heard the news from anyone else or it was reported in the media.

It was a day of events so incongruous it was impossible for me to reconcile.  For example, I remember being outside with my three-year-old that afternoon.  (I wanted to be inside, emotionally dying, but life has to go on.  I had to be a mother, too, in spite of my pain.  I had to parent through the shock.  Really, I was the only parent my children had.)  I remember watching my youngest enjoy the sunshine, stopping occasionally to examine a bug or a rock or a weed or a wildflower, and returning to me with a dandelion clutched tightly in his fist.  He presented it to me with a big, innocent smile, and my heart shattered. Again.  For him and what was ahead of him.  And for me.  He had no idea how much I needed that gesture.

HOW can this day be happening?

I don’t remember if we ate dinner that night. I don’t remember if the kids had homework or if they got their homework done. But I remember the moment we gathered our family together for the last time. I remember their tears and emotional devastation.  I remember Him walking out and leaving after his announcement.

I remember being left with four children, looking to me for guidance through the morass we’d be left to navigate alone, and not having a clue how I was going to do it.

We stood in the kitchen, the kids and I, all of us in shock. Everyone looking at me with red eyes.  Everyone filled with fear and questions. My middle son was the first to speak.  It had just dawned on him.  ”Does this mean you and dad are going to get divorced?”

And before I could answer, my two oldest children answered for me.  At the very same time, one said, “YES!” and the other said, “NO.”

Jinx.

Like I said, I realized then and there no one solution was going to best for each of my children.  Which made everything instantly more challenging for me. What WAS I going to do?

Here is what I did.

I saw that my children needed time to process the shocking new developments in our life.  I saw that my 3rd grader could do this best when everything remained as close to normal as possible.  So I tried to keep things as normal as possible.

When He returned to our home late that night, and asked the question, “What do you want me to do?  Do you want me to leave?”  I allowed him to stay for the sake of our children.

If my children were going to spend the next several years (and possibly the next decade or more) without a dad, and if they were comforted having their dad in our home (and the two youngest children clearly were), I could allow them another six weeks to have a dad.  I knew they had a lifetime ahead of them without one.

We had lost everything.  My children had lost even more.  I could put my personal feelings aside and allow them that one small thing.  A father.  For another six weeks.