Living Happily Ever After

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The Price of Crime? Don’t Ask!

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!

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

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

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

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

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?

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.

Do You Have Any Idea What You’re Going To Do?

Thankfully, the attorney told me he’d inform the government about my visit to my bank–explain why I had gone there, how much cash for groceries I had withdrawn, etc…  And then he asked, “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do?”

That was to become the most-asked question of the day:  March 18, 2009.

I thought everyone was asking that in regards to the rest of my life.  But I soon learned it wasn’t a question about me, it was about Him. Was I going to kick Him out of the house that day?  Did they need to find Him a place to stay?

I didn’t know what I was going to do.  Having been married for nearly 20 years, and thinking we were happily married for those 20 years, and thinking I was married to an honest and good man for all those years, not to mention the many shocking revelations I’d received that day, I hadn’t thought that far ahead.  I was just trying to get through one minute at a time.

It hadn’t dawned on me to kick him out.  I didn’t know what my plan was.  My world had crumbled in a moment; I had a million things to confront and face and handle instantly.  I didn’t know anything at that point.  I only knew I needed to do what was best for my children.

That my answer.  ”I don’t know.  I need to figure out what is best for my children.  I will do what is best for my children.”

What WAS best for my children?

Isn’t that the million dollar question of parenting?  And in the end, we just have to do what we feel is right, what we believe is best for them, pray (and then go to work)  to ensure that our efforts in their behalf help them grow up to be good, responsible, functioning adults–without baggage from their childhood to overcome.

Good luck with that one, Andrea.

And in my case, in this situation anyway, sometimes you are hated for the parenting decisions you make.    Not by your children, necessarily, but by outsiders looking in.

No Instinct Whatsoever

I arrived “home.”  My spouse met me in the back yard, handed me a phone, told me it was his attorney, and that his attorney wanted to speak with me.

I took the phone, put it to my ear, the attorney introduced himself and said, “Andrea, I know we haven’t met yet, but I am so sorry for the day you must be having.  I can’t imagine what you must be thinking and how you must be feeling.  I am so sorry for the circumstances that led to this day for you and your children. And I’m sorry for the many days ahead.”

I don’t know what I expected from an attorney.  I’d never spoken to one, professionally, before.  But I didn’t expect him to be so kind to me, yet at the same time, I was completely distrustful.  I didn’t know who or what to believe any more.  The kind tone of his voice made me begin to cry. Again.

I asked, through my tears, “How do I know you’re telling me the truth? How do I know you are who you say you are? How do I know you aren’t involved in all of this and that this is not just another deception for my benefit? How can I believe anything you say?”

He told me he could understand why I felt that way and all he could do was assure me he had never met or heard of my spouse until two days earlier, when my spouse had walked into the attorney’s legal office and confessed what He had done.

I wish I were a better writer.  I wish I had the capability to express how scared I was; how alone I felt; and how it felt to turn to a literal stranger on the phone.  But I didn’t know what else to do.  I didn’t know who to trust or even who to turn to for help.  I felt like a fugutive.  And I needed someone to tell me what to do.

“What do I do now?” I asked.

He told me I needed to hire an attorney.  I, who had never cheated in school; I, who had never stolen so much as a grape from the grocery store without paying for it; I, who had always tried to live a life of complete and total integrity; I, who wouldn’t even let myself indulge in “white lies” needed an attorney? I couldn’t comprehend it.  I could not believe the position I was in through no fault or action of my own.  And it scared me.

But his next words terrified me.

“And whatever you do, don’t go near a bank.  Don’t touch any of your bank accounts.  Don’t try to access any money!” he warned.

OOPS.

Don’t you love how my one and only reaction was THE ONLY THING I should not have done? Obviously, I wasn’t cut out for a life of crime.  I just don’t have the natural instinct for it. Another reason to never try sky diving.

What Do You Do?

So what do you do when you’ve been tossed out of the safety and security of the airplane seat you’ve occupied, its seatbelt securely holding you in place through any and all unexpected turbulence for 20 years, and into the open air…without a parachute?

I hope I never find out, literally, because I’m pretty sure I’d die.  March 18, 2009, showed me I could use some work on quick reflex skills!  I’d like to think I’d at least REACH for a non-existent rip cord.  Fight against the eminent landing.  SOMETHING.  But that isn’t how I responded that day.  (Hence my decision to NEVER sky dive for real.)

I sat there, like a deer caught in headlights, for a minute or two.  Stunned. My brain ceased to function, my intelligence went out the window, I couldn’t even think.  I couldn’t comprehend.  I didn’t understand.

“What?”

That was all the intelligence I could muster in a moment like that.

So He repeated what He had just said.  And I was almost equally unintelligent the second time through.

“Is this a joke?  You are kidding me.  This is a joke. I know it is.  It isn’t funny, I don’t get the punchline, but there is NO WAY you’re telling me the truth.  This is NOT real.  Am I being punked?”

Where was Asthon Kutcher?

But He wasn’t kidding.  It was not a joke.  It was a disaster of proportions I couldn’t comprehend.  I still can’t.

Then my mind kicked in and my questions began.

“How can this be?  What am I going to do?  No job? No money?  You’re going to PRISON?  How will I raise our kids?  How will I keep them alive?  How am I going to pay for our food and utility bills? How will I pay our car insurance? What am I going to do?”  (That fear I’d always had of being responsible to keep someone else alive, the responsibility of providing for someone else, returned. I was terrified for the physical survival of my children.)

He told me I still didn’t get it.  There were no cars to drive anymore.  There wasn’t a house to live in.  And the man I’d turned to for almost 20 years, to solve problems and answer questions, didn’t have any answers anymore.

I knew I was headed, with my four kids, to live in a cardboard box on the street. Literally.

I was too stunned to understand a lot, in that moment, but suddenly I had a thought come to mind.

“Is that all?”

Nope. There was more.  He said He was sorry, then started SOBBING like I’d never seen Him cry before.  And that was when it hit me.  This was not a joke.  This was real.

And all I could do was continue to be what I’d always tried to be:  polite, kind, and calm.  I actually apologized to him!  (What can I say?  You never react the way you anticipate in moments like that.  Of course, I’d never anticipated any moments like that!)

“I’m sorry, so sorry to leave you here like this, but I have to go.  I have to get out of here.”

I got up from the table, got in my car, and drove away.

I didn’t know where I was headed, I just knew I had to get away from Him.  But there was nowhere I could drive that would take me away from the disaster.  I made it less than 1/3 of a mile before the shock and reality hit and the tears began like a flood.  And the shaking.  The shaking set in so immediately I doubted my ability to control a steering wheel.  I quickly pulled over so I didn’t add to the disaster by hurting myself or someone else.

There I was, alone, unable to drive, TERRIFIED, with not a clue what to do.  My panic was absolute, but indescribable.  My every thought was for my children:  how was I going to feed them?  How was I going to keep them alive?  WHAT was I going to do?

I picked up my cell phone and called my sister.  Something wasn’t right with my fingers.  I couldn’t get them to work.  I couldn’t get them to dial the numbers on the phone correctly.  Either that or she wasn’t home.  I then tried my friend from college who had become like a sister to me over the years–we traveled together, spent holidays together, etc… It was a miracle.  She was home.

I could hardly speak, but she finally understood what I was saying although she couldn’t comprehend it either.  I remember asking, “What should I do?  What do I do?  Should I go to the bank and try to get ANY money so I can keep my kids alive?”  My survival instinct had set in at that point, I guess.

“Yes, go to the bank and try to get some money,” she advised.

I didn’t know if I could, but I had to try.

I drove to the bank.

When we married, we’d brought our own checking accounts to our marriage and had never changed that.  We’d never had a joint checking account.  (Looking back, I’ve been told this might not have been normal.  But I hadn’t been married before.  I didn’t know what was normal.  I had married a man capable of a lot more than anyone had ever realized.)  I’d never had access to any of “his” accounts or money.  I never needed it–I charged everything to a credit card, which he told me he paid off monthly, and that was how our household operated.  Things that couldn’t be charged (like the house cleaner and school fees for our children), I paid for out of my small checking account that he replenished with small amounts of cash as needed because I was a stay-at-home mom.  Unfortunately, I always waited until I was almost out of money to tell him I needed money.  So my cash resource was small.

I got a little cash, but not all of it, so I could buy groceries for my children. It was all I had to begin a new life with.  And then, not knowing what else to do, I returned “home.”

But it didn’t feel like my home any more.