April 15, 2012
Dear Dee,
The date above is
significant. It was three years ago today that my doorbell rang just before 6
a.m. and when I stumbled downstairs and answered it, ten police officers
stormed in with their guns drawn and pointed at me and my life was forever
changed. There aren’t many points in our lives that anyone can single out and
say, “On this day, everything changed forever.” So each April 15 since then, I
relive, almost minute for minute, the events of that day; how I sat in a
stunned state in the front parlor for over five hours, wearing only my
bathrobe, as the police searched every inch of my house; how I was finally
allowed to dress under the watchful eye of a cop, then was read my rights,
handcuffed and stuffed into the back of a patrol car and taken to Little Rock
police station. I was placed in a stark gray holding cell where I sat dazed and
stunned for another four hours, the re-cuffed and taken to the federal
courthouse for arraignment. Then I was whisked to the Pulaski County Jail where
I spent another five hours in a holding cell with about a dozen others, some of
whom were laughing, joking, bumping fists and clapping each other on the back
while I stared at the floor, still in an extended state of shock.
That night was the
most terrifying of my life as I lay in a jailhouse bunk, my blanket pulled over
my head, listening to the sounds of men screaming, howling, rapping and kicking
the doors of their cells far into the night. Throughout the entirety of that
April day, all I could think was, “How can this be happening to me?” It was as
if the world had tilted on its axis; a surreal nightmare that I kept
desperately hoping I would awaken from. What had really happened was a door was
jerked open and a high intensity light was shined in on a dark, dank corner of
my soul, where I had allowed a vile cancer to grow and fester unchecked for far
too long. It was a part of me that I never allowed myself to think about or
acknowledge in any way unless I was in the act of engaging in those twisted
activities.
From the distance of
three years, many twelve-step meetings and therapy sessions, nine months of
house arrest and 834 days under lock and key, I can see with stunning clarity
that all of this had to happen. If it had not, I think I would have run the risk
of being consumed by the addictive bubble I was living in. Everything happens
for a reason. This was not random nor was it uninvited. It had to be—and so it
was.
The part of today’s
readings that jumped out and grabbed me came with the Come As You Are chapter, “Living With Loss,” as today marks the
anniversary of major losses for me—loss of freedom, of people I loved and who
loved me, loss of my good name—the list is long. Dr. Fleck wrote about the
death of his first-born son when he was only five days old. He told of the
wellspring of joy that he and his wife experienced in those five days and the
crushing pain of his loss. But, he wrote, if he and his wife could relive and
remake that point in their lives, they would want it to happen again rather than
forego the joy they experienced when that baby was in their lives. It taught me
that I can savor the good life I had without having to focus on having lost it.
There is some solace to be had in that.
Last week, my ex-wife,
P, wrote about her granddaughter (who lived with us for a number of years in
her early life) starting high school in the fall. She was 10 when I last saw
her. I wrote back saying how terribly I missed her. But I do have ten years of
beautiful memories of when I was a force for good in her life and she looked up
to and loved me. Nothing can take those away. So, all in all, this was a good
lesson for me.
On that note, I’ll
bring this to a close and get it in the mail.
Love, Steve
