Supervised visitations were approved by early May but the waiting list for the facility providing the service would demand we wait. My first visit was scheduled for the 21st of May but my preliminary court hearing was fast-tracked to my sentencing date. The Work Release program demanded I get an actual order from the court to approve a schedule including the visits, which finally came through two days ago. The next day I was scheduled to see them.
I was a twisted mix of excited and terrified. I was scared I would break down upon seeing them after so long. I didn't want the children to feel bewildered by any more intense emotions like the last time I had seen them. I wanted them to know without a doubt that I was in good spirits and health. Kimberly had dropped them off 15 minutes before I was to arrive, as our NCO does not allow us any contact outside email whatsoever. The Safe Exchange program is operated out of the basement of a church. I arrived at the exact time I was scheduled to and nervously approached the door, toting a grocery bag with some snacks and juice.
After a brief wait at the locked door I was greeted by H, the director of the program and the same person who had interviewed me. She again made me feel very welcome and even a bit excited for both me and the kids. While I signed in, she suggest I peek above the partition to see the kids. They immediately spotted me and began to stampede my way. I turned the corner, swamped my little arms and bright smiling faces. I dropped to my knees and took all three of them into my arms. The moment seemed to last an eternity. My little girl, only four years old, never let go. The boys, 10 and 8, let go looked at me and returned to more hugging. "I love you all so much. I missed you." escaped my trembling lips. The tears did not flow. I was too happy.
I could not get over how much each of them had grown or appeared slightly different than the last time I saw them. My oldest boy's face had broadened slightly and his hair brightened as it does every summer. My eight-year-old boy just looked older. I still can't put my finger on it. My little girl seemed to have grown an inch and her slight baby-talk she had been using the last time I saw her had faded some. I was awash in amazement how resilient children seem to be. I know the scars are not as apparent at their ages, so I've got no illusions as to how each one of them may be damaged from the events of late March. We'll all heal together over time.
The first 30 minutes was a frantic and dizzying experience. Each one wanted to play with me independently, seeking out their interests in the myriad of toys, games and activities in the large room. It felt a little like herding cats or juggling, but I was too happy to find it frustrating. Scurrying from ping-pong to baby dolls, Matchbox cars to tricycles - I felt a little like a child myself. This is the feeling I was missing even prior to being taken from the family. I had become so absorbed in my obsessions of work and minor distractions I had forgotten how to simply play with my children.
I was pleasantly surprised the staff kept a respectable distance from us. They were obviously observing, but not hovering over us like I thought they would. After noticing them taking notes here and there, I nearly forgot about them. Perhaps the fact that our circumstances were different from their average client made it this way? I know a majority of the families visiting are going through bitter divorces. Perhaps there are other DV offenders, their spouses alienated and full of resentment - unlike us. Regardless of our pain and understanding our need to reform - we want to be a family and we want our futures together.
Things calmed down in the last half and we spent some time painting with watercolors around a short table. Having each of them close and soaking up the time together was amazing. One boy painted a bright red fire truck, another an abstract man with wild hair resembling blue lightning bolts. My little girl made a picture of her and I, our over-sized pink heads grinning brightly. I painted three small hills with a river bending around their bases and a bright blue sky overhead. In hindsight, perhaps I had subconsciously represented our family in the watercolors: my wife the sky and me the river and our three little hills between - shaped by our winds and waters.
The time to neaten up and say goodbye had come too fast. I helped them put away the toys and paints, feeling the activity became an exercise in distraction from how we were all feeling. An hour is an incredibly short amount of time when you want to experience every second. This sharply contrasts the time I spend on my bunk at the jail reading. Time there drags and stalls. It's not fair.
I took special care to hug each one of the kids, making eye contact and explaining how we would see one another in only a week. My little girl was obviously fighting tears. My words were not enough to satisfy her and it was obvious her four-year-old mind just didn't have the concept of time the way her brothers have. I explained better. "You and Daddy will play again in only 7 days. You know how long we waited to see each other this time?" She nodded, not yet sure of were I was going with this conversation. "We waited EIGHTY days to see each other! That's a very long time. 7 days is very short and before you know it, we'll be here together again." She seemed to understand now. Her eyes brightened and a smile spread across her big rosy cheeks. She said "I love you Daddy." and turned away to return to play.
The steps towards the door seemed to feel like I was dragging a cart behind me. My shoulders felt heavy and a lump developed in my throat. Once I had the door open and the smell of the outside hit me, I felt I had collapsed inside. My tears flowed hot and salty. I was trembling and sobbing as I got into my car. I looked back at the door, knowing they were inside - perhaps fighting their own tears. I fell yet another level down into my sadness and burst into loud, aching cries. I didn't feel capable of forming a cohesive thought and my mind looped over brief expressions.
"Why?"
"I'm so sorry."
"I love you."
"Please forgive me."
My mind raced with flashbacks of the last 3 months events. Confrontation. Fear. Arrest. Jail. Court rooms. It took me a good mile of driving to regain my composure. I found myself the first to a red light, wiping my tears from my cheeks. As fantastic as it was to see the children again, it was not a complete experience. I want my ENTIRE family back together. Without every one of us, it's not complete. The path is long and narrow, but it is not infinite.
I was a twisted mix of excited and terrified. I was scared I would break down upon seeing them after so long. I didn't want the children to feel bewildered by any more intense emotions like the last time I had seen them. I wanted them to know without a doubt that I was in good spirits and health. Kimberly had dropped them off 15 minutes before I was to arrive, as our NCO does not allow us any contact outside email whatsoever. The Safe Exchange program is operated out of the basement of a church. I arrived at the exact time I was scheduled to and nervously approached the door, toting a grocery bag with some snacks and juice.
After a brief wait at the locked door I was greeted by H, the director of the program and the same person who had interviewed me. She again made me feel very welcome and even a bit excited for both me and the kids. While I signed in, she suggest I peek above the partition to see the kids. They immediately spotted me and began to stampede my way. I turned the corner, swamped my little arms and bright smiling faces. I dropped to my knees and took all three of them into my arms. The moment seemed to last an eternity. My little girl, only four years old, never let go. The boys, 10 and 8, let go looked at me and returned to more hugging. "I love you all so much. I missed you." escaped my trembling lips. The tears did not flow. I was too happy.
I could not get over how much each of them had grown or appeared slightly different than the last time I saw them. My oldest boy's face had broadened slightly and his hair brightened as it does every summer. My eight-year-old boy just looked older. I still can't put my finger on it. My little girl seemed to have grown an inch and her slight baby-talk she had been using the last time I saw her had faded some. I was awash in amazement how resilient children seem to be. I know the scars are not as apparent at their ages, so I've got no illusions as to how each one of them may be damaged from the events of late March. We'll all heal together over time.
The first 30 minutes was a frantic and dizzying experience. Each one wanted to play with me independently, seeking out their interests in the myriad of toys, games and activities in the large room. It felt a little like herding cats or juggling, but I was too happy to find it frustrating. Scurrying from ping-pong to baby dolls, Matchbox cars to tricycles - I felt a little like a child myself. This is the feeling I was missing even prior to being taken from the family. I had become so absorbed in my obsessions of work and minor distractions I had forgotten how to simply play with my children.
I was pleasantly surprised the staff kept a respectable distance from us. They were obviously observing, but not hovering over us like I thought they would. After noticing them taking notes here and there, I nearly forgot about them. Perhaps the fact that our circumstances were different from their average client made it this way? I know a majority of the families visiting are going through bitter divorces. Perhaps there are other DV offenders, their spouses alienated and full of resentment - unlike us. Regardless of our pain and understanding our need to reform - we want to be a family and we want our futures together.
Things calmed down in the last half and we spent some time painting with watercolors around a short table. Having each of them close and soaking up the time together was amazing. One boy painted a bright red fire truck, another an abstract man with wild hair resembling blue lightning bolts. My little girl made a picture of her and I, our over-sized pink heads grinning brightly. I painted three small hills with a river bending around their bases and a bright blue sky overhead. In hindsight, perhaps I had subconsciously represented our family in the watercolors: my wife the sky and me the river and our three little hills between - shaped by our winds and waters.
The time to neaten up and say goodbye had come too fast. I helped them put away the toys and paints, feeling the activity became an exercise in distraction from how we were all feeling. An hour is an incredibly short amount of time when you want to experience every second. This sharply contrasts the time I spend on my bunk at the jail reading. Time there drags and stalls. It's not fair.
I took special care to hug each one of the kids, making eye contact and explaining how we would see one another in only a week. My little girl was obviously fighting tears. My words were not enough to satisfy her and it was obvious her four-year-old mind just didn't have the concept of time the way her brothers have. I explained better. "You and Daddy will play again in only 7 days. You know how long we waited to see each other this time?" She nodded, not yet sure of were I was going with this conversation. "We waited EIGHTY days to see each other! That's a very long time. 7 days is very short and before you know it, we'll be here together again." She seemed to understand now. Her eyes brightened and a smile spread across her big rosy cheeks. She said "I love you Daddy." and turned away to return to play.
The steps towards the door seemed to feel like I was dragging a cart behind me. My shoulders felt heavy and a lump developed in my throat. Once I had the door open and the smell of the outside hit me, I felt I had collapsed inside. My tears flowed hot and salty. I was trembling and sobbing as I got into my car. I looked back at the door, knowing they were inside - perhaps fighting their own tears. I fell yet another level down into my sadness and burst into loud, aching cries. I didn't feel capable of forming a cohesive thought and my mind looped over brief expressions.
"Why?"
"I'm so sorry."
"I love you."
"Please forgive me."
My mind raced with flashbacks of the last 3 months events. Confrontation. Fear. Arrest. Jail. Court rooms. It took me a good mile of driving to regain my composure. I found myself the first to a red light, wiping my tears from my cheeks. As fantastic as it was to see the children again, it was not a complete experience. I want my ENTIRE family back together. Without every one of us, it's not complete. The path is long and narrow, but it is not infinite.
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