Lost My World

4 Months ago I lost my whole life: wife, four daughters, home and assets.

Six months ago, I was sitting in a million dollar home on a river. Gorgeous six bedroom house, vaulted ceiling - living room rich with the smell of cedar, stone and fires. Double fireplace, back walls all in glass, overlooking the river. Baby Grand piano in the corner, as though the spot was self-designed for it. Huge kitchen and family/dining room, big enough to hold a table for ten and a pool table. A huge indoor pool, games room and six car garage. The things I thought made me happy. I know my girls truly did. But my vision was skewed, my priorities out of place, and my heart far from any god that might be in Heaven...not really believing there was. So my life was my life...and apart from my wife, by the end...i loved it.

Days and nights were spent working on my writing and music, preparing meals for the girls, taking care of our home of love. Getting the girls off to school. It was a big change from the corporate world I knew for so long. It was a sacrifice at the time when it all began. I had worked hard to build a fortune and didn't want anything or anyone getting in the way. I did it for them. Ironically though, the same gift I gave took away the gift that was given to me years ago, years I spent neglecting that gift. My wife. We were ever so slowly falling apart. It was such an odd mix to begin with. Like so many marriages born of the wrong reasons, so was ours, atleast from my standpoint. She was "cute". I wanted a girlfriend; and really...that was that. As soon as we started dating, I immediately begain to experience the iron bars of confinement. Not in the sense of being free to have sex with other women; but in the sense that I had to phone, check in, have plans for evenings and weekends revolving around her, when all I wanted to do was work. Yet, that biologica/psychological need for a "mate" just wouldn't hold at bay.

So, as the girls grew, I grew with them, I guess. Our marriage continued to dissolve, even the more, under the extra strain of raising the girls. She wanted to make them in to obedient soldiers...and I just wanted to love them. At the time, I bore the guilt of thinking I was wrong. Her way, on the outside, seemed more responsible and mature. I did discipline them hard enough, but I didn't want to - or couldn't even if I tried, put discipline over love. Since then, I've painfully realized that discipline is love. However, I knew she was too tough with them, and I too soft. I saw it then, and was hoping it would balance out. Unfortunately, a house divided against itself can not stand - especially when arguments and conflicts arose between, what were supposed to be, the "leaders". We fought over so many things in regards to the girls. I was use to being a leader - born that way, and now I had to share the leadership with her. It was doomed from the start. Every month, we died. Every year we died some more,...until finally, there was almost nothing left except the girls. We, like so many others again, made the mistake of staying together for them, not realizing that was making it worse on them. Our mutual indifference could not be hidden from a childs eyes. I didn't realize or remember how important it was for children to have the security of knowing their parents loved each other. It was a contradiction inside their young minds. How could they love me if they don't love each other? ...and everything translated back to them inevitably.


But there were beautiful times too. Times I remember with tears - and even the more with the pain i now live in. Nights we would gather together, cuddled under blankets, my girls fighting for a spot next to me, watching one of our favorite movies. I would get them some treat or other. I loved the excitement I immediately saw in them when they saw me starting to get off the couch…because they knew me. I always did that. And I loved to do it. Handing out licorice, ice cream, making popcorn for them - I didn’t care if I was missing the movie. All I cared about was making them happy.

I settled down again on the couch, watching each of them happily devour their treats, re-fighting for a position next to me again. “It’s my turn!!” one of them would say. I loved that. My best buddy, Scooby, my cat, telling them all that my lap belonged to him, so, step off….

Beautiful, magical, too good to be true I always felt. I didn’t feel good enough to have so much.

It wasn’t all easy though. Love made that happen. I had to raise them too. And it all started with my eldest daughter, because she was entering her teens.

I remember her… sitting on the floor, because I had grounded her again. I looked at her, already heart-broken, having to sit there because of me. I felt like crying. I felt guilty about it. Even though she earned her place there. I just never wanted to put her there, that's all. And she was my little girl. I loved her with all my heart. Even if she made me raging mad, all I wanted was to be with her. Holding her and loving her. I wanted to buy her the world.

Anyway, I said, "Sweetheart"(cuts me off)

"Don't call me "Sweetheart!!" She said with anger. A vengeful arrow to my heart. It hurt. It did. I refused to show it.

"I told you this would happen, didn't I? I told you that if you carried on the way you were going that things were going to get worse."

"The police?! Goddammit, Katie, why do you keep doing this to me?! Last night, you and I were sitting outside; lying close together, hand in hand...you said that you were addicted to me and that you loved me so much. You asked me if I saw that star, and I said I did. You didn't even notice. I was talking about you."...

She started to cry then and pushed her head lower between her knees. God, I hated that.

"Last night", I said, "I knew how much we loved each other. You know how we've both had to hide it from your other sisters - so they wouldn't be jealous."

I had to walk up closer to her at that moment. I leaned down and said to her, putting her hands on her knees, I started to cry. I just held myself there for a moment - yeah...at least a whole 60 seconds. Because I couldn't say anything yet from the power of emotion, desperation and love that was choking my throat. I remember making an effort. Breathing in deep, I said to her in a whisper...

"You're my love. You know you're my favorite. You're my first...and nothings ever going to change that."

With her, I never took from that bag of over-used, standard, "you should re-think your actions, young lady",... and parental, authoritarian bullshit. I hated that, especially in regards to her, because my love for her was higher. I always wanted to save her with confirming and re-confirming and re-confirming again, my intense love for her. So intense, it was almost an obsession. I couldn't wait until she got home after school...or when I let her out for a night. Watching that curfew clock, and dancing in my heart like a puppy at the door...paws lifting up and down so fast,...jumping, leaping...whole body wagging. God, I was addicted to her too, just like she said to me the night before.

I lifted her chin gently up, and looked into those beautiful, tear-stained eyes...I had to stop again...couldn't say what I wanted to say right away...cause I was choked again with my emotion. Yet, in that, I was saying what I wanted to say. She started to sob. Hard. I brushed her right cheeks wetness away, and then the other. Softly, gently...and I smiled at her. Suddenly she jumped up and grabbed me in a hug hard that made me fall against the pool table. She cried and cried and cried. I don't remember how long we held each other there...but it must have been at least ten minutes solid. I stroked her hair. Kept brushing away her tears. I kissed her cheek softly. I held my wet cheek against hers. I wanted our tears to blend. Hoping that this moment would serve to keep her safer. To make different decisions solely based on the fact that she had someone that loved her so deeply. So she would consider the consequences of hurt she might bring me. So that she knew that she might be endangering herself with that newly offered drug, and turn it away...but mostly cause she was satisfied enough with me. She would trust that I would bring her good things...and all my extra energy and then some...to help her find her way and build her life.

The next day, I left the house to go do some shopping. I found a note from my wife saying,

"I'm taking the girls on a little surprise trip. I wanted to give you a break and some time to finish your book. I Love You. - I'll leave the details of where we are and numbers and so forth on your comp. But, honey...don't even bother looking at them. I want a full break for you. And I want you to realize your dream. ps..I've even taken the cats with me...I’d rather have you in your book than in a stinky cat litter box...hugs'n kisses. me." Which I knew was a lie. We had fought like lions and tigers the night before over something I can't even remember, which, with her, always translated into everything and anything she could gather to throw at me. All my faults, the lack of communication between us - lack of intimacy; and all of it had to be my fault from her perspective, somehow. I began to just shut my mouth, shrug my shoulders and walk away - knowing nothing I said would be received anyway. So she just wanted to get away from me for awhile; probably for good. I did too. I was always wishing she would leave altogether, so I could just hire a nanny, do my work and raise the girls my way, because I had had enough of the drill sargeant, and the endless hours I spent explaining to the four of them whenever she was out, why they were all grounded for yet another weekend. It seemed to me, that the only time she was "semi-happy" with me, was when I was angry with them. Then, it finally came clear, although I knew it all along underneath, but thought it so ridiculous to think of, ...that she resented their love for me, and my love for them. So be it, became my state. So be it - and so be it the last time I would ever read something from her hand again.

I was sad immediately, even though some solitude always brought more freedom to my endeavours. I still wanted them around Because I loved having them so much. I didn't care if it caused the later release of my work. I loved all of their little beautiful smiles. I could rarely smile like that anymore. Perhaps something born of innocence not corrupted yet...or just that love that I never knew was as large as it was for me, until the day they came downstairs to the breakfast table, and my wife was there, instead of me...and...there were no smiles. Just fearful glances her way and a heavy, sad feeling in the air. She had become their enemy, ...just as she had become mine - and I felt responsible for it. She never understood how much I loved those girls. I must have spent triple the amount of time with them. A luxury I had from working from home. A burden too...but a luxury I treasured...just to be near them.

The next day, I was already lonely. I put their pictures up on my piano so I could look at them while I played. My love. My eldest. She didn’t listen to me. My love wasn’t powerful enough. She took herself away with that crash, and the rest of my family too. I dropped the phone to the floor, and I feel there too. Something was starting to happen to my breathing and heart…so, blurry, as if drunk, I fumbled for the drawer to the left and grabbed a paper sandwich bag. I cupped it over my mouth with what quickly waning strength was left in my arms and whole body. I knew I had to, cause I was having a panic attack. I crawled up to my knees, face on the ground and bag crumpled against my face, almost soaked limp by my tears by then.

Later that same day, I received a call from the insurance company, saying…(a message…cause there was no goddamn way I was going to answer the phone that day). “We’re so sorry to hear of your loss Mr. Johnson. and I hate to be the one that brings this news to you, but by quick investigation as to cause, you’re daughters blood analysis showed meta-amphetamines present. I’m so sorry to say this, but due to this find, this makes your insurance null and void for the damaged property.”

Three days later, I watched the movers take my baby-grand piano, all my furniture, watched the notice put up on the door, “Seized for acquisition and recompense of damages…"...and a bunch of other bullshit my weakened, sore, tear-stained eyes didn’t even want to read.

I had to walk away. I had to leave town. So now, here I sit, alone. Day after day, night after night, alone. Ever since then. If I never had the chance to write one more word or play one more note on my piano, I would take that just to have them all back.

“it’s my turn, daddy!”,

In one day, I lost my whole life last year.

My heart and soul was scarred and broken by a stream of life events long before I said, “I do”. I don’t know why. Many have asked. Yet, I look out upon a world that is filled with pain. Some children’s lives, making my adult life look like a soft pillow, filled with riches. I spent the first three months, just sitting outside my meeger apartment, weeping uncontrollably. It was a bright, sunny day, the day of the funeral. I hated that. I wanted it to rain. To be miserable. To justify my going out and buying a gun, with which I had intended to blow my brains out that same day. After all had left, I stood there at those grave stones, gun in hand, hand in pocket, tears on shoes, heart gone. I stared so long with my head hung down low...blinkless. Thinking, that if I remained there long enough, they would come back to life and I wouldn't have to pull the trigger. They didn't. So, I took the gun out and held it in both hands. Shiny. Silver. Bringer of death. Sweet release. Just then, I heard some footsteps behind me. I didn't hide the gun,...I just turned my head, not caring my face was soaked with tears,...eyes beat red. A kindly face. A beautiful face, in spite of the fact that this angel from above looked older than time itself.

"What'chya doin', son?"

No movement to grab the gun. No judgment on his face. Just a smile ...and eyes that sparkled bright blue. Eyes that had a smile of their own - as though they remained that way eternally.

"I....I...don't...". and just then, what I had held in, even though I had been crying from the start, came out: a sob so deep, it was as though my whole lifes' pain poured out all at once, weakening my whole body...pouring out tears so hard and fast, I knew the drops had become small rivers. I fell to my knees and cried out!

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!....wwwwhhhhhyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!".

Just then, I passed out,...totally exhausted, and when I came to, I got my answer. The gun was gone. The old man was gone. And on my chest lay a note, written with such impeccable hand-writing that seemed to come from the time when only quills were used and everyone wrote in that caligraphic style. As I read...something happened. I swallowed. I felt an odd numbness...or...neutrality. And as I finished, just a single, deep tear from each eye...a look up...and a thankyou. A thankyou from a non-believer,...who now doubted his lack of faith.

"Son...in this life, sometimes things happen we do not understand. This is not your time. Your family is home now. Let them be there...and let you be here. One day you'll join them...but that day is not today. I have lost generations of those that I have loved. Watched as many have died before their time. I will not watch you do the same. Now, is your time to stand up and fight...for this pain will pass. It will always be with you...but it will become something different." ...and then the oddest part of the note - the last line, was what changed my whole life...making me realize something I had decided the day of that phonecall. I had decided without knowing it. Deep inside a place of my soul and was attached to many of my past hurts. A place I would never be able to get through on my own...or even by a therapist. But this one, unknown, older than time itself, gentlemen got to. The last line read:

"It's not your fault".

At once, in an instant, my life had not only been saved, but forever changed. I looked down at the grave stones again with a different stirring inside that I had not felt in a long time,...and certainly didn't feel since the accident. Determination. Strength...and courage. Determined to honour them with my life...not disgrace them with my death.

So, I turned and walked away that day...knowing the pain wasn't over and the next year or more would be brutal. Probably harder than I had ever experienced before,...and I didn't care. I forgave myself. I forgave my wife. I forgave my daughter....and I moved on. Many tears I cried since that day,...but that man...that...angel...whatever, saved my life, changed my heart and that same strength endured through the winter of my life. A life I spent seeking opportunities to help others. Searching for anyway I could love - be it man, woman or group...any way. This love was the love of my family. This love was the love bestowed upon me by that mysterious figure at the graveyard that day. This love, was the love I finally found for myself...and somehow I knew, that mystery "man", was wanting just this. To take my tragedy, and turn it in to a life-changing, saving miracle...for others. Posessions, power, money - it all meant nothing to me now. Oh, sure,...I still made money - more than ever before. But this time, it came from a will to give it away as fast as I could earn it. From that time at their graves,...to the time I was almost at mine...I had made over 400 million dollars. I lived in an apartment in an old building, with a rommate, for a thousand dollars a month. I stood in free-food lines, shopped at thrift stores, didn't own a car again...and macaroni and cheese became a common meal. I was never happier in all my life. The only things I possessed was a used piano with some broken strings, and all my families pictures there upon it, day after day. Every morning I would get up, put on the kettle, and play to them.

To this day, now in my final bed, I don't know why my life was spared. Maybe it was the lesson of discipline. Maybe it was because, through both apathy and favoritism as replacement, all that I had was taken away. Maybe for all my sins. I don't know. But what happened on the day of their funeral, was, I came to love them all, and with a cold, hard mirror, realized the errors of my ways. My masked ambition, pride and foolishness that brought such imbalance, that someone from above needed to take them away from me before I hurt them anymore. Whether this is true or not, every deed I did since that time,...said...I love you, my wonderful wife...I love ALL, my beautiful girls,...I love this gift of life...and maybe even...I love you...and thank you...God.

And so, I closed my eyes and breathed my last...and dropped my last tear on this earth. Not a tear of regret, remorse or fear. A tear of thanks, to a life changed by a man who, if not God, himself...or an angel,...a man who represented all the qualities of God and angels. And with it...contained with those two tiny tear drops, was my love for all I had, all I lost, but had regained again. My loves, my life. My heart.

The end.