January 29

     His brother tells me to make sure I get all my ducks in a row before He gets out.  That I need to get as much done as I can while it's quiet, while He's still in there.  I get off the phone and then it hits me.  What the fuck is his brother talking about?  What does he know that's going on, what has He told his family, that I don't know.  And what ducks ... and where are these ducks?  I haven't spoken to Him in a month, He hasn't spoken to me or His children during any of this.  His siblings are once again His family; His children have become just a past memory.  I asked my son if it was weird that he hadn't spoken to his father in such a long time. He said "No, not really."  There was nothing I could say.  I don't know if he'll ever be their father again.  But the three of us, as my daughter reminds me, we're a family and we'll be just fine.  I'm tired of hiding out in my house.  Afraid to answer questions, trying desperately to protect my kids.  First I tried to keep our divorce from taking place until after my son graduated.  Now, I'm just trying to cover up what has happened to him so my kids won't have to deal with such painful and awkward questions. When asked, I keep it short.  He moved out and we're getting a divorce.  Any other personal questions I quickly deflect, and constantly I hold my breathe hoping nobody tries to contact him.  His office cut off his cell phone and computer service.  It's impossible to get in touch with Him unless He has made contact.  I was putting together my son's photographic senior page for his high school yearbook.  I was looking through old family pictures of a much different time, and there were pictures of Him and me and all of us.  And the most surprising thing was, instead of feeling angry, or sad, or hopeless, I just felt, well, nothing ...