Because I have a meeting here, I'm revisiting the small Northern California town where I lived while married, where two of my three kids were born, and where everything fell apart. This is a gorgeous little town -- prosperous, clean, nestled between the mountains and San Francisco Bay. The weather is fantastic here -- always sunny and warm -- and it looks like a picture of ideal suburbia.

I hate this place.

I hate every single fucking square foot of it. Everything I see is connected with the loss of my kids. I keep being reminded of all the love I had for them, and all the time I got to spend being a father, before this culture, that woman and our fucking legal system cut it all off and set me adrift. When I lived here, I had a family, a purpose, a future, three beautiful daughters I loved more than I could imagine was possible. I am just now, almost a decade later, reassembling some kind of life. I didn't drink, use drugs, beat her up, lose money. I just would not do what I was told, so it all got taken away.

  • There's the park where I used to play with my daughters.
  • There's the library where we used to go listen to stories.
  • There's the church we used to attend.
  • There's the street I would walk them to school on.
  • There's the corner where I told the oldest one that Mommy and Daddy were splitting up, and I listened to her cry as I held her for a long, long time.
  • There's the other church, where I went to AA meetings for a year (I don't drink) because they seemed to help with the nightmares I had and allow me to sleep.

I am never going to be completely over this. I've learned to live with this. If you're considering getting married and having kids, trust me, you do not want to feel like this, ever.

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