Forgiveness Is a Choice

This is a work of fiction. The resemblance of any person described in this story to an actual person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any person engaged in sexual activities in this story is at least eighteen years of age.

I make no representations about the accuracy of my description of either the legal process nor particular functions of the Roman Catholic church. To the extent such descriptions are set forth in the narrative, they are intended solely for the purpose of moving the story line along.

FORGIVENESS IS A CHOICE

JACOB

"Ite, Missa, Est." The mass is ended, go in peace. Father Martin spoke these words at the end of the Christmas Eve mass at St. Matthew's. It would be the last time for the Latin mass in this diocese. The new bishop required all of the priests to serve mass in the vernacular. St. Matthew's had been the last church in the city to cling to the old form. With the new year, it too would be gone.

The families rose and hastened out of the sanctuary. Parents with children had things to do this Christmas Eve. Grandparents needed to finish wrapping their grandchildren's presents or prepare dishes for tomorrow's Christmas dinner. Some families were leaving to drive to more distant locations to be together for the holiday, having lingered solely to attend the mass for one last time. But I no longer had a family, so I sat, quietly contemplating my family's history at St. Matthew's and mourning the losses I had sustained since last I'd been here.

I'd not been to mass for almost two decades. I'd been raised at St. Matthew's. Our family had four generations of history here. Both sets of grandparents had met and married here. My parents had been baptized, taken their first communion, been confirmed and had married here. I had done the same, marrying Lilith one glorious spring day. My two children, Peter and Allison ("Allie"), born two years apart almost to the day, had been baptized here. The Harper family and St. Matthew's went back a long way together.

I had come tonight hoping to recapture just a small bit of the joy that my family's connection with the church had once brought. I'd seen the newspaper article announcing the end of the Latin mass and the impending retirement of Father Martin, the only priest at St. Matthew's I'd ever known. The parish had changed over the years. The young families I'd known in the neighborhood had grown and moved away, replaced by Hispanic families and some Vietnamese families who now made up the core of the congregation. The older parishioners had died or moved to retirement homes closer to their children and grandchildren. Lilith and I had done the same, moving out of the apartment we rented in the neighborhood to a small house in the suburbs after Allie's birth, but continuing to come to mass at St. Matthew's until the dissolution of our family.

It had been a mistake to move to the suburbs, not because we'd left the old neighborhood, but because the purchase of the house had forced us to have Lilith go back to work as a nurse at the city's university hospital. We'd juggled the child care well, with our parents providing backup as necessary. For six years, we'd apparently been happy and contented, a typical suburban family starting out in our first owned home.

Then had come the first of a series of blows. I'd come home from work one day to find a strange car parked in front of my house. When I pulled into my driveway and got out of the car, a young woman had stepped from the parked car. "Jacob Harper?" she'd asked. I'd nodded. She'd handed me an envelope and said, "You've been served," then turned and walked away.

I'd walked into the house that day, somewhat bewildered at why I would be sued, to find my wife of eight years sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of paperwork in front of her. There was no sign of the children.

"Hi, babe," I'd said. "Where are the kids?"

"They're at my mother's."

"Do we have something planned tonight that I've forgotten?"

"No, we have to talk."

And with that conversation, my family dissolved.

Lilith handed me a document entitled "Property Settlement, Child Custody and Child Support Agreement." "Jacob," she'd said, "I'm leaving you. I've decided to make a life with Michael Jones, a doctor at the hospital and I've filed for divorce. You should have been served just before you walked into the house. I'm not asking for alimony, since our earnings are about the same. We'll split the bank accounts equally. We each can keep our own retirement funds. I'll let you keep the house, as I'll be living with Michael. I've asked for primary custody, with your having visitation for two weekends a month and two weeks in the summer. We'll be withdrawing the children from the school here and sending them to a private academy on the other side of the city, which is where Michael lives. Michael is going to pay for that. He wants the children to have the best education possible and the local schools aren't up to that."

I sat there, stunned. There had not been a single indication that Lilith was unhappy in our marriage or that she was seeing someone else. "Don't I get a say in this?"

"Actually, no. Michael has millions, some of which he's earned as a cardiac surgeon and some of which he inherited. If you fight this, he'll bury you and you'll be bankrupt and living on the street."

Who was this woman sitting across the table from me. Certainly not the woman I'd fallen in love with and married. What had changed her to be such a greedy, cruel person? I never did find the answer to that question.

"Have you told the children or our parents?"

"I've told mine. It's up to you to tell yours. The children's clothes are packed and have already been delivered to Michael's house. I wanted to tell you personally, before you came home and found us gone. Michael can provide so much for me and our children that you'll never be able to. It's best for us. I'm sorry if you can't see that." And with that, Lilith rose and walked out of the house and out of any meaningful role my life.

I had been a carpenter, officially since age eighteen, but actually had begun working with my father at age fifteen. He was one of the finest finish carpenters in the city, employed by a small firm that specialized in restoring old houses to their original condition. He'd begun training me as soon as he could sneak me onto job sites and I'd absorbed an immense amount of his knowledge. At eighteen, I'd gone to work for his boss, George, initially as an apprentice but then as a skilled carpenter in my own right.

In my world, the only reason to have a lawyer was to have a will. Not knowing what else to do, I first called my parents to tell them what had just happened, then called George. I asked him to recommend a divorce attorney I could possibly afford and he gave me a name.

I set an appointment up with the attorney the following day. He told me, in words of one syllable, that I was screwed. The offer Michael and Lilith had made me was somewhat better than I could hope for if I contested the divorce. Given the children's ages, there was no chance I'd get custody and I could lose the house. Plus, I didn't have the wherewithal to go to war. I needed to suck it up and accept what had happened. And so I did.

Between the mortgage and child support payments, I was nearly tapped out. Most weeks, the question was whether I'd run out of week before I ran out of money. I'd probably have starved had my parents not fed me dinner several days a week. Lilith's parents had dropped me like a hot rock. Apparently, a carpenter was not the son-in-law they'd dreamed of, although they'd never said so in my presence. Dr. Michael was.

The next blow brought an end to my relationship with the church. Lilith wanted a big, Catholic church wedding with Michael. To get it, she would need to have our marriage annulled. Shortly after she left, I was notified that she'd petitioned the church seeking the annulment. I went to Father Martin, who described the process and helped me prepare a response. How could eight years of marriage and the birth of two children be removed from the record?

I didn't count on the power of money in achieving things sacred as well as things secular. Michael simply offered a substantial (I later heard seven figure) contribution to the bishop's discretionary fund in return for a speedy processing of the annulment petition. And so it happened. My marriage to Lilith was declared a nullity in the eyes of the church.

When I went to Father Martin to ask how this could be, he had the grace to be embarrassed. "Jacob," he'd said, "what just happened isn't right. It happens a lot in this country, more so than anywhere else where the church exists. I'm sorry. I didn't realize that your ex-wife's new love had those kinds of assets or that kind of pull."

Once Lilith and Michael married, visitation became a struggle every single time. The children were ill, they had a birthday party, there was a special program at school, they were having friends over. And they would never agree to substituting a weekend. The two weeks in the summer were worse. Lilith and Michael would sign the kids up for a summer program at school. That meant not being able to take them anywhere and two hours of driving across the city morning and evening. The kids constantly complained about the long rides and the limited activities at my house. And the older they got, the harder the complaining and the worse the attitude. The two children whom I loved most of all in this world had become whining, entitled snobs. Nothing I did or said seemed to change that.

As soon as Peter turned fourteen, he sent a letter to the court stating that he no longer wanted to visit with me or spend time with me. As he was of an age where his decision was paramount, his visitation stopped completely. Two years later, Allie did the same, an act followed immediately by a petition to terminate my parental rights and allow Michael to adopt my children. I scraped together what little funding I could find and went back to my lawyer. He was sympathetic, but not optimistic. Michael's family had a substantial role in local politics and the judiciary in our state was elected, not appointed.

After the divorce, at my lawyer's suggestion, I had begun keeping a record of every contact or attempted contact with my children. When I made a call to them, I logged it. If we didn't connect, I noted that I'd left a voice mail and whether the call was returned. (Few were.) When I mailed a card or a package, I paid the post office to provide a certificate of mailing. When visitation was curtailed, I made a record. The summer visitation limitations were noted. In short, I had a record that demonstrated just how hard I'd worked at maintaining the relationship with my children and how much Lilith and Michael had interfered with those efforts.

The hearing was in front of an older judge, one with more than thirty years of family court experience. It was not a trial in the classic sense. The judge first met with Lilith and Michael, then with me, then with the two children alone. He spent a great deal of time reviewing the materials I'd provided him and I noticed him frowning repeatedly as he reviewed them. When he reconvened all the parties, he turned to his court reporter and said, "We're going off the record for a moment. Turn that recorder off."

Then he turned to the parties. "Doctor and Mrs. Jones, you should be ashamed, although I doubt either of you has the capacity for shame." At this point, the Jones' lawyer began to rise. The judge immediately ordered him to sit down and keep silent, then continued. "I've been sitting on the family court bench for over thirty years. In all that time I've never seen a clearer case of a wealthy bully destroying the relationship between a father and his children. I don't understand why you would work so hard to remove this man from his children's lives. There in nothing in the record to show that he's been anything but an attentive, loving father who doesn't have the assets to compete with the two of you. I don't know why you've decided that he needs to be excised from the children's lives. It appears to me to be a pure power play, a way of saying 'We are doing this to you because we can, little man.' I'm revolted by your behaviors. If I had it in my power to do so, I'd transfer custody of these children to Mr. Harper immediately, for their own good. Unfortunately for them, I do not."

He then turned to the children. "The two of you are spoiled brats. You spent the entire time talking with me about what Michael provides you that your father doesn't. Every single word was about money or things. I didn't hear one word about love or relationships. You want to discard a father because of his financial status the way someone would discard a used tissue. You should be ashamed of yourselves, although I doubt you have any more capacity for shame in you than your stepfather and mother. Mark my words: Someday, you will have a husband or wife and children of your own. You'll be confronted with a situation that could lead to the loss of one or both of those. If you respond the way you did today, you'll lose everything you hold dear. For your sakes, I hope that never happens. But if it does, I want you to remember this day and what I'm telling you. Karma can be a real bitch. It is my prayer for the two of you that you one day recognize just how much you've hurt the man who loves you and fathered you and that you'll find it in your hearts to say I'm sorry and beg his forgiveness. And I hope he can find it in his heart to forgive you when that day comes."

Finally, he turned to me. "Mr. Harper," he said, "In my thirty plus years on this bench I've rarely seen a man hurt worse by what his children have done to him. That you have persisted in trying to have a relationship with them in spite of all they've done to destroy it is a credit to the kind of a good man you are. I cannot tell you how much it pains me to do what I have to do today. I hope you will understand that my hands are tied here. As much I hate what the law requires, I must do what it commands." With that, he turned to his court reporter and said, "Let's go back on the record."

"It is the order of this court that the petition of Doctor and Mrs. Jones is granted. Mr. Harper's parental rights are terminated as of this date. The petition of Doctor Jones to adopt Peter and Allison is granted. Although it was not requested by Mr. Harper, effective immediately, all child support obligations are eliminated. If there are any unpaid amounts, they are waived. Each party shall bear its own legal expenses." And with that, I lost my remaining family and was left bereft.

The blows just kept on coming. My father's two pack a day cigarette habit caught up with him, stage four lung cancer, and he was gone by summer. Mother, never strong physically, caught a particularly virulent strain of the flu and she died that autumn. Father Martin conducted both funerals. Neither Lilith nor my children attended either funeral.

For most of the time after Lilith had left, I had been working seventy hour weeks except for the weekends and two weeks in the summer when I'd had the kids. With the elimination of the child support obligation and the small amount I'd inherited from my parents, I was able to cut back to a more reasonable forty-five to fifty hour week schedule. Mortgage rates had also dropped significantly since I'd bought the house, so I refinanced the outstanding balance at a much lower rate, taking out some equity for upgrades to the house. Those two changes combined, plus the additional time the reduction in work hours provided, gave me the wherewithal to really put serious efforts into making the house the premier property in our little neighborhood. The neighbors soon began to notice. Most of the men in the neighborhood were young white collar guys, usually just starting out in their careers. They had few handyman skills and I became the go-to guy for recommendations and help. There were a handful of divorced women with kids in the neighborhood and I got regular calls from them when something didn't work or they had a problem. I also got regular offers of payment in the form of sex, all of which I refused. My Catholic upbringing made casual sex a problem in my mind, no matter how attractive the one making the offer, and I wasn't ready to try to form another relationship after Lilith and my children had gutted me emotionally.

And before I knew it, twelve years since the permanent loss of my children had passed and I found myself sitting in a Christmas Eve mass in St. Matthew's for the first time in two decades.

I must have been lost in thought for quite some time, for when I looked up after feeling a hand on my shoulder, I was alone in the sanctuary except for Father Martin and a young boy of about twelve who had been one of the altar boys for the mass. "Jacob Harper. It's been a very long time. It's good to see you. Have you come back to stay, or is this just a visit?"

"I think you know that answer to that, Father."

"I understand your anger and disappointment, Jacob. Holy mother church is sometimes not holy, a good parent, nor very Christian. We did you wrong, my son. It's eaten at me for over twenty years. I still find myself wrestling with the injustice of what the church did to you. Can you forgive us?"

"It wasn't you, Father. You did all you could to help me. What happened was the result of mammon overtaking holiness. You were on the side of the angels. You have nothing to apologize to me for. But I don't think I'm ready to come back to the church yet. I'm only here because this was the last of the Latin mass Christmas Eve services. I came to connect one last time with my family before this one remaining link to my past happiness is gone forever."

"I understand, Jacob. In your shoes, I think I would feel the same way. God bless you for coming, nonetheless. It's good to see you again."

Father Martin turned to the boy standing behind him. "Bobby, this is Jacob Harper. He grew up in this church, four generations of his family here at one point or another. Jacob, this is Bobby McDonald. He's been an altar boy here for two years."

The boy tentatively stuck out his hand to shake mine. Father Martin continued. "Jacob, after all you've been through, it's unfair of me to ask you a favor. But I will nevertheless. Bobby lives with his mother a few blocks from here. She was too sick to come to mass tonight, so he rode the bus. It's bitter cold out and the buses are running on the holiday schedule. Would you mind dropping him off at their apartment on you way home?"

For all my anger and disappointment in my faith, I'd always admired and respected Father Martin and I couldn't say no to him. "Grab your coat, Bobby. If you'll direct me, I'll see you get home."

"Thank you, Jacob. I hope we'll see you again here."

"Maybe, Father. But I make no promises." And with that, we said our goodnights and I walked Bobby to my car.

We pulled up in front of a dilapidated three-story house that had been converted into apartments sometime in the distant past. I walked Bobby to the front door and then told him I'd come up to make sure he got in OK. I also wanted to check to see if his mother might need anything from the all night pharmacy. This was not a neighborhood a woman should be walking about in the dark or in this weather, as cold as it was, and I thought she might need some sort of pain reliever or flu medicine. It was the least I could do for Father Martin, given all he'd done for me over the years.

Bobby opened the apartment door with his key and ran into the living room. Then I heard him scream "Momma!" It was a scream of terror, not one of greeting. I ran into the room behind him and saw a woman wrapped in a blanket and lying on a sofa. The blanket, the sofa and the floor were covered in blood. It looked as if she'd vomited blood repeatedly. My first thought was that she was dead, but I saw faint movements of the blanket indicating she was still breathing. My next thought was to call 911, but the city had cut back the staffing as a cost-saving measure, resulting in wait times of fifteen minutes or more to connect to an actual operator. With the holiday, the wait times would likely be longer because of holiday staffing. The city had also closed the two closest firehouse/ambulance stations to where we were standing, again as a cost saving measure. I might be looking at an hour or more before someone could come to take this woman to a hospital. So I made a decision that, in retrospect, changed my life.