A recurring theme in many of these postcards from my children is the refrain "please come visit" or "when can you come visit?"
When I left Utah in 1994, with Amy so hostile towards my efforts to see the kids before the divorce was finalized, I just said 'to hell with it' and vowed never to come back to Utah or North Dakota again. I didn't like the ecclesiastical authorities I had to deal with; I didn't like the way Amy's family was treating me; and I especially loathed the lawyers who represented Amy and me. In fact, I came to despise my lawyer so much that I can no longer remember what he looks like or what his name is. Amy's lawyer, a women, brought in a sack of letters I had mailed to the kids since Amy had left with them to go live on a farm provided by her sister Kathy -- the lawyer said this was proof of harassment. I nearly choked up my heart at that.
I did return to Utah, however; twenty - two years later, when my good friend Gove Allen rescued me from a homeless shelter in Virginia and flew me out to Provo to live with him and his family until I got back on my feet. God bless him for that amazing act of kindness.
Most of my kids were living in Utah county at the time I came back. It's taken a long long time to break the curse of estrangement that is primarily my fault.
And now the new coronavirus has put all physical contact between us on hold for who knows how long.
DRAT!
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