Sharing

I've made a mistake somewhere. Not a mistake in action, but a mistake in lack of action.

I chose to come here, to write out my thoughts and feelings, to explore what's happening to me while things are happening to my friend. There's a funny little voice in the back of my mind that likes to tell me I'm going to write a book about this someday. A book for the family and friends of someone who is going to prison, to help them prepare, to help them work through their feelings. I'm going to write the sort of book that I was unable to find. Maybe, maybe not, that's not the point. It's just a funny little voice.

This does seem to be helping. When I have a new thought, I can come and write it out. I've posted something every day since I started, but it may not always be so. There are just enough thoughts to fill everyday so far. In two months, there may not be. In three, there may be enough for several times a day. In five, it may turn into just when I can write to or visit him. I don't know. I don't really want to think that Monty might be out of sight and out of mind after September.

In any event, posting here is not the mistake. It helps, I really feel it does. Over the past week, though, I've been feeling very alone. I feel like I have no one to talk to. A face to face conversation is very different than even the fairest group of faceless blog followers (and I do appreciate all of you who take even a moment to share this journey with me). I don't know anyone who has walked this path before me. I don't know if my friends would understand now.

It's a mistake of my own making, of course. And I've talked to a few people a little bit here and there. I've considered talking to others but haven't done so. Part of it is that everything about this is so complicated, it's hard to discuss. It's hard to talk about even when I have the ability to backspace. I'm not sure I could get anything even remotely coherent in speech. Another part is that I don't cry much, and if I do, I avoid doing so in front of others. But if I'm speaking, I'll be emotional, and I will cry. I've done so while typing just because it's impossible to not feel the weight of this as I'm writing about it. It's monumental that I'm even admitting to that. Thankfully, I've also recently had a cold that's in the lingering cough stage, so I can easily blame my phlegm. (It's ok to laugh or "eww," as you like.)

Admittedly, that's a silly reason to not talk to someone if I need to, but it is what it is.

It's all about support. I think I'm struggling to support Monty, because the situation has brought up so many conflicting feelings within me. I think that means I need support from somewhere too. I don't want to expect that from Monty, he has enough to worry about and I don't know if it would really be beneficial to either of us if we are who each of us turn to. My side of things is very different than his as it is. I need something else, something outside. That's why I came here, even if it's proving to not quite be enough.

Eventually, I'm going to break, and I'm going to need someone.

On that note, and not as a substitute for the conversation I'm eventually going to need more than I need it now, if you, gentle readers, feel compelled to comment, feel free to do so (I won't be offended if it's anonymous). If I don't like what you have to say, I don't have to publish it. Ha! (I'm kidding there, kind of.)

This came about rather suddenly, really. It was earlier last week, when I was thinking about going to the sentencing in September and the going away party (which will be about the same time). I found myself wishing there was someone who would come with me, which made me realize it'd be nice to have a confidant too.

I know several of you are probably wondering why I don't just ask someone, even given my aforementioned reasons. Another is that I don't feel it's entirely right to burden someone else with helping me with my issues. Everyone I know has many things on their respective plates. Everyone has their own things to deal with. It wouldn't be right to trouble them with me.

It's a little like something that was said during my CIA interview a couple years ago. They were talking about if we got a job that required a cover. They said we would have to be very careful about who we told, because those people would have to keep our secret and our cover too. They said that not everyone would be up for it and told stories of more than a few agents who broke cover with someone they cared about, and that someone experienced much agony over wishing they were not part of the secret. It would be wrong of us to force that burden on them, to make that decision for them. I don't know if any of my friends would be willing to share that burden with me, and it would be wrong of me to choose for them and find I was wrong in my choice.

That Feeling

It's a feeling of being trapped. I want to do what's right, but I'm not clear on what that is. I should be, and sometimes I am, but mostly, I'm not.

Right now, I know it is the right thing to stay by my friend. I recognize that he needs a friend he can count on. I see that those people are few for him now. Right now, I think it's right. I think I would be wrong if I abandoned him now, not without some new information, some reason, to do so. If I just did it, it would not be right.

But, there are times when I think it might be wrong to show my friend I support him. This very moment is not one of those times, so it's hard to elaborate on that now. There are times when I feel like I shouldn't still be his friend, because he did do something wrong, something awful, and he deserves to pay the penalty for that. It would not be unreasonable if part of that penalty was losing my trust. It didn't happen that way.

I have no intention of leaving my friend to deal with this turn of his life on his own, even though I'm facing feelings of guilt in either direction. Sometimes, I feel guilty of not caring about the victims, and I show I don't care by not severing ties with my friend. But I do care, I care more than many people would, even more than the people who don't consider Monty a friend anymore for what he did. But, if I stepped away now, I'd feel guilty about abandoning Monty when he needed me and the comfort that our friendship provides. I couldn't do that to him now.

The truth, really, is that I can't do right by everyone. I can only do my best. It is impossible to please everyone. At this point, it means more to stand by my friend. It doesn't take away my feelings of guilt for not standing by the innocent strangers, but it is what makes me want to help my friend through this time. My friendship is not bestowed lightly. That is what I can hold on to, that's where my obligations are.

It wouldn't be a paradox if it was a simple thing.

The Presence of Guilt

I've come to a realization. The conflicted and complex feelings I have about the matter that I discussed earler are stirring in me feelings of guilt.

I mentioned that I would be guiltless if I cut Monty from my life. I would be. Many people would consider his crime unforgivable. If I clung to that, I would have no remorse for removing myself from the situation.

It is not removing myself that is causing guilt.

Logically, there's no reason for it. I committed no crime. Usually, standing by one's friends is a favorable action. But doing it is making me guilty. Sometimes I feel I shouldn't be doing it. I should join the ranks of those who say it is unforgivable. It might make the people who were hurt, who are not involved in any of this anymore, feel better. Is a victim comforted by knowing that others stand with them and not with the offender?

It's a false sense of reparation, I know this. Good people can forgive something otherwise unforgivable. Maybe these people are good people and forgive where others may not. I don't know. I'll never know. If they are, I'm further doing them a disservice by not forgiving. But, if they're not the forgiving sort, my disservice is that I am.

I know full well that I'm putting a lot of focus on the victims. I can relate to them. And I love my fellow people, even when I think many of them are idiots, so I can't not think about them. They are nameless, faceless, to me. They always will be. But they are real.

The guilt that I feel stems from feeling like I owe them. Why do I feel that way? Why do I feel I owe these nameless, faceless victims who don't know Monty and will never know me?

I understand this fact is probably very hard to understand, dear readers. How can a serious crime be committed against someone who was never face to face with the offender and does not even know who is involved? I cannot clarify this, but it is true, it is the way it is.

I wonder if it would be better if I could face them, if I could tell them I was sorry for them, that I understood their pain probably better than anyone. Would they be able to understand why I stand by my friend despite his faults? Then there's the paradox that I'm not even sure why I do.

There's more to it now. If I decided to have nothing further to do with Monty when all of this began, I would be guiltless. If he gave me more details that changed my perception of the reality of the situation, causing me to cut ties with him and move on, I would be guiltless. If I just did it now, if I just changed my mind, I would not be guiltless. There's guilt wherever I turn.

The Gift

Monty and I enjoy scary movies. Scary monster movies, (some) slasher movies, alien invader movies, zombie apocalypse movies, dark entities possessing people movies, devil children thrown into wells movies. Actually, that one has a scary story all its own.

Somewhat early on in our movies madness, we decided that we need a house. A certain kind of house, that is fortified against attack and provisioned and all of that. But, this house also has a special switch. It was a switch (which evolved into a voice command as well as an actual switch) that would turn on every light in the house, everywhere. The only exception is under one bed, so the cats have a place to hide because they like dark places. Otherwise, when the switch is activated, there are no dark places anywhere.

This dream house stems from our movie hobby, and one innocent-like child proclaiming "they mostly come out at night...mostly." We're ok with things going bump in the night, you see, but we're not going to let them mess with our days! So, the switch creates day by turning on all the lights. Get it?

Only a couple years into the life of his first son, Monty had a dream about this house. He relayed that dream to me and I asked if he would let me write a story based on it. He agreed. That was years ago. Like, seven or so.

I kept it on the back burner, constantly in the "one day, I will get to this" category of things to do. I don't know what clicked that made me actually do it, but I finished that story last month. For Monty's birthday present, I hand-wrote it in a journal with an apropos cover. I decided to mail it to him. It was after his birthday (he knew it would be a late gift because I was still working on it) and I wanted him to have it before I saw him next, because if I handed it to him when I saw him next, I'd want him to read it, and he'd likely put it down for later.

He called me on Saturday, though I didn't get a chance to speak with him, to say it had arrived, that he had read it twice, and that "it is among the best presents I've ever gotten." We did get to talk on Sunday. We discussed the story, the details that I added, the details of his dream that he had forgotten, and the understory - the things that were not stated and not even expressly implied, but somehow were known. He repeated that he had already read through it several times in the twenty-four hours it had been in his possession and told me he had parts memorized. It made me feel good, particularly when he told me it was clearly a labor of love. That's really what it was.

He said he wanted to find a way to bring it with him. They may not allow it, but he wants to find a way. I don't know if that's why I needed to finish the story now, before he goes. Maybe a part of me was hoping that our crazy little dream would help him through. Maybe it will. If they don't allow the journal (I'd almost be afraid something would happen to it) maybe I'll be able to send him a print out.

I was only slightly worried about this gift. You probably have experienced, gentle blog readers, how you can work hard on something, for someone, and find it unappreciated or underappreciated. I worried that he may not be as pleased with it as I was. Or, maybe it would not be as special as I was trying to make it. I had no reason to fear, really. It's essentially one big inside joke, and I'm glad we have it. This is very likely the last special, thoughtful birthday present that I will be able to give him until he's back in the free air. I'm glad I was able to share that with my friend.

The Plea

Monty went to the courthouse on Monday to officially enter his guilty plea. He told me little about it, saying that exactly what it means was still sinking in. What it means is that the barred cell is imminent.

He did say that his lawyer made sure it was on record that he completely complied with the conditions of his earlier arrangement: keeping his doctor appointments, staying in the house at all other times, that kind of thing.

His sentencing date is September 25th. As far as I know, that's the day when he will learn how long he will be in prison, to which facility he will go, and when it will begin. The beginning may very well be that day. He's asked me to be there.

I want to be there for him. His last act before becoming a convicted felon will be walking into that courthouse. It won't be a trial, the act of officially entering his guilty plea on Monday waves his right to a trial by jury. This means I'm not going to hear the evidence against him, I'm not going to get any of the details that I'm currently lacking. I'm perfectly fine with this. Besides, he already told me he would answer if I asked. I will likely hear the specific charges that were brought against him, just as a matter of course for the record, as well as the important part - how long he will be gone.

I have already requested and been granted that day off of work. I will be there. This is part of my not knowing what to expect, but I will learn.

There are moments when September, about four months from now, seems pretty far away. There are moments when it seems like no time at all. The reality, that four months left reality, hasn't quite sunk in. When I talked to Monty on the phone, he said it hadn't yet done so for him either. It's hard to say when it will, if it will ever.

Monty also wants to have a going away party. I may not be able to attend that, depending on when it is. He told me the house will be full of people I don't know and some I don't entirely get along with (i.e. ex-wife number 2). He knows I don't like crowds very much. In this instance, I really don't. Maybe I'm being selfish, knowing that the time that we do have to spend together watching scary movies and trading unbelievably rotten puns is very limited. I just feel like I show him support better when I'm not just another one of the crowd. Of course, he's not sure exactly how much of a crowd it will be, depending on who will actually come. I told him I couldn't promise the entirety of the party, but I would do my best to be there. I will try.

My Quandary

I fear the complexity of my feelings on the matter cannot be conveyed accurately. Every time I settle to think about it and where I am, I end up all over with no coherent thoughts. This conflict is important to explore, however, as I think it is important for anyone in a situation like mine, torn between deep senses of loyalty and justice. And, it is one of the main reasons why I started writing here. I will try to clarify an otherwise impossibly complex jumble of thoughts and emotions.

There are many sides to this. I will start with two, the two main ones. More will come up, this I can promise.

The first face of this is my friendship with a man I have known for more than a decade. He was always there when I needed him. He would pay for our outings if I couldn't, he would pick me up and do the driving if I had no ride, he sometimes would not take no for an answer. Even if he did something to upset me and I would distance myself from him, he would always make contact again. Our friendship was something that was important to him. I could tell, because he worked on it even when I was too busy for it. He came over one day to bury my dead fish when I couldn't bring myself to do it. You may know the joke "friends help you move, real friends help you move bodies." It was a fish body, but he did, and he didn't hold that silliness against me. He helped me move too, the only one of my friends who did. He made the time to do so.

I think I only recently realized just how good of a friend he is. Maybe it came to light in the possibility of actually losing that, as there is no telling what being in prison will do to him.

He was always there with his advice and expertise, like when I tried (and failed) to buy a home. He's been helping me as I got my ducks in a row to open my Etsy store. He's an intelligent guy with a good business sense and a mind for math and finance that I've never seen matched. And, I have known him to always be willing to help, if it was with mindless movie entertainment or knowledgeable advice, or even to offer an opinion where there was no expertise. There were times when he let me down, but he always was my friend.

Enter the crime. I've described it as horrid. That's not an accurate enough word, I'm not sure there is one. It could have been worse, that's true, but what he did was pretty bad. It's not a felony for idle reasons.

It has caused other people to remove him from their lives. It hurt innocent people, not directly by him, but they were hurt nonetheless. And these victims, no one deserves to be hurt that way. Ever. I am strong and certain in my opinion of this. If this conviction caused me to remove him from my life as others have done, I would be guiltless about it.

But I can't. I think of him as my friend, still. Even under house arrest, he is still the dependable, reliable friend that he has always been to me. His crime did not directly hurt me, or anyone I know. It didn't directly hurt anyone, really, though people were hurt in the process of it and as a result of it.

Here is the main face of the problem. I honor my friend by remembering and holding on to the part of him that he always presented to me. Reliable. Dependable. Friend. But, in doing so, am I dishonoring the people who were hurt? Am I ignoring that there were victims in all of this, and their pain is real, and likely still going on though my friend is out of the picture now? Justice is in the fiber of my being, and yet here I am, conflicted between duty to my friend and amazing sympathy for people who I have never met, who my friend has never met, who were wronged.

Does my friend deserve this compassion, this loyalty, from me? Don't the victims, too, deserve some kind of acknowledgment, some kind of recompense for what they suffered? Does it make me a bad person for not offering that? Even though they will never know, I will.

I have been a victim myself, on a similar level. The level that I hint at that would make his crime worse if that is what he had done, in fact. It is personal to me. He didn't cross that line, I know this, but if he did, it would be as if he had done it to me. Someone did once. I can't help but feel a kind of kinship to the unnamed people who were hurt. There were no amends for me then. These people deserve what I didn't get. Of that mind, too, I am strong and certain.

I don't know if I am right in staying by my friend or if I am further wronging those who were wronged by doing so. That is the discordance within me.

The End Game

A week ago yesterday, Monty turned 30. Sometime this morning, he went or will go to the court house to officially enter his plea. The one that will start the end, that will trade the cuff around his ankle for a barred, barren, shit-smelling room. It will surround him not with understanding in-laws and the occasional visits from the friends who remain, but with other criminals who will test him, try to intimidate him, or worse.

It will be the beginning of the end. Even so, he's still not expecting to actually go to prison until September or October. When he told me that it was time to enter his plea, he told me he was frightened. Of course, who wouldn't be. Truly, no amount of preparing can really prepare someone for this prospect, to go from being an accused felon (albeit, a guilty one) to a convicted one.

I don't really know if I had any comfort for him. I told him he had done all he could to prepare, there was nothing more to do. Worrying about it won't help either. This flood will come with or without it. He did all he could. He made his plan, he's ready to learn the hierarchy of the environment he will be in, he's counting on people on the outside to help him as they will. There are still those of us who want him to come out in a decade or so mostly intact.

He told me that day that he appreciated that he was able to speak with me candidly about this. He said he sometimes worried about how much he could tell me, and that he's trying to expect little of me once he is there, so he won't be a burden on me. While I've never been to jail, someone told me once that a holding cell smelled like an ass. I relayed this to Monty, who laughed. In laughter, I repeated, my informant said it was like crawling into an anal sphincter. We supposed the nose will adjust to it eventually. As serious as the topic of going to jail is, and as nauseating as the prospect of its smell is, it still lightened the conversation a little. It told him that his candor was equally appreciated.

It was during that conversation when I realized that I do want to help see him through this time in his life. I am willing to write a letter of character to the judge. I am willing to send him care packages, books, and letters. Depending on the logistics of where he is sent, I am even willing to visit. This last bit surprised even me. It was also this conversation that prompted me to look for books, like the one he has to help him prepare, and found nothing. I'm not used to finding nothing, I can find anything if it's out there to be found. By the way, gentle blog readers, if you know of such a book, that was written to help someone deal with and prepare for a family member or friend going to prison, please let me know. All of this will be a learn-as-I-go kind of thing, otherwise.

But, if I do visit him, I'll be able to relate first-hand if the place really does smell like an ass.