I
n December 1995, I got on my knees and humbly asked Debbie to marry me again. After more than five years of separation, she said yes, and for a second time in my life she made me the happiest man on the planet. We plan to be married in the mountains of Wyoming, at Paint Rock Lodge. There we can stand on a rock and look out over a world we'd forgotten existed. There we can put aside all the loneliness and empty nights, and live as husband and wife. Ours has been a long and terrible ordeal, and it's time to rest and love again.
Debbie and I decided to discuss with the children everything that happened to me. Many of my decisions affected them in ways that they would have to deal with for the rest of their lives. Answering their questions would be the first step in the healing process. I'm not ashamed of what happened to me, but I had been out of their lives for over five years and they didn't know me anymore. When they did see me, I was in the hospital or just coming out of the ether. They had grown up without me.
I'd spent their childhood years in the pursuit of intangiblesâideas, beliefs, and ideals. I'd sacrificed being part of their growth so that I could continue in my work as a remote viewer, so that I could bring the gift out of hiding. I'll spend the rest of my life wondering whether I did the right thing. Did I have a choice? Why did I choose the path
that I did, and what were the lessons? And, most important: after the troubled life I gave my children, can they ever forgive me and love me again?
I used to proselytize to my children, trying to convince them that what I was suffering and making them suffer was for the good of humanity. I tried, in the early years, to make them understand that I was engaged in an assault on the bedrock of contemporary thought. While I cannot say that I'm sorry for the path I walked, I do regret the petty way in which I held their feelings and emotions at bay. I rationalized that children get over things quickly. But what I found is that children are profoundly affected by their parents' actions. My decisions, and the amount of time Debbie has had to spend keeping me together, indelibly marked the personalities of each of my children. I know they will replay these events again and again in their own nightmares.
I wish that as this phase of my life comes to a close I could look back and say that I did what destiny dictated, that I did what the angelâand, I think, Godâasked of me, that I followed through with a plan that was established long before I came into this world. Despite what I wish, this is what I believe: I have stolen something from my children; I have challenged them in areas no child should have to compete in; I have created scars where wounds should never have been inflicted. When I pass from this life, I will leave my children a complex and troubled legacy. Where and how they deal with those complexities is up to them, but I lament the fact that they will have to make choices about the memory of their father. I will always remember my parents as kind, wise, and loving; but I could only guess how my children would speak of and relive life with me. It was time to talk about everything.
Debbie and I brought the children together late one evening. I could see in their faces that the pain of the past had conditioned them to quickly throw up walls to protect themselves.
“Your mother and I wanted you to know that we intend
to work very hard at being a family again, and I have asked your mother to marry me again.”
“You were never divorced!” Mariah said flatly. “How can you get married again?”
“Well, we are going to renew our vows, which means there will be a small wedding, where we will commit to one another again in ceremony and in the presence of witnesses.” I glanced down, afraid to look into their eyes. “I guess what I mean is, I love your mom, I always have, and being apart from her and from you has been very painful for me. I want to be her husband again. I want to be your father again.”
Danielle's eyes began to water, but she wiped the tears away, refusing to let them fall and be noticed. Mariah swallowed hard; she, too, was fighting back the painful memories. Michael sat bent forward, his elbows on his knees, his fingers interlaced, his gaze fixed on the ground.
“We want to be married again,” I continued. “We want you to be there with us, to see us recommit to each other and to you.”
“Mom doesn't need to recommit to us!” Michael said. “She's always been here for us.” A tear dropped from his eye. “You're the only one who left. You're the one who thought remote viewing and all that other crap was more important than us. You're the one who tried to leave us forever. What do you want from us now?”
His pain and the truth of his words stung. Mariah's body shook with sobs. Danielle ran to her mother and embraced her as if to say, “Protect me.” Debbie hugged her little daughter, combing her hair with her fingers and whispering comforting words. She rocked her gently to calm her, and wept quietly as I tried to find words to bridge the gap I'd made between myself and my family.
I wiped tears from my face and struggled to speak with some degree of composure. “I know that I've caused a great deal of pain in our family.” I took a deep breath and tried to focus on my words. “I cannot recreate time and relive the decisions of the past. If I had known what damage
I would do by making the decisions I did, I would not have made them. But even so, I should have known what I was doing to all of us. I did what I thought I was supposed to be doing. I looked deep inside myself and thought I was doing what God wanted me to do. I have to believe that I was. I brought a very valuable thing out of hiding, and I thought I was the only one paying a price for doing that. I was foolish and selfish to think so. I should have let you all know what was happening. I should have done then what I'm doing now, and let you all decide whether to support me or not. As it turned out, I made all the decisions without you. I was wrong.”
“You were very wrong!” Mariah sobbed. “When we were little we knew you were a soldier. We understood why you were gone, and we always knew you'd come back to us unless you died. We knew you loved us, but we didn't know that when you left us five years ago. Sure you came home once in a while, for a Christmas visit, or you called us now and thenâbut you weren't our dad anymore, you were somebody else!”
“You were a stranger in our lives,” Michael agreed, still not looking at me. “You came and went, you tried to be our friend or you tried to tell us what to do; but”âhe laughed sarcasticallyâ“the way we looked at it was like, Who the hell is this guy to walk in here for five days a year and try to make a difference? I mean, you were our dad, but you were no different than some guy who lived down the street. I got more out of my coaches than I ever got out of you!” He sobbed, looking at me now, his eyes filled with love and pain and sorrow. “You abandoned us for something we couldn't even see! If you'd left Mom for another woman, we might have been able to cope with that, but what you left us for was invisible. We couldn't see your angel! We didn't know what went on in the nightmares! We didn't share your interest in the ether or whatever you call it. We were hurt! And we had nothing in front of us to be angry at, only a memory of what our dad used to be like.” He wiped the tears from his cheeks, shaking his head
in disbelief. “Do you know what it was like for me to come to Fort Bragg and see you starving yourself? Or how about being told by the doctor that my father tried to kill himself? Did your father ever do that to you?” He looked painfully into my eyes. “Well, did he?”
“No, my father never put me through anything like what I put you guys through. My father would have made the right choices. I hope that you won't make the wrong choices with your families because of me.”
“Believe me,” Mariah said, “I won't
ever
do to my children and husband what you did to us. I know how much it hurts to see your dad fall apart. I'll never forget that. I never want my children to feel like the world has come to an end, like they want to die because their father wants to die.”
Debbie kissed Danielle on the cheek and turned her around to face me as she spoke. “This is the children's time to speak, so I'll make one point here and then I'll bow out. You and your father have to talk about what has happened. All of you need to settle this and come to some closure.” She stopped to gather her thoughts. “I want to try and explain why I think your dad tried to take his life. You have to understand that the army was giving Dad drugs that changed the way he thought. They were supposed to make the angel go away so that your father wouldn't talk about him anymore. The drugs were very powerful and poisonous; they distorted how he saw things and how he processed what he saw. The doctors tried to take his mind way, and the army tried to take his career away. Under the influence of the drugs, he thought that his life was over.”
“I felt that I had been condemned to death already,” I said. “In my mind, there was nothing left for me here. Everything I loved had been stripped away from me; my family, my life in the army, my pride, my reputation, my future, my ability to provide for all of you. I felt I had nothing left to give anyone. Everywhere I turned, more horrors awaited. Friends turned on me; people lied about me; people who should have defended me and my family turned
their backs to protect their own careers. It was as if someone had opened the floodgates to a dam, and I was chained in the spillway. I was overwhelmed, and overcome, and I wanted to end it! Thank God for you and your mother; you all gave me strength and hope and courage.
“I remember your mother coming to me in the hospital and saying, âThey can take everything away from you except your integrity and your family. If it is all gone tomorrow, everything you believed in, we'll still be here, and we'll still love you and you will still have your integrity and the principles you based your decision on.' When she said that, it turned a light on in my cold and dark mind. I started to see through the fog of the drugs and the pain of the events, and I realized that it didn't matter what the army did or what the doctors tried to do. All that mattered was us, our family.
“I did what I believe the angel wanted me to do. I acted on principle and in the name of all humanity to bring remote viewing out of hiding, because I believe it can do wonderful things for all of us if it's used properly. I did so alone, and that's where I made the mistake. I didn't believe that you and your mother were capable of standing by me; I didn't believe that you shared my dream and my hopes, and I sacrificed you to them. I was wrong, and I know it.” I began weeping openly, unable to control the anguish and remorse. “All I can do now is ask for your forgiveness, for a second chance at being a father, and for your blessing on what your mother and I are proposing to do, to renew our vows. I make no excuses anymore; you're part of me and I will never forsake you again. I can't bear the thought that we won't be a family again. I can't complete my contribution to this life without you by my side, testifying with me about what we endured. I am strong only when I am with all of you. I am weak without you. I am lost without you. I am nothing without you.”
Mariah stood slowly and walked to me. She held my head, caressing it as if I were a child. Michael and Danielle
embraced me and each other, and Debbie joyfully joined in.
“We are a part of you,” Michael said, finding words an eighteen-year-old should never have to say. “We will all heal in time. We know that you did what you thought was right. And, just like Grandpa Bosch says, âWhen you believe in something enough, you just have to reach through the flames and get it.' You reached through more than flames to do what you believed in, and I know we all respect that. In a way we're proud of what you did. What happened to you was cheap and heartless, and we'll all remember it. I'm not ashamed of your actions!”
“Me either,” Mariah said.
“I'm not ashamed of you, Dad,” Danielle said, kissing me on the cheek and wiping tears from her face and mine.
“Thank you,” I said, choking. “Thank you for believing in me and what I meant to do. So you'll all be eating cake at the wedding?”
“Do I get to be the best man?” Michael asked, grinning tearfully.
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A few months before Debbie accepted my marriage proposal, I had the unique opportunity to begin working on one of my new careers: I participated in the Mikhail Gorbachev Foundation's first annual State of the World Forum. I sat in the presence of men like George Bush, Mr. Gorbachev, Zbigniew Brzezinski, Senator Alan Cranston, and the prime ministers of Japan and of Canada. An eclectic group of world leaders, spiritualists, scientists, authors, and peacemakers gathered for five days to produce some answers that would give hope and direction to the “new world order.” At one of the many round-table discussions on the future of humanity, I discussed nonlethal weaponsâwhich as I mentioned earlier, had become one of my passions in the waning years of my military service. I was humbled to be in the presence of these great men and women, and I pray that I will one day have the benefit of their company again.
After the conference ended I began writing. Reliving my experiences was traumatic but cleansing. For every ten horrible and negative things, I always came upon some small sliver of hopeâfor instance, a note someone had passed to me when things were most painful. It was good to reread the encouraging words of my colleagues. One colonel apologized for the way in which I was treated by the military and by certain individuals. To know that he was professionally and personally embarrassed offered me new strength and encouraged me to keep writing when depression began to take root once again. And one colonel, who is now a brigadier general, wrote, “This too shall pass!” Only now do I realize how those words helped me get through my troubles.