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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-25878917186139940682018-04-01T00:59:54.963-07:00Saying What Needs To Be SaidHere is my corner of the universe. For those of you that are perfect strangers, welcome. For those of you that know me, here is more of me. Hopefully you will get to know me better through this. I intend to be very honest in my blogging. The good with the bad. You will see me rant, but you will also read about peace, love, comedy and even some boring things. Enjoy!Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-23356920782540195722017-03-26T18:43:00.000-07:002017-03-26T18:43:01.588-07:00You Can't Go Back

I took my kids to Lagoon today so we get all the bang-for-the-buck we can out of season passports.

Lagoon was at least a yearly adventure with my family and then more as a teenager. All those awkward teenage years in the closet trying to fit in, avoiding standing out.

The thought does cross my mind from time to time about what life could be like if I could go back in time to being a teenager with all the knowledge I have today. I wonder what life would have been like out of the closet at an earlier age. I wonder the financial and career mistakes I could have avoided.

It isn't perfect to be a part-time dad but a full time bank. It isn't perfect to be working on goals I see 20-somethings already passed. It isn't perfect to see how splintered my siblings and mother have become. It isn't perfect to be divorced and have failed at love a few more times beyond that.

I looked to the ride operators and the optimism they seem to possess. I see the flirtations between their co-workers. I see the few who seem to be less concerned about what people see their sexual orientation might. I see the life that stand on their horizon with their shared optimism at what it could posses.

So my mind wandered and those thoughts of going back came back; but, you can't. And, I wouldn't. That last thought is still hard to fully believe, but I did really contemplate it today as I stood in line waiting for another thrill.

Yes, life has had more failings than I would have dreamed of as a teen. However, those failings have also made me who I am today. Not perfect, but satisfied with the imperfection.

I looked at the man I stood with and wondered if I could have gotten this lucky. I thought "I could go live life, have fun, and then just show up in his life at the exact moment I did in this life."

I would be a different person. It is quite possible he may not like the person I had become with all this forward thinking. A relationship that has become a positive in my life might have simply never happened.

Despite the shortfalls, life has been overall good. Sure, I do still wish some things could be changed, but I can't, and I wouldn't at the risk that the great parts I do have may not exist.

It was a thought process that brought me back full circle. Content with life and all the wins and losses it contained, even if it meant I was standing in line (with my youngest & pretending to not be afraid of heights) for the roller coaster from hell.

I survived that too...and it was worth it.

Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-46735887316505071862015-03-16T19:54:00.001-07:002015-03-16T19:54:34.616-07:00FearThis is the 1st draft, raw, and unedited. Unfortunately I'm out of time to do any proofreading at the moment. Forgive me for the grammatical errors.

I will begin this blog with a disclaimer: I am far too often guilty of what I am about write about. Been there, done that, paid dearly for the T-shirt. The 2nd disclaimer is that this may be a bit more vague than my prior postings. This is a cathartic writing for me and in time it may become less and less vague as situations change. This is also not necessarily chronological with the rest of my blog, or it could be. I'm taking liberties here that I have not done as much of in the past. It isn't done disingenuously or without it's own purpose.

He was simply beautiful. Even at this point I can't look back and see anything I could flaw. Well, perhaps fear, but that is it. I write this from a place of love. Love I still have. Love is messy and skewed. My writings are only the assumptions my heart tells me feel right.

I could relate to his logic and I saw glimpses of myself in his assuredness and determination. Sure, I have determination today, but it is different. Back then I was determined to overcome and not be something that was constantly in the back of my mind. My determination was built on fear. Fear of being nothing, and even a fear of being something. For those like me who are driven, we all to often attribute fear in life as an action of being or doing nothing. In many ways I feel the true fear is that we will become more than we can imagine. It sounds counter intuitive, but the fear of realizing our dreams is real. It comes from the depths of self-doubt.

While it was only a mere few weeks, it was weeks filled with life among the mundane of adulthood. We could quickly dismiss it as twitterpation and "too fast, too soon, too deep." I understand. From an outside perspective I would probably say the same. I need to change that. I need to urge caution, but be more willing to celebrate the beauty of love.

Again, there were no flaws I could see, only my own ever-present self-doubts. Even as those self-doubts rose, they didn't have the same weight I had given them before. I had begun compiling a list of what I had been doing wrong in finding the wrong guys. This occurred while in the midst of a current relationship reaching it's demise. I had always gone for someone opposite of me. I guess there was such a lack of value in my own attributes that I wanted to find someone who didn't have the "weaknesses" I perceived I owned. I looked at men who had entered my life and who I should have let stay, but didn't. They would have treated me like a prince as I would do in return, but for some reason timing was always wrong or I was attached to the wrong man. Regardless, a list began writing in my mind.

And there he was. In front of me. Timing wasn't perfect, but it was better than it had ever been before and I was not going to miss this chance. Honesty was important to me. My ending relationship was not completed and would have strings attached for some time. There were no emotional strings, just the complications that arise from adult interdependence in a relationship. Sure, that threw up some red flags, but didn't seem an immediate deal breaker.

Then there was his moment of honesty. The moment of fear. I had heard it hundreds of times throughout my time working with other men coming out. I don't discount the viability of bisexuality in the least. It does exist. For those who have established a pattern of true bisexuality I appreciate there preferences in life. As for many, the claim isn't tested. Go for it. Give it a try. Try bi-curiosity on for a day, week, a month. Do it for the purpose of self-discovery.

Never do it out of fear.

I had a previously planned trip that interrupted the quick attachment I had to this soul. I left on a high note, happy for the long-needed trip, but also anticipating the return to him. The logic in me, and mostly the fear in me, tried for the week to find flaws, find other attachments, I even visited with one of those aforementioned friends that possessed and played a part in formulating that "need list" in my mind. He was the one taken this time and I was happy for this friend. I was still seeing no flaws.

I hesitate on over emphasizing perfection. Sure, this man I was seeing worked too hard sometimes and set goals too high. He was human, but "perfect" in my years was meaning less about drawing within the lines as much as creating beauty regardless of the lines. His self-observed imperfections only made him a better man to me. I will say that it is important to be realistic about some flaws. As I had previously thrown my heart at a man who had flaws/tastes that simply made love inhabitable, I did watch for those. It is possible for some things to be a true deal breaker.

Did I expect an easy life where there would be no hurdles? No, but, as just stated, there were no inherent flaws that created conditions incompatible with love.

Upon my return things had changed. I could sense it. Distance hadn't been good for this budding romance. Fear had colonized during my brief absence. I had tested fear as well in the distance, but I had returned more determined than ever to see what fruit might be born.

I was taken back somewhat by his fear. He hadn't had the religious upbringing that condemned same-sex love. He had family and friends that supported and loved him. I am still a bit perplexed, but, the only hypothesis is that even with this support and lack of religious interference, he was still subjected to the cultural ideology that men were better off with woman. Somehow masculinity wasn't truly achieved until a woman had given herself up to a man.

I recognized this fear. It was me the first 28 years of life. Some perplexing differences existed that still confuse me. He had explored being gay and dabbled in heterosexual dating. I married my wife without the benefit of prior exploration of my homosexuality. I would simply have not married her if I had. It wouldn't have been easy, but I think I may have stayed outside the closet door had I allowed such dating and other experience to take place. Regardless, I saw this fear in him and hoped the colony would die before it killed the bud.

Those weeks had been wonderful. It didn't feel faked or rehearsed. It didn't feel like an experiment. Yes, we talked often of being cautious. I wasn't renting a uhaul anytime soon, but I was committed to see it through to one end or another.

I was caught off guard to find the bud surrounded by an army of fear. Fear of the unknown was real for him. Maybe he could finally go all the way with a woman and find he likes it. Maybe being "normal" would make him happy. Maybe. As a card-carrying member of that school of thought I can attest that it doesn't work. Not when it has to be so mentally rehearsed. Sure, sex was feasible, and even enjoyable, as a heterosexually married man. The cracks in the veneer were tiny and easy to overlook. Change happened slowly and though those cracks grew, they were slow enough to be easy enough to dismiss....until they weren't. At that point it was too late. It was either then a choice to lose my soul in the name of normalcy. Maybe I could have faked another 30 years as noble. I've seen men try. I have never seen a man succeed. Inevitably not only is your soul nearly trampled to death, but everyone who has touched that relationship is affected by the slow decay. This must stop.

I welcome sexual experimentation and soul searching. I don't welcome fear. Fear is dangerous. Fear is a poor motivator. Fear is lack of ethics, disguised as logic.

He needed to cut the bud before it could grow further. Fear of being hurt was real, but with love it always is. Even those happily married 50 years know that love isn't a guarantee. It is the road you choose. Sometimes you stop to rest, sometimes you get a flat, but it doesn't spoil the journey. There was the fear of not being "normal." There was the usual over-thought concern lingering. He never said it, but he didn't need to. He demanded perfection of himself and being gay wasn't perfect. Again, self-induced hazing I had endured on my way to join the club I am now a lifer in.

That fear is a lot, but it isn't the deal breaker. The true fear, I feel, is the fear of happiness. This fear transcends all ages, genders, sexual orientations, cultures, histories, etc. We fear happiness. I was happy and I sensed he was too. That happiness was too much. Logic can't compute these emotions. Love and happiness mess up a perfectly planned life. So we allow fear to set up house and keep us from being happy. What do we do with happiness? We far too often don't see happiness written on the path and instead manufacture destinations and milestones necessary to be happy. We even accept that Disneyland is the "happiest place on earth." Vacations are a way to escape the path labeled mundane and take a rest stop at happiness. We fail to see that mundane isn't a reality, but a chosen viewpoint. We don't want to accept the responsibility that happiness is under our own feet. It is easier to accept that we can't be happy unless we save up enough mundane to cash it in at some brief pit stop on the road of life.

Stop it. I mean that mostly rhetorically, but I feel I don't stand alone in the fog of mundane accepted.

I know the draw to be "normal" is powerful. I know that accepting happiness as a path vs a milestone is difficult. I know I lost this soul to the fear that happiness might look different than planned, even if it felt better than planned.

I couldn't put life on hold while fear ruled this man's path. I couldn't accept mundane . I had to adjust my view and work to clear the polluted thoughts that covered the path I was walking. I didn't shut the door. Until there was another man to shut it for me, all I could do is hope that he caught a glimpse of the sparkle on the path. If he did and he saw me there, I would join him.

I saw him as the imperfectly perfect companion on the road of a happy life. I hoped it would be me should that day come. I hoped he wouldn't have to endure the rough shortcuts I had attempted. I hoped a better life for him. Even if he doesn't see the path with me, I hope he will with someone. I hope he stops fearing happiness and sees that he is worth it.

Maybe it was just a fleeting moment of life. He breathed life in me when I was feeling beaten on the path. This song makes me think of him. I hope he sees the beauty I do someday.

Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-30221139570131558502014-09-11T23:07:00.000-07:002015-02-23T11:24:26.602-08:00Goodbye GrandmaIt goes without saying that it has been far too long since my last cathartic moments of writing a few willingly read. There is definitely a need to write more, but time always seems so limiting. After moving back to SLC it has become ever apparent that I need to return to some of the basics after the adventure of the last two years chasing love.

Time is still limited so this will be a no frills post. No multimedia, videos, pictures, just words on a page about two lives that intersected across two different generations.

Just shy of 95 years Grandma Visser passed on. For those who have read the past or know me personally, you know I am not a religious man anymore. I choose a more humanistic approach to life. I believe that we have this life to lead and we should live it to the fullest. Enjoy each moment. That is easier said than done. Yet, we should push for it. As I work in a less-than-fulfilling job I see the need to change. I join the ranks who believe you should do what you love. Hopefully the groundwork I am preparing is the foundation of my pursuit of the ideal. I see what challenges my grandmother faced and I am grateful for the example of endurance and perseverance.

Back to the issue of religion, not directly, but as it influenced the happenings of today. Grandma has been preparing to die for years. It isn't that she had no interest in living or decidedly did not live, it is that she was ready for the day she hoped leave behind the trials of this life. She was a convert to the LDS church and I believe she had Christian-based faith. I do think she hoped for peace in death, whether she bought the whole eternal life concept or believed otherwise, I cannot fully attest.

She was the product of the Great Depression. When she owned her own home she lived frugally. She enjoyed a great garden, good food, proper kitchen tools, and comfortable furnishings. She didn't live extravagantly. She often commented on the waste of modern society. She used, re-used, and re-purposed anything she could. Who needed Tupperware when there were perfectly good empty sour cream containers? She re-purposed pots, wire hangers, and all sort of things. It wasn't hoarding and she kept a spotless house, but she also didn't just throw things out or buy stuff just to have stuff.

She had a flashlight from my grandfather that she kept for 40 years. She saw no sense in new-fangled LED lights. Many have told me I need to just get rid of my dad's truck. Its old, needs some dents fixed, is out of style, and lacking shiny "curb appeal." Aside from the sentimental value, I simply see no reason to replace something or waste a perfectly good working truck. This is one of the great lessons passed on to me by generations. The truck, like the flashlight worked and there was no reason to fix something that wasn't broken. In her later years she also practiced such ideology with people, especially me.

I dreaded the events of today. My ex-wife had voiced her plans to meddle and attend all family events surrounding the funeral. Boundaries and respect seem to be lacking. Then, of course, there would be my family. Family is a loose term these days. With the few conversations I had with Grandma while away in Tijuana/California, it was obvious I was as necessary to my family as a smoke detector in a smoker's lounge. She had been told that I was in Texas or wherever. With her failing memory I didn't blame her for being confused at my correction and the families misguided gossip of what I was doing. I knew today would be a day where my family would put on the great, fake Mormon smile that my mom had perfected and show superficial interest in my life. It would either be that or simply pretending I wasn't in the room. I have given up the Mormon smile with my family. I wasn't there to fight, but I was not there to divulge details of my life there otherwise had no interest in. I had no reason to actively add to the gossip. Yes, it is cathartic to vent, even if it all seems negative. I had wondered if I might have just had a bad attitude in the past, but, as with the last several times Iv'e attempted re-join the family, I was once again reminded of how unnecessary and how unhealthy that could be.

We followed the usual Mormon menu of funerals. Prayers, sacred metaphors, etc.

The funeral began and my brother-in-law conducted. He read the obituary that was well written, when I read it online. He read the survivors names and their spouses as husband or wife. When it came to my name he apparently forgot how to say husband when it came to Endhi's name. "Partner" was all he could muster. It was only the pronounced, public reassurance that I didn't fit with these people, regardless of how biologically connected we might be. I had been asked to be a pall bearer, but that is all they could risk. There would be no other form of participation for this "black sheep." I wasn't shocked. I was to be seen and not heard. I showed up for the funeral out of respect for my grandma and her alone. I knew the service would hold little for me in the words said or the rites done.

I heard the words uttered, but I took the time to also hold my own private service. I took time to internally reflect on the life of the lady I called grandma. We didn't always see eye to eye and I steered very clear of engaging in any political discussion. When she needed say her peace I just let her before trying to re-direct to a recipe or memory of her life. In my teenage years and young adult life we butted heads on various family topics. She had her moments of bitterness and I had my moments of inherited bull-headedness. I heard my brother and sister sugar coat aspects of her life. I heard claims a life lived without complaints or showing weakness. It was a lie. I had heard occasionally of her suffering. There were times that she cried.

So what? Big deal? Why have we become a society where showing no emotion, unless it is happiness (real or otherwise), is the only thing acceptable? What courage is there in hiding the reality that life isn't always easy? Why is it admirable that someone not show humanity when enduring or remembering tough times in life? Unfortunately Mormon culture is all to often the culture of "smile like you mean it (and take Prozac if you don't)." It doesn't address the here and now because in some unknown future Jesus will make it all OK. Screw that idea. Live for the here and now. Sure, don't wallow in sorrows forever, but feel the pain, and the triumph, in life. Seize the day!

My grandmother survived her husband and all 3 of her children, not by mere years, but decades. She was widowed far longer than married. Life was lonely and rough. And she didn't just grin and bare it. She worked hard and was engaged in life. She made the most of what she had. She didn't let go until she was ready to. She was a stubborn, opinionated, sometimes prejudiced, sometimes bitter, tough old bird. And then there were the other times, more recently in the years closer to her death.

There were the quiet moments where she expressed how she saw no reason to love me differently even if she didn't quite grasp it all. Moments of surprise when she took my first boyfriend aside and said "be good to my grandson." And the talk about 2 years ago when I asked her directly about whether she knew of any other gay people in the Visser or Oliger line. She didn't, but it led to a frank discussion on her views. They were surprisingly progressive. They were views of love and desire for my happiness. They were everything I had hoped to hear, but didn't expect. The icing on the cake during this unexpectedly honest and frank discussion between two very different generations was the re-assurance that her son, my father, wouldn't have loved me any different had he known before his death. There was her admittance that she had no idea where my brothers and sisters had gotten the idea that their behavior was acceptable. We both agreed that Dad simply would not have stood for it.

She was my unexpected ally and only connection remaining with my family. I imagine funerals will be about the only time I see them. Sure, I wish that they would have reacted differently. I miss the times that were good. Today was a reminder that those times had passed and now may not ever return. Even with the memories of better family times, I accept life as it is and choose not to subject myself to future brow beatings at other family events. I have more self worth than that. I have my grandmother's example of courage and hard work to push me forward.

While there was much public display of sorrows and memories tinted with the overarching Mormon theme, I had those quiet moments to mourn and feel the pain of losing a woman I loved and respected. I lingered a bit longer at the graveside. After my family had left it was time to bring a close to the formal mourning as I broke down spontaneously in my husband's arms. There is a necessary cleansing that happens with tears. Genuine tears, not the public displays for sympathy, but the deep release within your soul, shoulder shuddering type of tears.

I will miss her. I will miss the hours and hours of conversations, many times repeating the same stories. I will miss talking to her about food and some new recipe I tried. I will miss hearing her say "I love you" and know it held no preconditions or social expectations. I will miss the connection to my father that she represented.

I'm not sure I have fully accepted it. It will take time. I have already had moments today when I thought of something I would share with her next time we talked. While not unexpected, it is strange to think of her being gone. At nearly 95 she has just simply always been there. She was a pillar in everyday life, even if we didn't talk often enough.

I will hold dear the memories, good and bad, of life with Grandma. I will work to honor the example of frugality and hard work she gave me. I will celebrate the peace I feel she has found in a life well lived and a passing accepted.Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-88181572600977568232014-02-03T17:08:00.002-08:002014-02-03T17:11:34.668-08:00Today Is The DayA little under 4.5 hours from now we, Endhi and I, will be standing at a counter together at the US Embassy in Jakarta seeking final approval of his fiance visa. Excitement is all I am filled with. It feels like it is finally our chance.

I've thought this morning how historic this moment really is. 10 years ago I doubt there was much hope that couples like Endhi and I would ever have the chance at equality. I am indebted to those who forged ahead before us that never saw the opportunity we have been given.

Even a month ago I didn't think I would be able to be here today. I was preparing paperwork and wrothe the letter written below as a supplement. Luckily I was able to be here today. Today is ours.

The letter I began writing (still in draft form) for Endhi to take with him:

"Its hard to believe the day has come that someone at a US embassy would read a letter such as this and have the legal ability to unite a couple such as Battiyono's and I. It is even more amazing to me that I have met a man like Endhi and our day has finally arrived to ask that our family be united in our own pursuit of happiness as was fought for so many years ago. There is a range of emotions as I think of the day this letter will be presented.

While the journey for us has been a trial of endurance, I can't help but think of the generations of couples and individuals before us that have fought and endured so that this day might finally come for us. I think of all those before that have been denied the opportunity of "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." I would be truly ungrateful if those who fought before me didn't cross my mind. Endhi and I are truly lucky that we have seen equality come so far in our lifetime.

I grew up in a world where inequality was still a force in our culture. I've tasted the bitterness of feeling the need to conform to social and religious norms. I followed the path set out for me by others who felt it was the only way. For last 6 years I have chosen to forge my own way through life following my heart. It has been a path seeking forgiveness for the mistakes of the past. A path learning forgive myself as well; learning not only to accept who I am, but also to love who I am. Its been a path that has taught me much about what is important in life and what is important in love. It has also taught me that love isn't a final stopping point; it is a companion you choose on the road of life. It is something that gives and takes, but even when taking true love somehow is still giving.

By divine intervention or simple luck we found each other. Endhi and I have chosen each other to walk the road of life with. There will be hills and valleys, rough roads and smooth sailing. It will always be together. I love this man beyond the explanation of words. He has brought a peace and happiness beyond what I believed was possible in this life. As our time difference, and signal strength on his island, allowed we have talked over Skype. I love to hear his voice, but simply seeing this man brings a smile to my face and calms the stress our distance causes. The time differences has caused there to be some days where "good morning" and "good night, sweet dreams" have been the only conversations we have been able to have. We anxiously await the approaching day where the distance from work to home is all that separates us.

I write this letter to supplement all the other papers sent. Unfortunately I won't be able to be in Jakarta as he interviews. I had hoped to be there, but with plane tickets to buy and a trip to Seattle to marry in an equality state, it is better we keep savings in tact for anything unexpected. My sons are anxious to get to Disneyland as promised once Endhi can join us.

As far as specifics of getting married, we will within the 90 days from entering the US. We are looking at late March or April in Seattle where I have friends that will celebrate reaching this landmark on our journey together. We do intend to move back to Salt Lake once jobs are secured. Endhi has been unofficially offered a job once he is in Utah and has his legal permits to work. After 2 years of working to be together, we are excited to start building our life together.

The process of waiting for equality and being spread across three countries has been a challenge for my family. I truly hope that this final interview and visa issuance will happen quickly so there is no more time spent apart.

Trying to sum up our love in a letter is an impossible task. There is no way to put into words the gentleness and peace I feel as I look into his eyes or hold his hand. There is a joy that comes from hearing him talk with my sons. There is a comfort knowing he is mine and I am his. There is a peace that comes from knowing my sons will grow up seeing an example of what love is and should be. There is so much we look forward to.

I love this man completely and he loves me. I urge you to take this application very seriously and finally allow my family the chance to be together in one place."

Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-59091460806383000362014-01-31T10:59:00.001-08:002014-01-31T11:00:52.367-08:00Arms

After 14 hours flying I was finally tired enough to fall asleep on the middle leg of my journey. I woke up with an ache in my arms. Not a physical ailment but a longing. I woke to this ache realizing it would soon be over. Soon I would have the man I love within arms grasp. Over the past 20 months since first meeting Endhi this ache has been an ongoing part of my life.

It hasn't been merely an ache in my arms as I look at the empty pillow in my bed. Its been a heartache when simply driving and looking at the empty passenger seat; imagining him sitting there even if it was just a grocery run.

There were many times I would imagine him there. So many holidays and family events I would picture him with us laughing. I would picture his addictive smile. There were so many moments I wish he was sharing with my family; OUR family. As I woke on the plane tonight there was another moment of pain in my arms. If only he could be seated next to me.....soon. Soon these moments apart will be just a brief chapter in the story of our life together.

I look out the window at the black of the night. Only the light on the wing and a few dots off in the distance break through the darkness. I sit and reflect on the road that includes this 3rd trip to SE Asia. I'm grateful its dark as I fight back a combination of tears. Tears of missing him, tears of joy that our days apart are drawing to a close, tears of excitement as I picture my family finally all together and whole, and finally tears of relief. Seeing the lights of Singapore as we approached hit me powerfully. I was finally really close to him. Finally in the same time zone. I've not visited Singapore other than as a transfer hub. Last time was to a ferry to go to an island to meet a man that captured my full attention. Now it is the place I transfer through on my way to claim my equality and bring him home.

I've reflected a lot recently as you might imagine. What a journey. Job changes, multiple visa attempts, embassy visits, marriage equality, Mexico and one more plane ride; hopefully my last alone.

Hopefully these are the last few hours away from the man I am so lucky to have love me.

Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com Airport Singapore, null1.35144 103.98509tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-83031717060336441052014-01-15T17:58:00.000-08:002014-01-15T18:06:46.781-08:00Thoughts On Obstacles In Happiness

"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends."

Martin Luther King, Jr.

It is hard living in another country and not telling at least part of the story when people on either side of the border ask what brought me to Tijuana. Those who will continue to be a part of my life, either here or Utah, generally get some explanation while those only in passing are given a simple and ambiguous reason("work" or "family"). It isn't a story that truly can be summed up in a paragraph, let alone one blog post. There will be others, hopefully soon, on love and Tijuana.

Even for those who get a longer explanation tend to look at me quizzically. "Quizzically", that's a nice way of putting it. Most look at me in unbelief as they wonder why I haven't given up. Many have said that after a month or two or a one visa rejection, they would have given up.<o:p></o:p>

There are those who continue on and then call me crazy or "too trusting" or ridiculous. Unfortunately there are those who also call me a deadbeat or misguided father, a deserter, etc.<o:p></o:p>

It has been an interesting and sometimes personally painful path. I related some of these feelings recently on a separate post that can be found here. People I once considered friends have disappeared. Others who were only acquaintances have chosen to chime in on gossip or ignorant judgement.I get it, sort of. I had become fairly cynical myself before meeting Endhi. Hopefully I haven pushed others as hard as some have with me.<o:p></o:p>

"How could I love someone so quickly? Why would I sacrifice so much for someone? Why not find someone closer to home? What about your kids? What about you?"<o:p></o:p>

My answer to most of the "why" questions is simply "why not?"<o:p></o:p>

I don't write this blog in hopes of changing anyone's mind or attempting to justify or explain my actions. I have had to learn in a rather painful fashion that my choices are mine. My life is mine. My happiness is mine. Who I am or how I live isn't up for a vote. It is not a choose-your-own-adventure life for others to select my path and it simply can't be lived based on what others think.<o:p></o:p>

After being verbally assaulted as a deadbeat dad, fool, dreamer, etc. I took a moment, a very, very brief moment and visualized living life according to the polling numbers and outspoken opinions shared with me. It wasn't a life I wanted and it wouldn't have made me happy. After leaving 28 years of Mormonism & feelings of guilt for simply loving other men, I have had to unlearn the need for approval of others; the need to check in with those who had "authority" over my life and worthiness. This experience has tested how well I have unlearned the need for outside validation.<o:p></o:p>

As I was reading the facebook posts berating my choices and life there was a reaction in me to immediately try to explain it all andvalidate the choices I made. However, something amazing happened. I realized that I simply didn't care. These weren't people directly impacted by my choices. They weren't even really close friends. I shut down the PR department in my head that was busily writing explanations and rebuttals. I stopped wasting energy worrying what others thought. I knew what I wanted in life and I knew I was making the right choices for myself and family. Did it still sting, of course, but not like it might have before.<o:p></o:p>

I share my thoughts, not as a justification, but hopefully more as a perspective for others. Maybe something I write will click with others like me who have felt the pressure to conform to a society over-filled with selfish views on life and love. Maybe someone will see that their opinion is their own and isn't necessary to be shared and pushed on others where there is no personal impact or danger. <o:p></o:p>

There have been some rough bumps on this road; bumps that have come from every angle. Evaluating and re-evaluating friendships has been an unexpected part of this journey. To be honest, were it not for my sons, I would feel less inclined to return to Utah after this experience. I know it's a feeling that covers over some good friendships I have. I do sometimes wonder what life in Utah will hold as my soon-to-be-husband return and begin life. I think for now it will be a little quieter. For now it will be about making a home and a life. While I have a passion for being involved with the GLBTQ community and the coming out process, I may just take that on a case-by-case basis. I say that now…but don't make any bets on that just yet. <o:p></o:p>

We interview in Jakarta for his fiancé visa in 15 days. It's really hitting me now that my Tijuana adventure is coming to a close. I drove through the part of town where I first landed. It was slightly nostalgic. Not because I loved it there, but because I remember the scared little boy who moved to Tijuana blindly. I remembered the challenges of a foreign land that first few weeks. As I drove through this time there was no fear. I saw life and a different culture. There was a sense of accomplishment that I had lived through those fears and the unknown. A new confidence in myself was seen in those reflected memories. I feel optimistic that this visa will work. It is our time and it seems like the sun is finally rising on a new chapter in life. <o:p></o:p>

Would I recommend this path to anyone else? For the path's sake, no. For love? Absolutely. As you have seen samples above, I have had plenty of bad with the good. Am I more cynical about friendship? Maybe. There is some bitter taste from those I once thought at least allied with me. There is some hesitation in moving to Utah and having these people inevitably in touch with one part of my life or another. We are a smaller community after all. There is no sense in worry about that now. That is a road we will travel later.<o:p></o:p>

I have met some great people here in Tijuana. I don't think it is necessarily geography, but maybe it is a little. There are parts of this culture I greatly admire. All in all, I think it is more about me than anything. More about separating lines of those that are acquaintances and those who are friends; letting those who lift you up stay close and others move to arms length.<o:p></o:p>

It is much more than just who you choose to surround yourself with. It is about self-assuredness; knowing what you are made of. Life shouldn't be lived alone on an island, but it is good to know a few days on a deserted island won't kill you.<o:p></o:p>

There are still opinions awash about my choices. Still those who find it necessary to vote or hop on a bandwagon about other's lives. There will be more said to me as I return to Utah. But I have learned to believe in myself. Hopefully I have learned more patience and willingness to hope for others who do seemingly crazy things. So to those dreamers and those faced with challenges on the path of your own personal happiness. Push on. Don't give up. Follow your heart. Take control of your life. We truly are the largest obstacle to our happiness.<o:p></o:p>

A favorite quote I have held on to for years.

Robert Kennedy:<o:p></o:p>

 "Some men see things as they are and say, why; I dream things that never were and say, why not."<o:p></o:p>

So I simply say "why not?"<o:p></o:p>
Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-25891729112072232542013-11-24T13:14:00.001-08:002013-11-27T16:05:30.457-08:00The Road to Home
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Click here to help us finally be together

Welcome to my personal blog. I know there are a few that have seen this before, but there a few new visitors from facebook and the link shared on the video above.

For those few that have been so kind to read, share, and interact on this blog, I haven't blogged as much lately due to the journey I have been on over the past 2 years.

Life has presented me with many amazing experiences and even more challenges. Life has also given me love. I consider myself incredibly lucky to have met a man like Endhi. I feel even more lucky to have him love me back. Those close to me in my personal life know more of this journey and why I have been so absent in my regular activities. The video above summarizes part of those reasons.

I have learned so much about what the true definition of home is over the past 6 years. Home isn't 4 walls and a roof. It isn't a place decoarted with fancy things. In fact, home isn't a thing at all. It isn't contained in some brick and mortar. Home is truly where your heart is.

After coming out I lost the home I thought I had. That home was really more an itemized list of things I was told I was supposed to have. A life, a marriage, a religion, a belief system, a family that was required to return to some "home" after death. While there was love in that red-brick house, it wasn't what home should feel like. It wasn't a place of true harmony. Yes, a few notes matched up here and there, but there was no song.

Through the struggles of post-divorce life, that pile of red bricks was sold (my "Place of Refuge" post). I moved to another 4 poles and a roof. It was far smaller with fewer things and less privacy, but my sons and our love made it a home. I had resigned to the fact that life may only consist of my sons and I. It was enough. They brought me joy, happiness, pride, and humility. If they were all I ever had, life would be good.

Being a single dad has its challenges. It also has many amazing moments where life feels it couldn't be much sweeter. However, I did retain a little hope that there might be a man somewhere that could love me, and I him. Another heart to share the challenges and sweet moments in life with. As post-divorce, single-dad life goes, there are far too many moments that I don't see my sons; far too many moments when my heart and home are gone from me, and my house. There was a hope that there might be a place in someone else's heart to share those moments with too. A heart to spend the rest of life with; someone where home could reside more than just every-other weekend and random nights in between.

Despite my growing cynicism on the subject of love (yes, I believed in love, but for others, not for myself), I put a wedge in the closing door to my heart and tried again. Often disappointed, sometimes giddy, but mostly still skeptical. And then there was that night at work. That profile on the "Scruff" app that drew me in. He was gorgeous and way out of my league, but he was 10,000 miles so rejection wouldn't be so hard when he ignored me. Nervously I said hello and moved on to chatting with a few others. There would be no reason this handsome man would give my profile more than even just a quick glance.

My self-doubt was proved wrong. He did reply! Shocked, I double checked my profile to ensure that there was, in fact, a photograph of myself posted. I had to make sure he actually saw who he was talking too. There was a picture of myself posted. Surely he must be blind then.

And so we talked a little bit. I was still in shock he was even interested in chatting. I didn't want to bore him, so I would chat with him a little, and then stop. I would let a week or two pass before I would chat with him again. Then only for a little bit, then stop, and repeat the cycle. I knew he had to have many others interested in him. I was sure if we talked at length right away he would be bored with me. This continued for months.

I then made plans to finally leave the borders of the US and visit someplace in the world. After making friends with someone in Malaysia, I chose Kuala Lumpur as the first place I would go to see the world. I had no plans to meet Endhi in Indonesia. I still wasn't totally convinced that he was real. There was still doubts that this profile I chatted with contained real pictures of him. I still doubted that there existed such a handsome man that was also nice to talk to....and willing to talk to a guy like me.

I looked into flights to meet him. He was only 250 miles from me. I was inexplicably drawn to him. Flights looked too expensive, so I apologized to him and said I wanted to meet but it was out of my budget. He was disappointed, but understood. (Even as I type this, my heart stops and is paigned a bit as I think I may have actually passed up this chance). I told him the cost and he suggested there was a cheaper way.

I looked at the route he suggested. It fit my budget. I requested he send me a candid photo. Somewhere in public or something. I was still skeptical that he was really who he claimed to be. He sent it. More than satisfied I booked the flight and took the chance. Best. Decision. Ever.

After a train ride, bus ride, plane flight, subway, taxi, and ferry boat I was finally on his island. I really hoped he was real. I went through immigration and then through the doors....there he was. Pinch me! He was cute!

This was Indonesia and a customarily religious town of working class people. There was no hug. I think we shook hands. We could not show any outward sign of who we were or why we might be meeting. However, motorcycles are the method of transportation there and it gave me an excuse to hold on to him. And I didn't pass that chance up. My hands fit on the sides of his stomach perfectly.

Yes, as two single adults attracted to each other do, there were moments of fun had. It wasn't that part that grabbed my attention. No, it was the sense of peace I felt by just being near him. Being in the same room with him holding his hand cracked open a space in my heart I had long buried. I must have locked that part of my heart away as a child when I realized I was different than other guys and would never, no should never, have what I desired in love. Endhi's gentle eyes and peace held the key long thought destroyed.

This wasn't twitterpation. I had felt twitterpated before. I had felt giddy when other cute boys had given me momentary attention when dating. This was not that feeling. Yes, there was physical attraction, but Endhi is inexplicably more. As the dreamer I am, I had pictures in my head of what a wedding day may look like. I am standing across from whoever the man might be. Both is tuxes, setting unknown. Interestingly, as I had placed other potential partners, dates, suitors in that dream, they hadn't quite fit. I never paid too much attention to it. It was only a dream. As I pictured Endhi there, he was it. He was the face that I saw. The eyes I would gaze into as we publicly committed to a life filled with love, courage, and happiness.

He was the one who felt like home.

As I write this in Tijuana, Mexico today, half of my heart, half of home, resides with my sons back in Utah. The other half sleeps this hour in Indonesia.

I'll save other details for another post sometime. Since that trip we have been on a journey. One filled with challenges, pain, disappointment, courage, peace, sacrifice, and love. It has been the hardest thing I have ever done. We have had to dig deeper for courage and commitment then either of us have ever had to.

After finally being allowed federal equality, we have filed our petition for a fiance visa and it has gone through the one of the longest steps. We now await the embassy receiving our approved petition and awaiting the final interview and approval.

We are close to finalizing the chapter in our lives and look forward to the other side of the page filled with new challenges and more love.

However, we need to pass through this interview in Jakarta in order for him to finally enter the US so we can marry and turn the page to the next chapter. We are hoping he can interview early December. We might be able to all be together for Christmas!

The success of this interview will be exponentially improved if I, the US citizen requesting it, am able to attend with him. This post is different from others.

I am asking readers for help. The journey has been drained our finances. There simply isn't enough left for me to buy a plane ticket to attend the interview and then for us to get back to Utah to my sons.

If you are able to help, please follow the link at the top and add a donation. I have no gimmick or trinket to offer in return for your donation. I only have my sincerest gratitude on behalf of my family for your willingness to support our love. Please also take a moment to share our story. While the world can be cynical, I do believe there are enough out there who hope for happy endings and can help us get closer to bringing my heart home. At the very least, maybe our story will make the world a little less skeptical of love.

The road to home isn't a physical place for me anymore. It isn't a bunch of things or 4 walls. It is wherever my heart is. It is time for family to be safely together at last.

Thank you.

Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-40754311979316853952013-11-22T21:19:00.000-08:002013-11-22T21:19:19.656-08:00The ChecklistRecently I received another well-intentioned friend sharing his opinion on the amount of sacrifice this journey to be with who I love has cost. I have heard it from many friends, well-intentioned or not. While I would not allow it to alter the course of following my heart, I was hurt and a little angry. I took a few minutes silently by this friend offering his opinion and jotted out a note on my phone. It appears below (with minor changes for clarification, grammatics, and spelling, though it still may not be perfect) Years ago you may have asked me what I wanted in a significant other and I may have given you a list. My list today is far simpler than it was before. I hope I have learned far more about valuing love as love and not as a checklist. The text from that day follows:

"I never asked for a knight in shining armor, never to marry rich, never for a model. All I asked was for a chance at love. Not "like," not content, not worthwhile, but love.

 Love isn't about a fancy wedding or an amazing honeymoon. It isn't just about flowers or notes, or kisses at the end of the night.

It's also about shoulders, and tissues; all life throws at you. It is about risks.....and rewards. And sometimes, to others, the rewards may not look worth the risk.

On my journey to be with the man I love I have been ever so surprised at how cynical we are. Sure, everyone loves a fairytale ending but only in the movies. In real life you pick up the slipper and throw it in the trash or mock the girl for not paying attention, you look at the dragon guarding the castle and think, nah, not for this girl. If that damn girl can't bother waking up to praise me while I slay the dragon, its not worth it. What if this spell doesn't make her perfect? What if she needs to take long naps daily? Nope, not for me. Too much time, too much effort.

Nah, in real life we like watching movies about struggles, we devour books about hopeless love in vampire fantasies. But, should our friends or loved ones find someone imperfect or a situation requiring sacrifice, we pounce. We call it stupid, or blinded, or impossible. Maybe its deep seeded jealousy, or pain, or laziness. Who knows? But we love to see love fail in real life. We love to say I told you so. We love to not believe in love that isn't simple or easy. I used to be that cynic. Today I choose love. I love to believe in love. I love the look, the laughter, and the struggle of love.

I am not the man I was 18 months ago. I've learned that love should be celebrated and encouraged. I've learned that love is already hard enough between two people. It doesn't need more obstacles. It isn't a diamond in the rough needing pressure to make it look more beautiful.

I've learned that shiny armor is merely sign that they aren't ready to go to battle. They aren't ready to fight for love. Keep your shining armor away, I'll take the man battle-worn. I'll take the man beaten and bruised and willing for more. I'll take the man imperfect who understands the beauty in that."

Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-38803029947992198182013-11-03T09:48:00.002-08:002013-11-03T09:48:55.331-08:00November(s)I prefer the sunshine over falling leaves, but November sticks out from the other cold months as a time filled with good memories. A year ago I was somewhere in the air over the Pacific hoping to find some way to close the geographic gap that ocean put between us. I quickly found that it was not geography but ideology and my own "free" country that created the gap. It truly has been the most trying year of my life so far. The safety nets have been sacrificed and many times there seemed nothing between myself and the ground. I have watched many friends become fair-weather. Watched as family and trusted ones take advantage or seized the opportunity to ridicule my mistakes. I have been lucky to have a few old and some new become safe places of encouragement. I have heard most who hear our story tell me I'm nuts, but we push forward. Sometimes the pressure has seemed too much and we've had our moments where we thought of calling it quits, but I've come to realize that peace doesn't come from following the road others pick for you. I've challenged myself to not let outside influences and opinions cast shadows where none truly exist. There would be no peace if I simply gave up on myself, gave up on us. Though there have been and continue to be rough roads, I have learned so much about myself. While there have been many tears, loads of stress, sleepless nights, and heartbreak, I have also learned more about who I am and found strength I didn't believe existed. I have learned what value life has and what little value "things" have. November is amongst my favorite months. When I was younger I looked forward to having the family gather on a simple holiday. One filled with gratitude and nothing else to detract from it. Food and family made for a great day. It has been 6 years since that day was celebrated with the family I was given. I do miss the days when I thought I was accepted. Unfortunate that who I love would get in the way of continuing to be loved by them. I have no idea what that day holds for me this year, but I am truly looking forward to celebrating this day next year with 1 man and two little men who mean the world to me. I imagine that day may be my favorite so far. Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-88243376973726366972013-06-25T11:40:00.001-07:002013-06-25T11:41:16.300-07:00To The Mother-in-law I May Never Meet
A little background:

First, the video above is the song I danced with my mother to on my wedding day to my ex-wife. The memory is just that, it is what I once hoped my mom felt, but her actions (or lack thereof) since I have come out are speaking louder that the feelings in this song. I hope to show my sons that the sentiments of this song ring true to them from me.

2nd, as the day gets closer that Endhi and I will hopefully finally under the same roof, I think more and more about the sacrifice we are making. There will be 800+ miles between my sons and I and there will be 8000+ miles between he and his family. He is a little camera shy and that carries over to him taking pictures of his family. Traveling back and forth to Indonesia won't be simple until we get some immigration things handled. I've talked to him about the importance of having pictures of his family and what it will mean to him when he is far away from them. In the hopes that we get the chance to be dads together, I know it will also mean a lot to our kids.

His family knows nothing of his sexual orientation or about me. I wish that were different, but until the world changes further there will still be many like us that will face having hidden families and loved ones.

We joke about him saying "hi" to his mom for me. Maybe one day I will do that in person, but maybe not.

So here is what I wish I could tell her:

To The Mother Of The Man I Love:

You don't know me and probably have not even heard about me, at least not the complete "me." Oceans separate us, but sadly culture and society keep us further apart. I am a bigger part of your life than you may ever know. You may never want to know either. I am your son's friend, partner, confidant, and beau. I am the person he sneaks out to the porch to Skype with, the one he is texting, the one he loves. That last one is still sometimes unbelievable to me "he loves me." I am truly a lucky man.

Your son and I aren't so different in many ways. We may have grown up calling "God" by a different name. We may have worn different clothes styles, liked different food, played different sports, and had different dreams. There may be a whole list of differences. Despite those differences, we share a common bond. You see we have both lived most of our lives hiding; fearing those we loved would not love us back if they only knew...if they only knew that deep, dark secret we've tried to cover up with so many layers. While each of us had a god by a different name, the same unfortunate beliefs were taught to us starting at the youngest of ages. We were taught we were somehow unclean, marked by the devil, mentally perverted, soul-less, and so much more. No, we weren't told this every day, but just enough that we believed and soon began telling this to ourselves every day, every minute. We would tell ourselves until we were convinced the dream of loving who we wanted would never be real.

There is a hope that you don't hold such a belief. There is a hope that you see your son as I do. I see a man that has come through so much adversity. More adversity than you will know. I see a man that has sacrificed his time, energy, health and even his very life to care for and protect his family; to provide food, shelter, and more to those he loves. When he and I finally met in his hometown a year ago (something you undoubtedly knew nothing about) we talked of living together, of starting our life together. There was one condition, one obligation, one gift he felt he must give before being together would be an option. That one condition wasn't to have a nice car, go to a good college, wear expensive watches or jewelry. The condition he gave had nothing to do with him, but had everything to do with the good man he is. He would not leave his hometown until he had provided his parents with a home of their very own. I felt depths of emotions on that trip I never knew existed. Seeing the kindness, devotion, and concern as he told me this condition only made me love him more. Your son truly cares for you, your husband, and your family. I hope you realize that. I have assured him that together we would work hard to ensure that he can keep that promise to himself. We will make sure the house you call home stays that way.

I told my family I was gay 5 1/2 years ago. It was scary. I was right to be afraid. 5 1/2 years later they are only family in name, they have otherwise distanced themselves from me. For my protection and emotional health I have let that distance grow. There is a few texts a year from my own mother saying she loves me. Other than my birthday, I know I am merely on a text list with the rest of my family seeing the same message. It is hard to accept it as real love when it is only in the form of a text. I dreamed one day that I would find a man that loved me. I also hoped I might be lucky enough to find a man who's family would accept us and celebrate our love with us. Unfortunately that second wish may never be a reality, regardless I love him and want to spend the rest of my days with him.

I say "may never be a reality" because we don't really know. Your son isn't exactly sure how you would react. He isn't sure that he would be accepted for who he is. He isn't sure whether your love for him would stronger than the religion you have taught him. For him it isn't clear if he would still be invited to family parties. It isn't known whether he would be allowed to have the conversations with his dad that he loves or help at the restaurant. He isn't sure his uncles would let him hang out with them anymore. He adores his father and you.

He tells you about some job opportunity in the US or Mexico because he fears telling you the truth about the happiness and love he has found. I wish I could say he was living in too much fear and that he should tell you. After seeing what my family has done in unexpectedly in disappearing from my life, I can't assure him that he would experience anything differently. I do see the amazing man you raised. I could only hope that he represents who you are. I could only hope that you would embrace your son and who he is despite your cultural beliefs. I wish I could meet the people that have been an integral part of his life since his birth. I wish I could thank you in person for bringing this beautiful soul into this world. I would cherish the chance to laugh, cry, and celebrate life with your family.

The day may never come that you know my name or my gender. You will most likely hear pieces of your son's life after he leaves his hometown, but you may never see the whole picture. You may never read this letter. I hope you will someday.

Your son brightens my every day. The calm strength I feel from him brings me a peace I can't explain. His smile makes even the toughest day better. The way his eyes light up when he laughs make my heart melt. Tears form when I see him run his finger over the screen of his phone as we Skype just hoping he could touch me. I look forward to the day I can hold him.

I hope one day you will be able to hear about your sons life in its entirety. I wish you will be able to join us in celebrating our life together. Whether your son and I raise my sons together or we are fortunate to add more to our family I would love to share that life with you.

His decision to start a life with me hasn't been simple. We have been through a lot trying to close the gap of 8000 miles between us. We are both sacrificing to be together. He didn't make this choice without thought. As much as he cares for and loves you, he deserves happiness too. I believe you desire happiness for him too. I hope you will see that this brings him happiness.

I know I may be asking much to have you look past what your culture has told you about gay men and relationships. I ask that you will.

I promise to care for your son. I promise to love him, even in tough times. I promise to fight to keep our love strong. I will be there on days he smiles without cares. I will be there on days of pain or ill health. I promise to treat him as my equal partner. I promise to listen to him. I will cherish the love we have. We will celebrate life together and all it has to offer. I have found a great man and will care for him throughout our days in this life. I am not perfect and there will be times I will need his patience, understanding, and forgiveness. I will work hard to keep those days rare.

I truly feel like the luckiest man. Thank you for caring for him for these last 32 years. I take the chance to care for him for the next 32+ years seriously. I want to make him smile every day. I love your son.

If the day comes that I can meet you I will be grateful for the chance to look you in the eyes and thank you for the man I will grow old with.

I wish you happiness and peace.

With gratitude,

Your Son's PartnerBridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-54617224817601355612013-03-29T21:03:00.001-07:002013-03-29T21:17:46.081-07:00More Than A Day With CakeThis post was spurred by a facebook post from the wife of my oldest nephew. It has been a week where marriage equality has crossed the lips of so many Americans despite which side of the debate their words were on. Her post as follows:

LDS Newroom Video

Click Link AT Right For Link To Video

I agree with Erin, the news conference was kindly worded. At least more so than the LDS church had done before. I recall being handed church material as a young man that stated it would have been better I not been born than be a gay man or that it was OK to hit someone of the same gender if they flirted or showed interest in you. I recall being afraid to come out because the gay community was just a bunch or predatory, sex-occupied, soul-less creatures that were miserable minions of Satan. So, yes, it doesn't take much to be more kindly worded than that.

A common sentiment shared by the above post is that there is still somehow a belief of being respectful even while subjecting the "respected" group to live a subordinate or second-class life. "Your love isn't equal to my love...no disrespect" just doesn't hold water.

There isn't anger in my next words. Truly it is bewilderment and even some pain. I am a little surprised to read my niece-in-laws views and "compassionate" opinions regarding who I am and who I love. Not so long ago my niece and nephew felt similar "compassionate" opinions on their love. My nephew married her outside of a temple sealing after returning home early for a mission. For those not LDS, a Mormon mission and Temple Marriage are the ultimate show of worthiness and proper living in "God's kingdom." As a man who didn't serve a mission I knew what he was going through. I knew the sting of words of "compassionate disappointment" the community can relay to men like him and I. Young men who didn't quite make the grade. While I don't know why he returned early, nor do I care, I know the assumptions so many LDS people make on your worth as a good Latter-Day Saint after not going or returning early. I recall their wedding and wedding planning. My family has an amazing knack, as do so many LDS families I know, for conveying disappointment, disapproval, and even holy anger while smiling and talking softly when someone doesn't appear to be making the righteous decisions drilled into our minds. Their marriage and early marital life was a disappointment to many in my family, regardless of the smiles they forced to show. I was not one of them.

Sure, I had concerns for them marrying so young as I had my own personal reservations for my marriage at such a naive time in my life. Feelings in my family were similar when I skipped a mission and proceeded to marry. Liz and I were fully aware of what they faced and we tried our best to not get wrapped up in the family drama and just support them. They even rented from us for a period of time.

So, as they have felt the eye of disapproval in their own marriage, I am surprised at their only luke-warm compassion for who I am and there simple disregard to the legal rights of my future marriage to the man I love. It seems ignorantly hypocritical. I get the same feeling from so many of my family members. When you have so many skeletons as they do in the closet I guess I can see where they would rather pretend I not exist. My skeleton came out and that surely scares them a little that I can be happy being who I am and living honestly. After all, we were taught such deviance from our LDS faith would surely bring us misery....I've never been more content with life and who I am.

The hope after a week like this is that people would see gays differently. One hope is that in my own life family would see my partner and I as family too. Another hope is people would see us as people.

It has been a rough road trying to get my partner here. Long distance relationships aren't simple. It would be one thing if he were finishing school, serving in the military, or otherwise temporarily unavailable to live with me. That would have a foreseeable end. It is an entirely different thing to live in the unknown. There is no end date or guaranteed time we will be together. His love buoys me up on rough days. It keeps me going, but our love has been relegated to a "respectable" dark corner as to not be seen or heard of in society.

Miriam-Webster Definitions:

Definition of COMPASSION

: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it

re·spect
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Definition of RESPECT

1

: a relation or reference to a particular thing or situation<remarks em="" having="" nbsp="">respect</remarks>

 to an earlier plan>

2

: an act of giving particular attention : consideration

3

a : high or special regard : esteem

b : the quality or state of being esteemed

c plural : expressions of high or special regard or deference<paid em="" nbsp="" our="">respect</paid>

s>

My niece-in-law uses these two words in her explanation of how she feels about gay people. I would like to address each one.

Using the definition above it is impossible for her or her church to use compassion in their vocabulary yet still deny that same-sex couples should have the right to marry. The only way to truly have compassion is to alleviate the distress and support my right to legally marry the man I love. No, I am not saying they have to recognize my marriage religiously. They don't have to grant me permission to marry in their churches or temples. They have a fundamental right to religiously abstain from any doctrinal recognition of my marriage. That right ends at rites however. It isn't compassion to push their religious teachings into my home and into my love. Compassion is a nice word and sounds pc, but it is truly hollow if there is no true definitional feeling behind it.

I may be making the incorrect assumption on how she uses the word respect. Their are 3 definitions after all. However, I do feel confident that she isn't referring to either of the first 2. So, if she is referring to the third definition in any form the rest of her comments don't add up. Unless she is saying that the love between my partner and I is too perfect and amazing for marriage, she surely can't be respecting me while denying me "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness." Denying my family basic civil rights and protections is in no way giving special or high regard to our love.

There have been so many attempts to justify this discrimination in marriage law. There has been so many attempts to discredit homosexual relationships. Opponents of equality have cited everything from the bible to the safety of children. They've claimed it will diminish the value of marriage. They have even proclaimed that the very fabric of society will be torn to shreds if two men or two women are allowed share in marriage. As I misquote and forget who said it "why would gay people ever hurt fabric?"

The reality is that there is no basis to these claims. If there were, you would have heard those things brought up in the cases before the Supreme Court. They were absent. In lower court rulings experts against gay marriage have been discredited or admitted that there was no rational basis to deny marriage equality. 5 of 6 "experts" refused to show up to court after marriage equality attorneys took their depositions. They had nothing they could legally claim. If you listen this week in the court hearings you won't hear charges that gays molest children. You won't here specific research saying gay people can't be good parents. You really only hear that we don't produce children through sexual intimacy with each other. Yeah, and?

The reality is that gay parent families exist. I am one form and example of that. We are real and tangible. A recent birth made a gay friend a dad for the first time. I can't give proper description in his struggle to become a father, but I have seen a few of the steps and heard others from him. The process took over two years and 10's of thousands of dollars. It involved heartache and stress as potential surrogates came and went and tests and procedures were done. He persevered and the pain was worth it by the smile I see on his face. There is no way that this father is less qualified and loving than some broken condom or mistaken pregnancy (even within the bonds heterosexual of matrimony). This child has two men that have struggled and fought for years for the chance to love and raise this child. There is no way this child is disadvantaged from love. Gay families aren't a new concept. They have been around for years. They go through the exact same terrible two's, tweens, teens, etc. There is no reason to deny these already existent families protections, safety, and equality under the law. No reason.

Compassion, equality, respect. All nice words, but not specific enough to describe what their ideals mean to me. Let me end by bringing it home. There is no compassion, respect or equality for me when I lay my head on my pillow and can't look into the eyes of the one I love. There is none when I come home from work to an empty house. There is none when he has to be 8,000 miles away and waking up when I'm going to bed. None when I clutch my phone hoping the next notification is him saying the US Embassy issued him a visa. None when that ring is a picture of the denial letter. None when I try to console the person I love over a text. None as a cry and wish I could hold him and apologize for sending him to my countries embassy to be evaluated by the worth of his bank account and not the content of his character. There is no compassion or respect when I try to explain to my sons why people are keeping he and I apart. How do you explain to a child that the one you love and want in your family is blocked joining birthday parties and Saturday pancake breakfasts by some archaic, ill-informed law? How do you teach your children the value of marriage, commitment, sacrifice, and love when your denied it?

Equal marriage isn't about another day of cake and parties. It isn't about tuxedos or two wedding dresses. It isn't about flowers, invitations, gifts or even the honeymoon. It is about love, about commitment, about sacrifice. It is about walks on the beach or just down the street. It is about working hard. It is about soccer Saturdays and swimming lessons. It is about homework and not drinking from the milk carton. And, it is about holding the old wrinkled hands of the one you love as they move on from this life. It isn't just a made up excuse to eat cake. The reality is that after all the costs of immigration just trying to be together we may not even be able to afford cake.

There are movies with an empty seat, grocery shopping, reaching that itch in the middle of your back, reading bedtime stories, singing songs, breaking up brotherly fights, social gatherings, cooking, doing homework etc that are done alone when the person I love wants to be there. How many times have I looked over in bed just wishing I could watch him breathe as he sleeps? They talk about protecting families, but how is my family protected when it is denied the chance for two loving parents to live in the home? Why should Skype be the only way they get to see each other? Why should my children have to try to understand politics that keep us apart?

In the eyes of the federal government my love and I are strangers with no relationship of value. Our commitment to grow old together means nothing to the embassy. Why must that be?

I am not asking you to change your religious beliefs or let me participate in your relationship with your god.

I ask you to re-think what compassion and respect truly mean. Your family and my family can exist in society. Emphasizing the value of marriage and family by protecting all those that wish for it will only strengthen the fabric of our country. It will only reinforce the importance of this basic structure of society.

My arms ache at night. Not from over doing it at the gym or any medical condition. They ache because I long to hold the man I love and kiss him goodnight. I long to look him in the eyes every morning and be grateful for one more day with him. They ache to walk down that aisle and place a ring on his finger. My arms ache in hopes to hold grand-babies together side-by-side. They ache for the chance to walk hand in hand into our senior years. They long to love and be loved

There is so much more I could say and so many more experiences I could share, but nothing changes if you refuse to open your eyes and try on the glasses of empathy. Are you willing to take a step back and really see who I am? Who we are? Brace yourself learning true compassion and respect will be more amazing than you could imagine.

Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-29507509703189528052013-03-29T17:47:00.000-07:002013-03-29T17:47:28.582-07:00A Week Of Love

It has been one of those amazing weeks to be alive. Despite my best efforts to do homework, or anything else for that matter, I have been glued to social media, news programs, and the hearings themselves.

March 26th and 27th represent the culmination of lifetimes of being a silenced community. 5 years earlier we had learned to use our voice. I was a newly out gay man the fall of 2008 when President Obama was elected and Prop 8 in California passed. As momentous as having our first black president elected and his much more progressive outlook on gays, it was overshadowed by voters in California siding with misinformation brought to them with the monetary backing of a church, and church members, that I used to belong to. It was one of the first times since coming out where I felt the pains of what being a minority felt like. I spent most of that post-election November day in shock. Only months earlier I had come out, and despite the issues of an ugly divorce, I was feeling truly alive and happy. I was seeing the world in technicolor for the first time. I had learned to accept and love myself. There were no more days spent self-loathing, self-hating, and straining under "eternal damnation" to be something I wasn't.

Facebook was in its infancy, but it was a new, powerful tool for getting the word out. A rally was planned. The anger towards a church and culture that told me I was worthless for 27 years was re-kindled. I would not be silent any longer. It was the dawn of a new day in our equal rights struggle. Too many had felt the sting of rejection from a culture that preached love but practiced fear and judgement. After watching gay Californians taste the sweetness of equality we saw them forced backed to the bitter cup of second class. Enough was enough. As I drove up to Temple Square and LDS church headquarters I heard KSL report that the gathering of Prop 8 protesters was merely just a few hundred. I nervously approached this brave, new, publicly "out" me moment. I learned quickly that the church-owned "news" radio was far from accurate. It was estimated that there were 3-5000 of us who were silent no more. I had never felt anything like this before. A new chapter had begun in American history and I was lucky to be a part. I knew that losing on Prop 8 had sounded the alarm of a sleeping giant. The door of our closets had been ripped off and we would never go back in. The American people would have to see the faces of a previously hidden community. They would have to regurgitate their internal homophobia in front of real, tangible people and many would see the poison in their words. They would see the soul of people they once thought soul-less.

We gained momentum with every step. A few steps back but many more forward. Other states opened their arms and let equal love in. Don't Ask Don't Tell was tossed away as an archaic policy of a past misguided congress. Courts heard case after case and saw they misguided and hollow arguments of homophobia. They sided with us and kept siding with us. Finally these two days were ours. No more steps, we were at the top. Love again was at the Supreme Court. This time it was my love, our love on trial....finally.

I attended a vigil on the eve of our 1st day in court. It was great to see so many familiar and new faces gathered to celebrate love and put our energy into hope. Hope that an even brighter day finally lay ahead.

The facebook phenom began again. The Human Rights Campaign replaced their usual blue background and yellow equal sign with one of red on red to honor our fight for equal love under the law. Profile pictures began changing to this red equality sign. Soon my news feed was filled with red. It was simply beautiful. There was an energy felt spreading throughout the internet. Of course there were us familiars showing our support, but there were so many more new allies "coming out" in support of our love. By Tuesday night I was standing at the Utah State Capital with hundreds of other GLBTQ family members and our allies in red. We gathered to counter protest a group of people who believed they were celebrating marriage and honoring it by reaffirming that only one man and one woman were fit enough to love each other. Those for marriage equality surrounded this event and outnumbered the "traditional" folks 2-1 easily. It wasn't a night of fighting or anger, but a night of showing these people we have faces and families. We peacefully stood around them and heard some of the usual rhetoric, but I also noticed some speakers sounded more neutral than I would have expected. I can only hope that seeing our faces and humanity had some effect. It was a magical night and one filled with energy, and pride for the dignity and love within our gay community. Even the same LDS church-owned news system treated us with respect not normally afforded my community. Even here in Utah we have a chance for a brighter, more equal day sometime soon.

While it would be premature to say what decision these 9 judges will rule on these two cases, I do believe it is safe to say it matters little. If the rulings somehow are against us or so narrow they only help a few, it isn't over. We stand on the right side of history and every day more and more Americans stand with us. It would be a small setback, but only short lived. Momentum and love is on our side and there will be more and more states voting to recognize equal love.

Prop 8 was the darkest night before the brightest dawn. I am thrilled to be poised to watch this sunrise.Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-1929625799624390132013-01-01T18:17:00.000-08:002013-01-01T18:17:05.371-08:00Call Me.....2012Add me to the long list of 2012 reflection posts, but hey, I never promised a daily blog. I've reflected at life in 2012 and it is hard to believe it was only 1 year. "Wow" is truly the understatement but what my mind uttered as I look back. Financially and professionally 2012 wasn't an all star year; still in school trying to catch up on years lost not living. However, it was a magical year in my personal life and fulfilling in my volunteer endeavors.

I'll mention those later moments briefly. After a road of 5 years of coming out and trying to repay my all too homophobic past, Utah Gay Fathers officially organized, filed for non-profit status and held elections that resulted in me serving as Director of this great organization. With the help of so many good men we opened support chapters in Northern Utah and Utah Valley, our numbers continued to rise, men continued to find a safe place of love, support, empathy, sympathy, and re-birth. 2012 ended with my step-down as Director to handle other events mentioned later here. Stepping down feels more like letting go of the bike seat and cheering this group on as they find their balance; no longer dependent on one person steadying them. UGFA isn't the end of my endeavors in the community, only the beginning really.

 I usually like to post a song that supports the theme of my post. There are so many that come to mind as I thought about this, but I narrowed it to 2. Yes, call me cheesy, but "Call me Maybe" sums up the chance tried in 2011 that panned out. 2011 found me finally shedding the broken heart I carried too long and making my first cautious steps back into the world of dating, chatting, and taking more chances. Being intrigued by the Asian culture and its very cute men, I found use of the Scruff app and it's "search by city" feature. Suddenly Asia was at my fingertips. Tokyo, Beijing, Singapore, Malaysia.....you name it. I met so many new friends and truly good men. Unfortunately so many find themselves in a world 40 years behind ours in equal protections for gays. Heartbreaking.

And then there was Indonesia. He was beautiful. Even from 8000 miles away I was nervous saying "hi." Silly really, but my first thoughts were "I would be in heaven if I found a guy that handsome that also had a good heart"....consider heaven found.

I did say "hi" or "woof" actually (the app's version of "winking" or sending a "smile"). I was too nervous to even say hi, so a "woof" was safer and I could just chalk it up to just another cute guy with a nice picture easy on the eyes. It stuck in my mind. There was something about his face, his eyes that I couldn't forget. It was a pipe dream really, no one that good looking would go for a guy for me. Or at least, that is what I told myself. I was happily proven wrong. He did say "halo" back and I had a moment of panic. What do I do now?? "Don't say something stupid and ruin things" went through my head. I think I replied with a very safe "how are you?." Probably a safer choice than "wow, you're hot, want to plan on forever with me?"

As I've learned in the previous courses "Broken Hearts 101" in the School of Hard Knocks, looks are great, but don't make a package. He was so cute though. I kept the conversation short as to not bore him. So, every couple weeks I would say "hi" and talk a little more, but try to stop early enough to leave curiosity and not annoy him. This went on for many intimidated months. He seemed like a good guy, impossibly 8000 miles away and apparently unable to see my picture clearly (why else would he still talk to a guy like me?).

Meanwhile I had also been chatting with a young guy in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia. He was also cute, but just coming to terms with who he was. We had many long talks about what it meant to be gay; the beauty of self-acceptance, struggles with lack of social acceptance, and of course we talked about guys. I have talked with many men of all ages as they take those first steps out of the closet and feel excited, lost, scared, and happy all at once, but our conversations continued and we moved past "mentor and student" and became friends. Then the ridiculous notion was suggested that I come visit him in KL and he'd show me around. He was away at college and had room for me to stay. No family around so he wouldn't have to be worried about being unexpectedly "outed" or found out. "Yeah, right, like I could make a trip to Malaysia" ran through my head. Months later I was on a plane and headed out for the first great adventure of my life and the first time outside the borders of my own country.

Travel more would be in my "top ten lessons-in-life" to pass on to the human race. I was traveling not only to a foreign country, but a country of predominantly Muslims. Travel more, watch TV less. People are people regardless of religious tradition. We would have more peace in this world if people traveled more and saw how much alike same values of family, peace, etc we share with the world.

I could (and should) write entire posts about some of my experiences in Malaysia, but for now we'll focus on the what, not the where.

I had talked to many Asian men in Malaysia and surrounding. There was no way to meet them all and it wouldn't be very kind of me as a house guest to not spend time with my friend and host. I did spend time with a truly kind-hearted Malaysian gay guy. I still maintain contact. So many good hearts in that tiny country. Progress needs to be made desperately so these men can realize their dreams of a family of their own with a man they love.

Indonesia stuck in the back of my mind and I wished I could meet him in person. I still wasn't sure I believed that such a cute guy could really be real. He was a mere 250 miles away, but that was impossible to traverse on my shoe-string budget...I thought. I made contact and apologized that I didn't have the funds to meet him. He seemed a little disappointed, but said he understood. We still talked and I still wished to find a way to meet him. After explaining that I was looking at the expensive way to get to him, he showed me how a quick, cheap flight and boat ride would bring me to his island. Hotels were cheap as well.

I took the leap, but only after asking him for a random candid picture of himself just before booking. I was still not sure a man this good-looking could really exist, let alone be interested in me. He sent it and I booked my ticket, notified the embassy I was leaving to Indonesia, and packed a backpack. My host/friend was concerned that I would travel to such a wild and backward place as Indonesia. He prayed for me and reluctantly said good-bye as I left for a few days to this unknown country. It was spontaneous scary, and I loved it. I was continuing to break out of the shell of fear all those years as a closet gay man created.

After a train, bus, plane, subway, taxi, and boat ride I arrived in Indonesia. With no cell coverage there I just hoped he would be there when I finished going through immigration. I stepped out of the ferry terminal, and there he was. I was not finished on this journey of nearly every method of transportation; there was still the motorcycle ride. My 2nd ever (1st only being days earlier with the above mentioned man in KL). I still can remember the shape of his abs allowed a perfect pocket on his side for me to hold as we rode to the hotel.

I felt like I had stepped back to a world from another lifetime. Beautiful scenery, but a place where poverty was the way of life. However, people were very kind.

We grabbed dinner that night and I smiled, but figured I would starve. I was never keen on the idea of fish, let alone the kind that stared at you. I had no idea how to eat the crab. I was constantly picking shell out of my teeth, but I was happy. This mysterious man was in front of me and I had 3 days with him.

3 days, such a short time. The reality is that neither of us figured those three days would be anything more that just a memory in the long book of life. We lived worlds away and had not had much more than friendly conversations when I dared text him from time to time. Things seemed different than "just an adventure and a cute guy." I could tell we both felt it and I let it continue playing out. The view from the hotel was awesome. I was in paradise and with someone I could never have imagined meeting. There was a peace about him and a quiet strength. It wasn't twitterpation, it was something else I didn't quite grasp nor fought against.

We spent the day riding around town as I stood out like an Alien; being only white person in town. He was adorable. We went to a local swimming/amusement park that he had gone to as a kid. It was adorable to me that he would share this part of his life. It wasn't about sightseeing or adventure, it was about being together. Talking for hours. He later took me to dinner where I met his friends. I felt invited into see his soul that night. I could tell that the quality of friends and way they looked at him, he was a good man. I was falling. From 8000 miles away, I felt home.

We talked of going to a local island. He suggested it then seemed as if he wished he hadn't. After some prodding I found out that the island carried a curse. If you took someone you were dating there, you would break up upon returning home. It was awesome to hear those words. He had confirmed that he had felt the same way in our brief time together so far. Needless to say we avoided the island....

I was falling unexpectedly. Again, he was cute, sexy, and funny, but this was just my adventure out of the US and was never meant to be about finding love or anything like it. Friends? Yes. Love? Nah.

The last night together was spent sleeping hand in hand all night. Not in a awkward way that seems cute on TV but is unnatural in person. Sure, we had our fun. We were both single men with mutual attraction, but it wasn't that at all. There was just that peace I found being with him. The cares of the world drifted away in his presence.

The dreaded 3rd day came. On our way back to the the ferry terminal we stopped one last time for coffee. We talked about the future and both realized how impossible it might be. I wanted him to come visit Utah and we talked about that being possible. I could tell he felt they might just be words. He had met a Canadian before that was full of promises that never happened. We both had experienced what it was like to be lied to and we both wanted to be cautious. However, he had never met me and didn't know that I am a man who keeps promises. I was determined to give the feelings I had felt in a short 72 hours more time to play out.

He asked me not to talk to him while I returned to Malaysia and finished my trip. He didn't want to think of me being around other gay guys. I understood what he was saying, made me feel that much closer to him. I couldn't merely say I was different that "Canada" I would have to show him. One last ride to the ferry terminal. One last time to hold him on the motorcycle without anyone suspecting we were gay. Then a brief manly hug at the terminal. We couldn't chance him being found out to be gay. Our last real kiss and embrace was hours before at the hotel. I entered the terminal always looking back. I wasn't sure I would ever see him again. I boarded the ferry a changed man at the edge of tears. Kenny Chesney's "Anything But Mine" and Chantal Kreviazuk's version of "Leaving On A Jet Plane" played over and over on my phone as I made my 2 hour ride to Singapore and then on to KL.

My young friend and host in Malaysia could tell I was a different person as soon as he saw me, much to the dashed hopes that I was "the one" for him. He attributed such a quick change to "black magic" from witchcraft in Indonesia and he prayed for me, but I knew different.

Ignoring his request to not text, I did just that, at least every morning. I couldn't imagine not at least saying hi once a day to the man who had made my heart beat in a way I hadn't thought possible. I did look forward to seeing my sons and coming back for Pride, but I also had a pain in my heart as I traveled farther and farther away. I was able to spend some time in Taiwan on my way back with a great friend. What would have been a night looking for the local gay bars and enjoying the bachelor life turned into a lengthy conversation with Teddy about wild birds and finding cages where the wild birds would choose to stay and not feel trapped. I had hoped Indonesia had shown me such a cage.

We've talked everyday since. We grew closer and closer each day and I finally brought out the "L" word. I told him he didn't need to say it back until he wanted to, but I refused to hide it anymore. Finally at 10:12PM August 5th, after a rough few days that we worked through some challenges, he said "i love u too." And that was that, no more questioning where his heart was or worrying I felt more strongly for him than he for I. I was more determined than ever to make this work.

Unfortunately immigration isn't simple nor equal for gay men. I count as nothing in the eyes of Federal law. My love carries no weight in deciding whether he can come visit or not. Late in September he finally met with the Embassy.

Apparently unless you're rich or willing to marry a woman, there is little chance of getting to the US. He was devastated and didn't want to talk on Skype for fear he would cry in public. I was crying already. It wasn't the end, but it was definitely a set back. I was angry as well. I felt like a 2nd class citizen in a country that promised "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

I won't sugar coat that the denial was easy on our relationship. It seemed more hopeless for him and facing the social restraints of my own "free" land was depressing. I don't give up that easily.

I unexpectedly found myself making a trip to Indonesia a month later. I was going to fight for my love and handle a few challenges he heart-breakingly had faced alone for a few months. It was 16 days not to forget. This was our first meeting in person since my first 3 day trip in May. There were adjustments and things to discuss, but it was amazing. We will have cultural differences to work around with living together, but the love exists and we are in this together. Celebrating the days together comes first and all the unimportant differences a very distant last. Coming home was harder this time as our next steps to be together will take sacrifice and time. Plane tickets and trips there are not anywhere in my near future unfortunately due to financial constraints.

He makes me smile everyday as he says good morning and good night. I never tire of hearing I love you. He has been in Bali with friends for the New Year. I miss him and think constantly of our trip to Bali. He has told me the same, that I am always on his mind. Love is more amazing than I ever thought possible.
 I have loved and lost before, but it has always been one sided. To love and be loved is indescribable. The last laugh of 2012 is on him. He said yesterday that I must be using the black magic on him now since he thinks of me all day. Maybe its not black magic, but love is a nice spell to be under.

There is so much to 2012. It was a year I will hold dear the rest of my life. It truly was a year where the idea of "call me maybe" hit home and I am lucky for that call. I can only hope 2013 is full of as much life.

So bring it on! Truly my one and only resolution this year is to bridge the physical gap between us.

Saying good night to my sons from Bali

Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-28669284098011500092012-03-10T14:43:00.000-08:002012-03-10T17:05:44.059-08:00The Divorce and Death of MOM

This was our wedding song

 "I'm gay." Those words were once impossible for me to utter. In fact, it took months after being "outed" before I really accepted that word. My story, no, our story may have a few personal touches here and there, but surprisingly it is similar to far too many. The Utah Gay Fathers Association (UGFA) reports that out of 121 online forum participants, it is estimated that only 5 men/fathers became dads outside of heterosexual marriage. (Salas) This organization is far from a stagnant group, more and more faces are added to their ranks every day. Four years I was the new face in the minority brotherhood.

In my "closet" actions spoke louder than those words. Those actions caught up with me. I cheated, I lied, I deceived. I didn't last to eternity or even "until death do us part" for that matter.  That may be uncomfortable for some to read, but there it is: blunt honesty in black and white. While one sentence sums up facts of my former marriage, it is not even the title page to a much more in depth story. For some, this is as far as they will need to read. They have put together the words "gay," "lied," and "cheated" and their minds are made up. They only need to rely on the belief system they were taught as children to decide the kind of man I (or the collective "we') are.; or how sad or foolish a woman she must be. I know that knee-jerk reaction to rush to that conclusion all too well. I lived 26 years of my life relying on what I was told and not what I felt. However, I hold out hope that the more honest and open I am, the more open people will become to changing their pre-packaged ideas of who gay people are. Being gay in a homophobic culture  affects far more than the single gay man, it affects families, children, wives.

 As I said before, my experience is not entirely unique. I get emails, texts, phone calls from men every week coming to terms with who they are. Every week there comes the question of what these men should do and how they deal with the women and children involved. I focus on what is called a MOM within the gay community. MOM stands for "mixed orientation marriage." MOMs exist in many forms across the LGBTQ (lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, queer) spectrum. In my case, and the view within this paper, you are looking at a MOM involving one heterosexual woman married to one homosexual man. It is a common version of a MOM marriage. While a few exist and continue on after the husband comes out, attempting to stay together often proves unhealthy for all involved.
 The divorce and death of a MOM are a common occurrence within this minority group of marriages. And it is indeed both a divorce and a death. It is the death of a dream. As such, the process of surviving a mixed orientation marriage failure follows the grieving process. Shock and denial, anger, bargaining, sadness/depression, and acceptance all have to be endured to find a healthy life after a MOM divorce. They aren't always followed in that order, and, unfortunately, many get stuck in one stage. While the exact details of my divorce are unique, the general experience resonates a common melody among so many gay man/straight woman marriages. It is a two sided coin and I hope to adequately describe her side as well as mine.

Shock and Denial

  "It is a normal reaction to rationalize overwhelming emotions. It is a defense mechanism that buffers the immediate shock. We block out the words and hide from the facts. This is a temporary response that carries us through the first wave of pain." (Axelrod)

 For me shock and denial came at 19. It was as this turning point in my life that memories flooded in and reality had to be faced. The implications of that reality had to be faced. Simply stated, I had been abused. All those memories I had pushed off as a dream came flooding back until I could no longer deny they were real. The survival instinct can only remember photographic instances of place and time. I can't place an exact date or age on it, but I do know it happened. I have guesses of approximate years. So there it was, at 19, my root. I was attracted to men because I was abused, or if that didn't always sound right I could blame it on the need for affection from men due to an older, worn out father, brothers who didn't play ball, never having a living grandfather or uncle, shyness, desires to be athletic and "like" other guys my age. I did rely on the abuse as an excuse. It was a time of shock and denial. I thought I should simply seek some guided help and then bury it so I could be freed; "cured."

 And so I did, I sought out an LDS counselor that was older and was sure to have the same belief system I did: being Gay was a choice, a burden to overcome. I took my girlfriend, now ex-wife, to the sessions. I was told to picture what I wanted in life and go for it. How foolish for him to say and me believe I was right. It was like telling 13 year old he could drive a car if he just grabbed the keys and picture what it was like to drive. Any 13 year old can't see the consequences of such acts. He can't see the people he could hurt or the damage he may cause by doing what he dreamed. Similarly, my internalized homophobia was certainly not going to let me picture anything but being normal in a heterosexual marriage with kids and a porch swing. I followed that picture in my mind, married, had kids, but no porch swing. Maybe that is my real issue; maybe my marriage wasn't successful for lack of a porch swing....And so, buried it and bore it as my sinful nature and personal trial in life. The counselor should have known better.

 3 and ½ years into marriage the second round of shock and denial came. I had begun a journey of weight loss. If my attraction to certain men was based solely on wanting to be like them, then I would be; I would get healthy. I would face my lack of athleticism and general macho-ism. I took care of myself. I even put myself first for once here and there. My marriage to this point had been all about being the perfect husband and father; losing myself in that "happiness" so I wouldn't have to face my demons. It was the cure to my demons. It wasn't until I actually lost weight and felt better about myself that my real demons showed. I had used my weight, and frumpy, unassuming clothing, as a barrier to being attractive. I felt ugly and those feelings were surely a reality and that reality would surely keep any of those "gay, predatory" men from finding me attractive. Not being attractive meant that even if I were tempted, it could go nowhere as there would be no one to go there with. Losing weight screwed that up. I did start feeling attractive, I did start getting noticed. I received compliments and congrats on losing the weight. While it felt good it also brought up these fears and moments of "Oh shit! Now what?" If someone actually finds me attractive I had no defenses. The romantic feelings of desire to be around and with men flooded in and there was no dam left to stop it. I was shocked. And so I needed to develop a new dam. I needed to grab a pail and hope I could hold the years of pent up emotions from flooding my life and destroying what I had built. There had to be some other way, some miracle cure. Tell me to go dunk in the River Jordan and I would have in a heartbeat. I was scrambling to deny these feelings.

 For my ex-wife shock and denial came differently. Liz was the first person I told about the root cause (the abuse) and my feelings of attraction for other men. We had been friends for about 4 years and it was just after high school. By friends, I mean that we did everything together but kiss or get physical. We spent almost every waking moment together. We weren't "dating" because that was a bad idea pre-LDS mission. I needed to be as perfect as I could to combat my demons and be cured. Dating was out of the question. So we were best friends. Yes, we had talked of marriage and kids. We had discussed the future. On that night, overlooking the valley, I told her. I let her in to the deep, dark secret. The trial I had to overcome; the disease growing inside. I was attracted to men and wasn't exactly sure why, but the abuse had to be the ticket. My memories of that night and for some time after include us talking about it. Occasionally pointing out what attracted us to men. The denial came slowly. We were going to overcome this. She was by my side and she was going to support me. Talking of attractions of men faded away and it became both of our responsibilities to deny it and move forward following what we had been taught. Shortly after our talk we fell into another type of sin, but this was "natural" even if it was wrong before marriage. It was our way of embracing the denial. It was an outlet and release. While it was "wrong," it was certainly better than being gay. It proved to both of us that I wasn't gay.

 Her second round of denial would last years. After marriage the honeymoon phase was good for both of us. It wasn't until just after our first year that I was really tempted again. And I fell. I began feeling the temptations, the desires, and I began looking it up again; searching for that connection. Even with my decent ability to hide my tracks of temptation I know Liz found it. She saw the history on the computer when I wasn't always thorough enough. Sure, we talked about it, but we both were uncomfortable about it and wanted to deny it was a problem. We would try harder and be stronger. It seems like a faint dream to me now, well more of a nightmare. Even that last year of marriage with the weight loss, t he unusually strong bond to a new, attractive (but straight) male friend, more secrecy, more moodiness, emotional distance, and even the eventual odd-hour trips to the gym that last six months, it was denial. I was more vocal in reaching out to some of her family for help. I was feverishly trying to build a better dam. We both were building while simultaneously denying there was anything real to be damming up. And so her shock came after the denial. Her shock came when that man approached her and told her what she had denied. Told her those trips were more about going to a "Jim" than to a gym. With that shock, the denial could no longer exist. After that, it was apparent that man knew the truth, had participated in the truth, the phone call came. On my way to work she called and I knew there would be no more denial. We both knew there would be no way to sweep it away or ignore it. It was over. We were over.

Bargaining

 "The normal reaction to feelings of helplessness and vulnerability is often a need to regain control–

If only we had sought medical attention sooner…

If only we got a second opinion from another doctor…

If only we had tried to be a better person toward them…

Secretly, we may make a deal with God or our higher power in an attempt to postpone the inevitable. This is a weaker line of defense to protect us from the painful reality." (Axelrod)

 Bargaining was not a stage in and of itself for me. Bargaining overlapped my denial. It existed even before the shock. Before I was 19 I knew I liked other guys. I knew it was hard to divert my eyes from that star basketball player as he stood in the hallway with his loose jersey. I knew I liked seeing his physical strength, I knew I loved his smile, I knew I felt weird and excited when we talked. I knew I wanted to hang out and spend time with him. However I didn't know that meant I was gay. I knew it wasn't exactly right to dream about him. I knew it wasn't right to look up pictures of men, but it wasn't being gay. I just needed to pray harder, read more scriptures, serve more people, take on more callings, speaking kinder words, and hum my favorite hymn. The hymn was a big one. Music was almost my conditioned response. I am not alone in this. In "No More Goodbyes" Carol Lynn Pearson shares  a story from a man that followed the humming your favorite hymn in extreme obedience. It has nearly become a conditioned response that he gets turned on when he hears the Mormon Tabernacle Choir sing. I didn't get that deep into it, but I definitely followed what I was taught. I bargained with God. If I could just be good enough or sacrifice a little more would he take it away? Could I be normal? Could I trade? I begged for hours on my knees or driving in a car at 2 AM listening to music. Could I be a drunk, could I be addicted to drugs, could he simply send a diesel to t-bone me and end it all? What could I do to no longer be different? Even there at the end when I had come to accept that I liked being with men, I bargained. Could I survive shock therapy and be cured? If I gave in and attended these conferences, would he heal me? If I ran away and left my family in peace, could he just leave me alone? Could he send someone good, virtuous, honest, loving, and straight to care for my wife and raise my children?

 The result of that bargaining left a man with pained knees from kneeling, bloodied knuckles for hours in prayer with a clenched hands begging, a heart broken, and a soul without hope to carry on.

 Bargaining for Liz looked different. She wasn't bargaining to change her nature. She was bargaining to change her marriage. She was bargaining to be good enough or attractive enough. Bargaining began before marriage. It began with the first time he admitted his attractions to her. The bargaining began with something along the lines of "if we work together and trust in God, this will go away."

Anger

 "As the masking effects of denial and isolation begin to wear, reality and its pain re-emerge. We are not ready. The intense emotion is deflected from our vulnerable core, redirected and expressed instead as anger. The anger may be aimed at inanimate objects, complete strangers, friends or family. Anger may be directed at our dying or deceased loved one. Rationally, we know the person is not to be blamed. Emotionally, however, we may resent the person for causing us pain or for leaving us. We feel guilty for being angry, and this makes us more angry." (Axelrod)

 The one change I would suggest to the above definition is that in the case of a MOM, the LGBTQ person is often seen as a rational person to be blamed. That goes for both the LGBTQ person, him(her)self, as well as the heterosexual spouse.

 Anger entered my life in two different, but consecutive stages. The first inklings of anger occurred as my attempts at bargaining failed. After talking with all those I could think to talk to, bishops, friends, wife, in-laws, those who claimed to be cured through programs, I realized there would be no cure for me. In my religious life that meant that I had been lied to and/or that I wasn't good enough. It became apparent that all my attempts at righteousness, spirituality, and attempts to be "good enough" had fallen on deaf (or even possibly non-existent) ears. "How could a God or Heavenly Father have watched me try and try and try for so long and turned a blind eye at the pain and suffering in my life? How could he have watched me make more and more promises to him, to a woman, to a family and done nothing to stop this? Why was I the only one not being blessed for following his chosen leaders?" I couldn't say that to anyone. That would be blasphemy. That was apostasy. I felt that build in me for every minute of every day. That anger spilt over into my personal life. I delved into the deceit and lies and cheating. I would use those outlets I had secretly built as a way to lash out. I took advantage of and abused close friendships and even the one friend who knew, cared, and understood what I was going through. Church became a burden, often unbearable. When I hit this stage of burden I was serving as the Executive Secretary to the Bishop. In the LDS faith, the Bishop is called by claimed inspiration by the church hierarchy to serve as the spiritual leader of a ward (local congregation). He is believed to be the mouthpiece of God  for all those who live within the geographic boundaries of his congregation. I did believe this Bishop to be a good man. He had always treated me well. He hadn't scolded or frowned upon my struggles, yet he also had provided no method to cure the gay in me. My anger wasn't kindled against him. It was kindled against the claims of authority the church made. It was against a silent and absent God. I would sit in meetings with ward leaders and just hope the time would pass quickly. I no longer cared for the topics they discussed. Where the scouts went camping or the current budget seemed meaningless. Asking for ward members to help in this or that service project seemed like an exercise in trying to win a hurtful god's approval. I loathed sitting in Sacrament meeting (LDS Mass) and hearing all the supposedly happy parts of the faith or hearing one more word of judgment for those who didn't follow the principles of the LDS gospel. As often as possible I would try to be the one to change diapers, or take our crying sons out. During Sunday school and Priesthood Quorums I would do my best to make up reasons to not be present. This is where being the Bishop's errand boy became useful. I could say I was helping him. I had keys to the clerk's office. I could hide. All this time feeling rage for all those things I once thought were holy and sacred. At the end of my marriage and after coming out I came to a point of no return for my LDS held beliefs. I came to a point of wanting to meet this "God" this "Heavenly Father" and tell him what I thought of his gospel of exclusion and pain. I was at the point of being fist fight ready had he dared show his face. I was done being pathetic. I was done believing that he cared.

After my separation I knew I needed energy for other challenges in my life. I chose to put God and all my previous beliefs on suspension. He was in time out and I would get back to him when I was ready. Rather than sit through a church disciplinary counsel I requested the church no longer contact me and to remove my name from their records. That was a huge step.

After God was pushed onto his time-out stool in the corner, the second wave of anger set it. This is one of the few places where my ex-wife's grieving process and my grieving process collided in a concurrent rage that makes divorces legendary.

My second wave at anger was a response to her anger. She was shocked by my deceit and all those I drew into that web of lies. That shock leaped to anger at land speed record breaking pace. Her anger was fueled by the anger of her parents, her brothers and sisters, her friends. Above all that, even the distance of my family and their denial served as fuel to that rage. Within a week I went from the father she believed should be the envy of her sisters to the man who couldn't see his own children without supervision. Once she learned of my deceit and dishonesty combined with who I had involved in my journey, this led her mind to wander to very dark places. Her ignorance (which, to her credit, we were both ignorant to my homosexuality) combined with the fear and anger put this mom over the edge. However, this last assertion is mine. She denies that homophobia had anything to do with this. We agree to disagree here.

Liz's fear appeared to me as giving way to pure anger and that ignited the rage in myself. Anger is exhausting. It often takes more energy than can be replaced. It leaves you emotionally depleted. I was engulfed in anger that she would tear this father-son bond apart. I was furious that she couldn't see past my mistakes and see that I was still a loving man. Her apparent homophobia incensed me and we had many yelling matches over her assertions that the mistakes I made and coming out to be who I was. That anger came at a high legal cost for both of us. That anger led to using designated go-betweens or only written communication. We could no longer be civil with each other. This stage of anger burned for almost 2 years. The break in this fever came after completing her demands by proving my ability to safely parent. I saw a therapist and she agreed about my fitness as a parent. With that bit of evidence in hand visitation was no longer justified and my sons returned home to see their dad; no strings attached. I believe that her meeting with my therapist eased concerns. The realization that there was no further legal barrier to my fatherhood had to force a wake-up call. I had it in writing; she could no longer claim I was unfit. With the official letter in hand, there could be no further assertion that my mistakes had anything to do with being the great dad I was once envied for being. It is simple to let others get you fired up. It is easy to tell someone to fight a battle you don't have to personally be involved in. Liz's family was great at showing up just long enough to fuel her fire. They didn't have to live with that anger though. They could go to their homes and not have to see the energy consumed by their irrational words. Realizing they were encouraging punches in a fight they weren't in caused a turning point.

After a period of divorce that only lawyer's wallets' dream of, we finally paused in a truce one night. We talked. A quick phone call on Thanksgiving after the boys were tucked into bed turned into hours of dousing the flames and cautiously considering building a new bridge. Not a re-build, but a new concept; a new design.

Depression

"Two types of depression are associated with mourning. The first one is a reaction to practical implications relating to the loss. Sadness and regret predominate this type of depression. We worry about the costs and burial. We worry that, in our grief, we have spent less time with others that depend on us. This phase may be eased by simple clarification and reassurance. We may need a bit of helpful cooperation and a few kind words. The second type of depression is more subtle and, in a sense, perhaps more private. It is our quiet preparation to separate and to bid our loved one farewell. Sometimes all we really need is a hug." (Axelrod)

Depression hit me November 15th 2007. I lost my confidante and friend. He was leaving for two years and I knew things would never be the same. The one person who really knew me and hadn't pushed me away for being "that way" was gone and everything I had done hadn't fixed me. He had been all I was holding onto. My honesty with him was the last chance I had to find a cure. I was going to lose my family. My religion was ringing in my head and I knew I was giving up. I knew giving up and giving in meant eternal damnation to my lost soul. I began making plans to move away so I wouldn't hurt anyone anymore and no one would see me as I became a shame-filled gay man. I stopped eating. I did nothing but come home and sit on the couch. This went on for days. On top of that, Liz left me for a few days. We decided to try again, but I knew it was over and it was only a matter of time before I would have to do something. I knew I would have to come out to her. I would have to admit to her that I couldn't fight it any more.  I would have to tell her that I had cheated and lied. The depression continued and those couple of months were a blur. I don't really even recall Christmas, even though I somehow felt it would be the last as a married man. By the end of January I had made up my mind to leave, to disappear. I would come out to her at the beginning on February and that would be it. I had set the day I would give up and let go. As best laid plans go, I was "outed" a week before that date and it altered my course. Her shock would lead us both to anger. For me, that would also force me to face it and eventually accept it.

"Depression for me hit at the end of January. I had the missing pieces of what had been puzzling me for about 7 months now. My marriage, my dreams of the "cute young Mormon family" no longer existed. I had become a "single mom." In going through this process, I came to the realization that I had many judgments about people, and now I was in their shoes. It has become a catalyst for what I will tell you has been the greatest learning experience of my life. However, it took going to a place where today, the dark memories are foggy and hard to recall but makes me all the more grateful that this process has run its course and we can move forward together as a new type of family." (Visser)<span style="background-attachment: scroll; background-clip: initial; background-color: black; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: 0% 0%; background-repeat: repeat repeat; border-bottom-color: black; border-bottom-style: none; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-image: initial; border-left-color: black; border-left-style: none; border-left-width: 1pt; border-right-color: black; border-right-style: none; border-right-width: 1pt; border-top-color: black; border-top-style: none; border-top-width: 1pt; font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 0pt; line-height: 200%; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-top: 0in;">

Acceptance

  "Reaching this stage of mourning is a gift not afforded to everyone. Death may be sudden and unexpected or we may never see beyond our anger or denial. It is not necessarily a mark of bravery to resist the inevitable and to deny ourselves the opportunity to make our peace. This phase is marked by withdrawal and calm. This is not a period of happiness and must be distinguished from depression."(Axelrod)

Acceptance took time. It wasn't as painful as the other stages. It was a period of self reflection. I finally could put the puzzle pieces of my life together without avoid certain pieces or pretending they don't exist. I was no longer using the wrong methods to find a "cure" to something that was never ill. It was a time where I could finally stop picking at the wound I had let grow in my soul. The wounds that I created in my quest to be someone I wasn't. I was able to look at life for what it was and had been. I was able to finally apply the right ointment to heal.

While there was turmoil in my marriage, divorce, and ability to see my children, there was so much internal peace. I was able to look directly at religion, family beliefs, relationships, my abuse, my internal moral code. It was serene and beautiful most of the time. I was alive and could finally feel what that meant. There were no more pressured expectations. I had the chance to decide what I did and did not want to accept in my life.

I knew I had finally arrived in that place of acceptance one morning as I prepared to go to work. I was living at my childhood friend's home in his basement after the separation. I woke up sometime that spring and while I was getting ready for work I looked at myself. Not the quick glance to ensure my hair was right or my clothes matched, but a deeper look. I stared directly into the mirrored reflection of my own eyes and I was at peace. In my closeted life I had spent so much energy trying to not be me that I was ashamed. I couldn't look myself in the eye without feeling guilt. That day it was different. I looked, I stared, and I lingered. There were no more internal words of hate or loathing. There was no more blame for a "root" that didn't exist. Sure, the abuse happened, but it hadn't altered the gender of who I love. Instead, there were only feelings and thoughts of acceptance, love, peace. I was a gay man and I was content to finally be so.

The beauty of acceptance on this process is that it did lead to a 6th stage not usually encountered in the grieving process in the case of death or illness. I found happiness. After coming to accept who I was I was able to then appreciate it, celebrate it, embrace life as my whole self. While life isn't perfect and I have definitely had my share of setbacks and pain, it is so much easier to live with as a whole person. Today I look forward to a future knowing that the tough times will be easier and the happy times greater as I live who I am.
 "My acceptance came in bits and pieces. I first had to calm the storm within me. Hurt and anger are heavy, and I just came to a place where I had no desire to carry them around anymore. The first part came for me about 4 months after our separation. Nothing earth shattering happened. We were in the throes of an ugly divorce, but it was too much to keep up. I learned through some very quiet, private moments that I couldn't "fix" this.

 The process of acceptance worked in me slowly and gradually, making it the process that lasted the longest.

 I had to realize that there was accountability to be shared by many. My accountability was that I married a man who was my best friend who, during this friendship, had shared with me that he did have attractions to men. We were both ignorant to what we were dealing with. I had been in love with him since I was 14 years old, and if he wanted to give the straight life a shot, I wanted to be the one he did it with. I had to accept that I took a risk and though my marriage had ended, my boys still got to have him as a father. THAT was one of the biggest reasons I took the risk in the first place. I knew we would make a great parenting team, and we still do today.

 I had to forgive. I had to learn that by forgiving, I wasn't saying that what happened was o.k. I was saying, I don't want to stay here anymore, I want to move forward.

 I am at a place now where I have to sort of laugh at the look of shock and horror on people's faces when I share that "my former husband is gay." They just can't understand that it's o.k. In fact its way more than o.k. It has given me more opportunities in my life to learn and grow than any other single experience my life has afforded me. I went to the Pride Parade last June for heaven's sake! And on top of it, I nearly burst into tears as I watched my sweet boys ride past atop the shoulders of their daddy and his partner.

 Ben connected me with some women in a "Straight Spouse Group." We laugh together at the way we came to know each other, but we work together with a hope and desire to help others come to this place of acceptance.

 Ben gives me a hard time because the only spice I use to cook with is Nature's Seasoning.  During our marriage he showed me how and when to use a few more spices. I find a bit of irony each time I turn back to my Nature's Seasoning. Ben may not have convinced me to add more spices to my cooking, but he definitely figured out how to add spice to my life. The experiences that this journey has afforded me are sweet and savory and have added richness to my life." (Visser)

This is just my story, just how my MOM worked. While I share many similarities and feelings of other MOM's, they individually run the spectrum of experiences and outcomes. There are MOM's that don't divorce. There are MOM's that are made up of heterosexual men and lesbian women; those that involve transgendered members of this coupling. There are MOM's that have both a lesbian woman and a gay man. The possibilities are endless. Support is building day by day for all forms of these marriages.

Part of my happiness today has been to involve myself in these support systems and grow awareness our existence. My particular focus has been gay fathers. The Utah Gay Fathers Association did not exist when I came out. Nothing like it existed. Through collaborative efforts, trial and error we exist today. I once thought I was numbered among a tiny number of gay men that married and had children with a heterosexual spouse. I was wrong. In the last year UGFA has grown from a small gathering of men at a monthly support meeting to 120+ online participants. In the time it has taken to write this we have added 10+ men to our support groups.

 UGFA is here to give hope, provide support, love and a listening ear. We are reaching out and providing a healthier path than the road my MOM took towards the end. We reach out to all gay dads and all gay men. We represent loving families. We give hope and encouragement to gay men who want children through adoption and surrogacy. We reach out to the Latino community. We build bridges with support groups for heterosexual partners of MOMs. We support all in our community who believe families take many forms and they all should be valued.

 Ultimately I hope to be a part of change. I hope that society and religion will learn to accept homosexuality into the fabric of humanity. We hope that pressure will be taken off GLBTQ people to marry heterosexual partners. In fact, there is hope that UGFA one day focuses more on creating support for families of same-sex marriages. There is hope that one day MOMs don't exist as the too often do today. Whatever the future holds, we are here to offer love, acceptance, and support.

Utah Gay Fathers

 Cited

Axelrod, Julie. "The 5 Stages of Loss and Grief." 2011. Psych Central. <http: 2006="" lib="" psychcentral.com="" the-5-stages-of-loss-and-grief="">.</http:>

Salas, Roque. Administrator Ben Visser. 20 February 2012.

Visser, Elizabeth. Ex-wife Ben Visser. 20 February 2012.

Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-45999324547033967092012-02-05T22:24:00.000-08:002012-02-05T22:34:07.133-08:004 Years of Saying What Needs To Be Said

This song came out just as I was. It is the inspiration for this blog. I wasn't really coming out as much as giving up. I was about to tell my wife I had given up and was coming out until someone beat me to it. I came out to my family on Superbowl Sunday 4 years ago. I pulled them from their parties to tell them before my ex beat me to it. I was so embarrassed I didn't invite my mom.

I listened to this song over and over and over the week leading up to the Sunday I would tell my family. There is such honesty in the song and I could feel it. It was my moment to say what I needed to say. There are those songs that you feel were meant for only you and every word was dead on. This is one of them for me.

Coming out was ugly and painful. It was stressful and I cried many tears. But, it was the best thing I have ever done for myself. 4 years later has proven that I am a better man, a better father, and even a better (ex) husband than I was before.

So I sat as the center of attention in a dark living room, hands shaking, faith broken, the one man army tired of fighting. I told them who I was. I came out as bisexual (still true, but more on that later). I told them of the divorce. It was liberating and scary. The only reaction I recall is one brother hugging me as he left that night and telling me it didn't matter and that I was still his brother. He has been the only one in my immediate family to maintain such an opinion. I may have lost many biological family members that day, but I gain honesty, integrity, authenticity. The road has been rough at times and many tears have been shed, but it has been worth it. I would never go back for anything.

So as I remember the scared man shaking in that living room I am thankful he finally said it. It has been the road less traveled and it has made all the difference.

Say what you need to say...Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-8581191458987217242012-01-26T09:59:00.000-08:002012-01-26T16:26:02.253-08:00Better As A Memory

It was never a lie. It may have been naivety, too much faith in a non-existent "cure", or wishful thinking; but it was never a lie.

Our wedding day was amazing for many reasons. Sure, I planned it basically all myself. Yes, it took my breath away to walk into the empty reception room and see everything as I had planned it. Everything I had hoped for. But, it was more than that....it was the dream that everyone hopes for. I was marrying my high school sweetheart. I was staying with the girl who had been at my side through so much. Dancing at prom together, laughing at stupid inside jokes, talking for hours about nothing, working together as "sandwich artists," dreaming of the future and all its possibilities, listening as I let out the secret pain and abuse I had suffered silently for so long with, crying at my side as my father, my mentor, left this life. She was there. She loved me and I loved her with all I understood love to mean. I loved her with all I had to offer.

4 years ago this weekend marks the shattering of so many of her dreams, my dreams, our dreams. It was a painful period in my life. I was giving up on the dream I felt I had wanted (and was supposed to have) for 27 years. This project I calculated, worked on, built, re-calcuated, was now ultimately destroyed. My pain would suddenly become hers too. In one phone call on the way to work it would be over. I would not beg her to stay or forgive and try again. I would no longer have someone to laugh, cry, hope, and dream with.

The next year and a half would be a time blurred with hate, anger, and pain that could only be inflicted between people who knew each other's every weakness. I have scars today still. Memories of pain that will never go away, but they have faded and the good times are cherished.

I have spent 7 months working on the Surgical Trauma unit in the Intermountain Medical Center. While I haven't seen it all and I am still surprised at times, I have seen a lot. I have watched patients die unexpectedly from injuries usually curable. I have seen patients recover from accidents hard to imagine as survivable. I have seen pain. I have watched men far too young lose use of their legs, women lose the chance to bare children before they even could fathom what that meant. I have seen physical pain every night. The scale of 1-10 is asked at every room visit. Pain is routine. I have seen emotional pain too. I have sat, carefully watching patients whose injuries weren't accidents, and whose emotional pain had driven them to try to end it all. I have seen pain.

I have also felt pain. I recall the broken ankle just a year ago that left me laying on my bed, going into shock, hoping my room mates would finally get me to the ER. Even a year later I can feel pain in that ankle with just the right weather or miscalculated step. But, that fades more and more. And four years later I can recall some of the emotional pain as a powerless father with children I couldn't see. I still have those scars and at the right moment I can feel the pain still. At the miscalculated bad day I can remember the broken heart at not seeing my sons have so many firsts. I can remember the pain of crying as I watched my sons drive away after a weekend, not knowing when the next weekend would come.

Yet, we survive and even the most complex bone break or the most painful heartache can be healed. We are remarkable creatures. Fragile, yet so strong. Life is a balance of delicate and powerful. Bones regrow stronger and, if we try, hearts can mend as well. The memory of pain dissipates. At the right moment we can catch glimpses of that pain, yet our minds have a knack of surviving it and moving forward. We even look back at the faded pain and gather strength from how we have recovered and grateful for the lessons we learned.

So 4 years later I can still remember the ugly, but in a faded way. I am grateful that I can't recall all the pain. We've moved past it. Sometimes the pain/anger/sadness catches like the ankle aches when a storm rolls in. Life isn't perfect, but we try.

I heard this song "Better As A Memory" and I made the connection to what I wrote about above. We loved each other. We stood side-by-side through so much. So many good times, so many sad. We buoyed each other up. And even through all the anger and pain at the end of our marriage we still work hard to rehab what is left and grow stronger everyday. There could be so much energy wasted in continuing to inflict pain, but we both realize things are better as a memory. The survivor's memory where pain is lessened and the good times shine through.

Life is complex, yet so simple. The complexity is usually as a result of self-doubt, fear, and naivety. I find that the complexities are usually of my own making. It has taken 4 years, but I think I am finally recognizing my own worth. Not the worth in terms of helping others or being involved in ways to make a difference. That worth has always been there for me. Today I realize my worth for that one. I am waking up to the idea that relationships aren't perfect....and shouldn't be. I am waking up to the idea that my imperfections and someone else's imperfections can be amazing when woven together.

We spend so much time making mental lists of exactly what Mr Right looks like. We set rules of what we want and don't want. We make things complex. The simplicity of it all is that Mr Right just needs to be a man that sees the beauty of our imperfections, loves even when things aren't so loveable, willing to be honest when honesty isn't convenient, willing to strong when strength is needed, and willing to submit to weakness when weakness may seem pathetic .

I joke at work when we pass on report that the significant other in a room is either married or just a bf/gf all based on how they act. The married spouse is there, but tends to spend their time on the couch or involved in so many things with the practicals of the patients care. The dating couple tends to be the ones sharing the hospital bed and jumping at every whimper or need. The exception to this rule is the one I love to see. I love seeing the old married couples that are knit together. They have that beautiful mix of the above. They have spent their lives as best friends and confidants. They have managed to not sweat the complexities and keep things simple. They value the imperfections that make us so beautiful. They have grown as individuals and tied themselves together not as one uniform rope but a web of individual strands intertwining enough to build strength, but separated enough to shine individually. They don't always stay the night, but they understand the beauty of missing each other at times. They understand the beauty of that "Good morning baby" as they walk in. They understand the beauty of being there becuse they want to, not just because they covenanted to.

Life is beautiful. Never perfect, but pretty awesome. I have gained more insight into truly believing my favorite quote: "I may not be perfect, but parts of me are pretty awesome." I am learning that Mr Perfect may exist at first glance, but it usually fades. I am learning that wanting a perfect guy is different than truly needing the imperfections that will make our web strong. After all a broken bone may seem like an imperfection, but we know that where bones were once broken they grow stronger.

4 years later our friendship grows. I am "better as a memory than as her man." We have grown stronger and wish her even more strength. I wish her to learn the value of herself. Not the boastful, prideful kind, but the value in understanding that both her imperfections and awesomeness are a package worth so much. I hope to continue to learn that too. I no longer want an exact Mr Right or a Mr Perfect. While not wanting a Mr Wrong, I am learning that want I want and what I need are not always on the same page. I am learning that letting go and just accepting can far surpass all I had hoped for.

So I celebrate this weekend with both the faded memory of yesterday's pain and the joy/serenity of living life authentically. The scars still exist, but strength does too. But after all, I hear scars are sexy.

So here is to life and old age. Here is to our friendship and the hope that so many more in similar situations find it. Here is to us finding our Mr Beautifully Imperfect. And here is to the knowledge that if he never shows that we will be that old couple together as friends. Peacefully celebrating our friendship and our family as we move on from this life.
Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-79450903798590336452011-12-31T14:37:00.000-08:002012-06-26T05:52:48.503-07:002011: Let It Go
2011 is one of the Best-Worst years I have ever had. I know the song above may seem a little down or depressing. It isn't. To me its a reflection on where life has been and a message of hope. A message to move on and grab life again. That is my 2011 story.

Started 2011 with a broken ankle, no winter income, just ending my first official relationship (after coming out), facing foreclosure, 20 lbs heavier, and still broken-hearted from the one who took everything and got away.

I was not in a good place and knew the road ahead was long. Because of the broken ankle all hope on saving my home had basically been lost. After sacrificing years of privacy with renting out every corner of my place it would come to an end and I would be homeless. My sons would be without a place to call Dad's. I would have to let go of so many belongings.

I had survived so much. I had fought with everything I could, but it was over. I had no fight left, no more angles I could use to survive. I was free falling.

BEST THING EVER

We all try to find our own place in life. Make a living, hold on to "things" we work hard for, try to be in a better position in life. All too often we hold on to too much. We fear letting go of the familiar. We can only hold on to so much before there is no room for anything else. And again, all too often it is too much; too much of the bad, too little of the good.

I had time to contemplate life while flat on my back waiting for the ankle to heal. Life was miserable. I wasn't happy. What happened? Coming out was supposed to fix it all. I was SO happy that first couple years after coming out. What had I done with my life that it had changed and I was back to feeling dead? I hadn't let go.

I grabbed on to what I thought was a good thing, I gave my heart to what I thought was a good man, I gave my time to what I thought were worthy goals. I stood there arms filled with once happy, worthy, good things. They had rotted and there wasn't room for one more straw. But, the straw came anyway. I held that straw for a few months, but everyday I got closer and closer to breaking. Every minute of every day was stressed or filled with pain from what I thought would make me happy.

Then there was a song (see previous Adele post) and friends and love. I had really no room for the song, or love, or friends but I tried to. I strained to hold on.

I had spent months trying to figure out where the happiness had gone. Why had it expired from what I thought were good things. Mostly I spent time wondering how I could get it back. How I could feel as free as I once had. I knew the answer. I had to let "him" go, I had to embrace the idea of someone like him. I also had to let "things" go. I had to let my roof disappear; lose the only home I had really ever know as mine. I had to remove the scar tissue from the broken dreams. I had to re-discover what really mattered. I needed to get back to being happy to be alive.

I stood in the "wake of devastation....insides crying 'save me now'....impossibly alone." I had to build up hope, despite feeling like I had only known failure. Feeling like there was no one to catch me. I stood defeated with nothing left to do but LET IT GO or find myself broken and buried.

And so I did. I let the house go. I let "things" go. I gave up what I had worked hard for. I cried tears on tears to wash away the stains of a broken heart. I stood up. I grabbed on to friends. I built a support group of men. I dropped the packages of rotten dreams and I let peace try to find its way in. I stood with my arms empty, choosing carefully what I would let them hold. I let go of the dreams I was supposed to have and emptied some space for dreams I wanted to grow.

I began to rebuild. I found a new home. I found a new job. I lost those 20lbs plus. I re-discovered great friends. I began to work on goals I wanted. I found peace.

The stains of a broken, bloody heart did start to vanish. I fell in love a little again. Even though it didn't last more than a brief period, I felt. That was something I hadn't done in a long time. I felt. My heart was beating and someone inspired me. I had't "felt" since "him." Not even with my first official boyfriend. But I feel know. "That's alright, I'll find someone like you" was no longer a practice in fake-it-til-you-make-it hope. It was a reality. There can be someone out there that makes my heart beat a little stronger. Finally.

So here we are with 2012 just hours away. 2011 I'll let you go just like I let everything else go. 2012 is a chance to fill those now empty spaces with what we want.

Choose wisely.

Happy New Year!
Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-55489087445607430582011-12-03T00:33:00.000-08:002011-12-03T01:53:25.697-08:00Sometimes It Lasts In Love, But Sometimes It Hurts Instead

I know I should make a rule against blogging at 1:30 AM, but on the other hand, this is what this blog is. The pure, unrefined, raw side of life. Good and bad, here it is. Keeping to the integrity of it. For some its too much, so for you this is a warning. Maybe it seems sappy, maybe dramatic, maybe unreal. Feel free to stop reading here. But for others maybe you can relate, maybe you can see the raw honesty.

I bought Adele's 21 album as soon as I heard "Rolling in the Deep." Oddly enough, the song reminded me of the same person that this post is about. The song speaks for itself. I was angry, and it was a good angry. A controlled angry, an inner anger to never let someone do that to me again. To take control for once and be smarter with who gets my heart. The hope is that I'm not too "smart" and take some chances now and again. I have the following picture as my desktop wallpaper to remind me to push myself a little.

I loved the entire album. If I were straight, Adele would have a stalker. She has an amazing soul in her music that resonates with my life. I love the album, but 3 songs stick out. "Rolling in the Deep", "Turning Tables", and mostly "Someone Like You." As I listened to the whole album that last "Someone" gripped me and hasn't let go.

It unfolded me and summed up me.....and him. I didn't want to share it, but knew it was amazing and destined to hit the radio. I dreaded it. Many a good cry has been to this song. So many songs remind me of him, but this one has some bittersweet, distant hope that things get better.

I remember exactly where I was. I was headed home from a long, tiring day mowing lawns on my route, pulling the trailer, being ultra "butch" and the song played on air. Instant waterworks and I was worried I might hit someone from the blur in my eyes. And it has almost every time it plays. It is a mood changer, a thought provoker. I have sat silently as it played in my ears, and I have sung so loud in my truck American Idol could have taped it from California for their commercial break singers.

While there is always the part of me that hopes I will open the door one day and he will be there; his closet door shattered, facing reality, honesty, and accepting himself...and us, there is also that hope now that someone will fill in the few spaces in my heart I have left.

I can explain away part of the relationship as it happening simultaneously with coming out, being honest with myself, loving myself for the first time in countless years, and all the beauty, possibilities, and experiences the world held in front of me now. I can say it, I can think it, but he is still there. He was there for so many of those first steps as a "baby gay" who wanted to see so much and experience so much. He was there for the ups and downs of divorce, family distancing, and for the good times.

I needed him and he needed me. We filled an empty-ness in our lives that hadn't been filled. A place free of judgement. Filled with hope, texts of "Goodnight/Good Morning, I love You," and hugs. Not the manly pats, but the embraces of understanding and letting go of all the world had thrown at us that week.

Life is great over all. I have faced so many challenges this last year and there are many in front of me, but they are manageable and I feel life moving forward again. But, there is that part left unhealed no matter how many times I try to put ointment on it, or hope it will go away if I try to ignore it.

Dating sucks. I was perfectly determined to be single, until another boy happened along and asked me out. And then like usual (as I have a magnet that almost always attracts closeted men) he flaked and disappeared, even before the date. The idea of dating was left unwrapped and it drew me in. And so it has been, so many frogs kissed.

And the song plays on. Catching me here and there, clearing my throat, hoping no one can see the eyes filling; reminding me of those times I longed for again. For the person I needed. The one who seemed to love me regardless of our differences. The one who captivated me at every level.

The day may never come that I see the fire ring around his big brown eyes or feel his head on my shoulder as we embrace on sight letting the world melt away. I may not get that first kiss. We may never fight the world together again.

I could throw it all away, delete it, or sell it, but it would make no difference. You can't delete the heart. There is no wipe and reload; deleting it all. But there is hope.

Just as the haunting lyrics state, there may be someone like him. I see guys sometimes who carry themselves as he did, or dress like him, or have the same nose or puppy dog eyes. It doesn't compare, its doesn't fix. As I have listened this month for probably the thousandth time I hear the hope. While this guy doesn't know it yet, there has been someone wake chambers that I thought would never beat again. We may never meet, as Australia isn't next door, but even feeling that beat again has revived hope.

I will always love Vic. He will always be a part of my life, but I see hope that he won't be the only part of life I truly lived. I'm holding out that he won't be the only "glory days" I have. Sure I hope he wakes up and sees how beautiful life is outside the closet. Sure, I hope he runs back, but I can't wait longer. There is someone else out there who can make my heart beat. Maybe he's 8400 miles away in the land down under, or maybe he sees the same Rocky Mountains I do.

So there is hope that "someone like" him shows up and has the patience and will to fight for me, for us. The heart is frozen, but I have seen it thaw in spots unexpectedly. Here's to the frogs in the future, here's to this song that may always be "ours," but here's also to a good thaw.

Below is linked my favorite version of "our song."

Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-61422789628769822712011-11-11T09:27:00.000-08:002011-11-11T11:24:01.320-08:00One of My Biggest RegretsI have to come out of the closet again. I found something out about myself this year but haven't told many more people than some of my closest friends. So here we go; hoping you won't judge me to harshly.....I love Glee. There, I said it. Even as a fairly secure gay man, I wasn't secure enough to say I enjoyed a show about singing and dancing and feelings. I finally broke down to watch it this year and see what all the noise was about. Its been my dirty little secret for months now. More like a guilty pleasure. After a bad day or stressful situation I could come home, turn on netflix, and forget the world for a moment.

It has made me question my gayness. While I have zero issue with men who's flame shines a bit brighter, I don't fit in that stereotype very well. I can cook and can appreciate dressing better, but I couldn't tell you what the new fall colors were at Nordstrom, what names they carry, or what the great vintages of wine are. I will tell you that Ross carries some decent clothes at decent prices and I do enjoy shopping. I can also tell you that Cumin is an undervalued spice in this world. That's about as far as my gay gene takes me in the world of fashion.

Regardless of how "straight-acting," "masculine," or butch I may naturally be, there are areas that Kurt and I relate on a very personal level. He goes through many insecurities that I have dealt with, even if they weren't as easy to spot as his are.

I have gone back and done something I almost never do, I have started re-watching episode one. I never watch shows I have seen over again. Always seems pointless to live in the past (Even though I have bought the first six seasons of Smallville, but haven't watched them over again at all), but Glee has me doing it.

I watched the 4th episode of season one last night and it hit me strongly again. For those that haven't seen it, Kurt (the gay character with a "bright flame") comes out to his dad, but not without some final attempts to prove his masculinity and hide his secret. While he meets being on the football team with moderate success, it doesn't fulfill him. It took me back.

In high school I was always asked what I played on the football team. People were suprised when I told them I didn't play football. I was tall and husky (still hate that word) and probably would have done OK as a lineman, which I think is a real position, right? I had no real interest in football, but did play in the band at home games and enjoyed that instead.

Sports scared me. I avoided them at all costs as I worried my lack of talent would be discovered and somehow that would immediately have people arrive at the conclusion that I must be gay. I wasn't going to have that shameful secret exposed. Now looking back, not joining in church ball and avoiding all other sports probably wasn't as good of a cover as I once thought. I did play one sport, soccer. I loved it and played until I was old enough to realize I wasn't as talented as my older brothers and would end up on rec teams instead of competition teams. I wasn't the worst player, but just was shy of having enough talent and speed to move on. Thus ended my career in sports at the old age of 13.

I wanted to play church ball, I really did. My dad was the coach and had been a star player in high school. He would always ask me, but I always had a good excuse about homework or fixing a car, or some extra curricular school activity. Secretly I had hoped he would just take me aside sometime when others weren't around and show me how to play basketball and be like the other guys. I was too prideful and too embarrassed to ask. My older brothers had more talent and I didn't want to embarrass him or me by my lack of athletic skill.

I think mt dad was fairly perceptive, even though he never caught on that I did want to play basketball, but I just wanted him to get me up to speed before I looked like a fool.

There is the old chain of thought that being gay was as a result of an over-bearing mother and distant father. I don't buy it. I will have to cede the fact that my mother did fit that stereotype, if not the very definition of it. Her picture may actually be next to the word in the dictionary. I am too afraid to look. As far as my father goes, he wasn't distant, but he was "old." I had one of the oldest dads among my friends. I loved hearing about all the camping, shotgun shooting, hiking, sports, etc that my older brothers and sisters did with him. I was often jealous. I was the youngest of seven and now see why he had to work so hard to provide for us. I knew he was older, but it didn't make me not wish for those days they would speak of that I spent coddled by my mom while they played.

Looking back, I don't think that makes him a distant father though. He worked hard, but he was always there at whatever I was doing. Whether I was in a play, or a concert, or just having him watch me color on his workbench as my mom would be off shopping or doing some important civic work or something "important."

The most fond memories though are when Dad would take some time off for just me and we would go to the local car show. I loved it and couldn't get enough of his old stories of which car he drove or what he dreamed of. I love my dad and I miss him more than I can possibly explain. [Hopefully my spelling is OK as the screen is a bit blurry at the moment. Must be allergies, right? ;)]

My eyes did well up a bit honestly as I watched Kurt come out to his dad. I never did. It is one of my biggest regrets. I was 20 when my dad passed away after a long, and often painful two years of kidney failure. It was not an experience I would wish on anyone, but there were silver linings on those dark, cloudy two years.

I stayed home from my mission for two reasons. First, 24/7 with another guy my age seemed like way too much of a temptation and I needed to avoid being gay at all costs. Second, I was the youngest and only one at home still. Someone needed to car for dad and help him. I will say the latter helped mask the first well. (Aside from all the promises that he'd be "cured" if I would only just go serve God for two years....don't get me started on that one.)

Dad died just before my 21st birthday and right after his 60th. We hadn't even celebrated it yet. He chose the morning of Memorial Day 2001 to leave us. It was almost 2 years that he had been ill. 2 years that I spent serving the mission I should have been on. I felt at peace with that. Had I gone on an LDS mission, I would have missed many painful moments as I watched this giant of a man slowly die. However, I would have missed some of the greatest bonding moments of my life. This was my time with my dad. While not as fun as shotgun shooting, or hiking, or camping. This was my time. I got to know this well-loved man in ways many did not. Unfortunately I live with one major regret from that time, that I didn't tell him.

Every boy wants his dad to be proud. I did a lot of things trying to be a son he could be proud of. I was smart, excelled in scouts, involved in church, etc. But, I was gay, and it was my weakness.

Today, I regret not having that conversation with him. It was one thing I regretted from the moment I came out. As I watched Kurt last night come out to his dad, it took me back to that regret and made me wish I had. I wasn't quite ready then, but I wish I would have been. It took me 8 years, a wife, and two kids later after that to finally accept who I was and come out.

Coming out was ugly all around. I was ill prepared and floundered many times. Many that read this blog or know me personally will know that my family has all but vanished in my life. I was the party planner in my family. I made sure the events happened and that we got together. I was the glue that brought together all the differing opinions and drama hoping to keep the family together after dad died. I was often told I should have been the oldest, not the youngest. I acted like the oldest. Having them disappear from my life out of misunderstanding, fear, or religious beliefs has been tough. I have often thought these were not the children my dad raised. He would never have stood for this.

I never did come out to him and I regret that deeply. I could go on and on about my dad and all the fond memories, but for now I'll shorten it up. He was a great man. He was loved by his children, his religion, his community. He is the man I look up to and wish to model my life after. When I hit a hard spot in life and consider my options, he comes to mind. Its not "what would Jesus do" that I think of, its "what would Dad do." Its not a weird pressure like religion. I don't feel like I am earning points or avoiding his dissatisfaction and guilt by wanting to be like him. He is just the man I admire and know that his heart was always in the right place. I see happiness when I remember him and I find happiness when I make decisions I know he would make. He loved everyone, even those who made his life harder. He accepted everyone (which will be a separate post one day). He had friends from all walks of life and he treated them all with dignity and respect. He would have done the same to me.

I do believe things would be different today had he lived to see me come out. I wish I would have been in a place to tell him 10+ years ago, but I wasn't. I think he knew though. Just like Kurt's dad, he may not have loved the idea, but he would have loved me. There may have been some questions. He may have needed a moment to breathe, but he would have loved me. He would have been my ally and biggest fan as he always was. Whether he has a soul somewhere or is just moved on to being a part of the circle of life here on Earth, he loves me. I know my dad and I do believe it would cause him pain to see his other children act towards me in the way they have. I feel sorry for them, they missed Dad's greatest lesson; to love unconditionally. He wouldn't have put up with it. While he rarely put his foot down, this would have been one of them. He would not have let the prejudice, disgust, or distance my family has chosen stand for one second. Sure, there is pain in not having my family accept me. Sure, there is pain in no longing belonging, but the sadness I feel is mostly for them. They have had an opportunity to "do what Dad would do" and they have ignored it. They have looked past, and in some ways, dishonored the man he was. They have stunted their growth and missed an opportunity of a lifetime. Dad didn't love because he was commanded to. He loved because he wanted to. After years of loving how I was commanded to, and now loving as I want to, I realize how different those two things really are.

I love the saying "I may not be perfect, but parts of me are pretty awesome." I have to say that those awesome parts are things I learned and felt from the greatest man I will ever know; my Dad.
Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-25506171475867816762011-09-04T00:56:00.000-07:002013-11-24T11:52:34.185-08:00A Place of RefugeI'm moving.

While all is not completely final, my home should be sold and papers signed on September 15th.

There is a lot running through my head. It has been a wild journey the last few years. So many good things, so many new experiences, so many new challenges, and so much more stress and heartache than I could have imagined. Unfortunately the heartache and challenges are more recent that the good times that were had in this home. But....I have survived and I feel a renewed sense of peace and hope as I venture on to a new chapter in life.

Although this home was the first, and only, marrital home I have had, I have been single here now longer than I was married here. I do have faded memories of those first few years though. All the expectation and planning and working to nest in our own plot of land in the world. The anticipation of how this "fixer-upper" would one day be a jewel in the neighborhood. I recall the first night here. It was great to be living above ground again. We had space! Ben Jr wasn't quite so thrilled. He didn't sleep well that night and it took some effort to not run into his room at every rustling or cry. Luckily he adjusted quickly.

I do recall a sense of sadness as we moved a whole block from our condo into our house. So many memories in that home too. It was where I became a dad. I guess the bittersweet of moving isn't new to me and its reassuring to remember that I never really looked back at that condo after we closed the door behind us for the last time. I keep the memories with me, but not the sadness of leaving. I imagine this move will be the same.

I became a dad for the second time in this home on Finair Street. I built a business here. I learned too much about wiring and remodeling. I chased my boys round and round the kitchen and living room here. I had a family, I lost a marriage. I spent my first night out and divorced in this home. I found my first "domestic partnership" here and I left it here. I built new friendships, and lost an important one I will never get back. I finally was called to a "respectable" position in my church here and I lost my religion here. My life continued on as a "normal" family man here, and my life shattered here. I fought my last battles in the closet in these four walls. I snuck out of these four walls and lied as I searched whether my feelings were "real." I lost the battle, but won the war like I never would have imagined winning.

The single most pivotal point in my life has happened while this red brick has been called my home. But, its time to move on. I fought hard and long to keep this piece of sheetrock mine, but finally found some peace as I am learning to let go. We can't have it all, so only keep what is important. Pride is not one of those things to keep. Authenticity, truth, and integrity are.

I had no intention of writing tonight but my mind has been running non-stop in this bittersweet moment of time as I say go

od-bye to a once cherished dream. As I was singing "This Little Light of Mine" to Tucker and Ben as they drifted off to sleep, my favorite piece of art hung in front of me and brought me peace. I was thinking how I loved the room I finally built for myself. I love the can lighting, I loved the color, I loved where my hopes were as I built it; I was leaving it. This would be one of the last nights I would sing these songs to my boys as they closed their eyes to sleep within the wood and plaster of my home on Finair. "A Place of Refuge (IV)" (left) hung in front of me as I sang and I felt what that meant.

I found this painting as I waited to hear from a friend who had gone home to tell his wife he was leaving. Nervous and excited for him the obvious had to be done to distract me as I awaited his follow-up call: shopping! I fell in love the second I saw it. I kept this one for my self but a few months later ordered and gave "my refuge" to him on his birthday. Aside from the money and my heart, the only worldly thing he never gave back was the copy of this painting I gave him. There will always be a reminder of him as I see this painting hang in my room. I would bet he hangs this in his room too, but it can't represent to him what it does me. I gave him refuge and he gave me lies and a broken heart. I hope one day that will change. As for now, this painting became more mine again tonight as I lay watching my boys slip into nightly dreams of adventure as I sang.

My walls may be another color and my space may be smaller, but that painting will hang with me wherever I go. More importantly what it represents will stick with me wherever I find my head resting. My sons will always be in my heart and I will always be in their's. We will always find a place of refuge where we are together. Songs will still be sung regardless of geography and paint color. We will always be "home" when we are together.

So I sit in a dark living room and see life's things scattered everywhere as I pack and throw away and give away and sell. As I move from a home to an apartment. As I learn to accept the things I cannot change and move forward with the things I can.

Two songs come to mind:

Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-84387999658863746562011-07-23T16:28:00.000-07:002011-07-23T16:46:11.036-07:00Response To A Recent Forum Post
I wanted to take a minute and address an issue that is far too common: families rejecting their children and siblings due to homophobic ignorance. There was a post in a forum today about a gay son who had a partner. They had recently moved back to Salt Lake and closer to his family. He was now facing from the family the "pretend he doesn't exist" and ignoring his partner even when being in the same room. How sad. Look at all they are missing out in. He was needing advice and wanting to vent. I shared the following in his post's comments: (I think it resonates with many, unfortunately)

This definitely strikes a chord. About a year ago my family held a meeting in my sisters backyard. The discussion wasn't even welcome in her house because I was there. It was their form of intervention. Unrelated to a boyfriend they had made a few attempts to take my children to family events while seeing that I didn't know about them. The Papa Bear in me shut that down fast and we stopped talking. I refused to let them "save my children" from me.

So the meeting was their attempt to reach out and say we want you back in our family....but here is a list of do's and don'ts. Of course they didn't want me kissing the guy I was dating around them, my sister was concerned I would parade around grabbing his ass (wtf?), and other "gay" behaviors. These are things I never even did with my wife as a newly wed in front of them. I was told he could come around if we acted only like friends. I could go on and on about the ridiculous notions and stereotypes thrown in my face that day.

I looked back at them and said that I would never ask them to do with their spouses what they were asking of me. I would never ask them to leave their spouse home or remove their garments when entering my home, or anything else that would deny them what makes them happy. I would never tell them "absolutely no contact" with their spouse in my home. After having them absent in my life for a year, a year that I desperately needed them, it became very clear that I no long did need them. I didn't need the closet door reopened and to be shoved back in.

I explained to them the hurt and pain that came along with being in the closet. I explained to them that I was in a better place. Their response was "You know what is right." They were right, I did. I let them know if they accepted who I loved into their homes without ridiculous judgement, stereotyping, or unneeded rules I would be there. We left it at that and I left. For me, the dishonesty to myself to heed their rules wasn't worth it. I refused to be the guy I once was. I went home and fell apart briefly in the arms of the guy I was dating and that was that.

Yes, it stings. There are times I miss it, but there is no way to describe the self-respect and strength I find in being authentically me.

A year went by and my mom apparently was trying again. As usual it was still on her terms and whenever she could get around to it. After inviting her to a few things and never showing I sent her an email titled "Your Gay Son."

I didn't post it in my blog for any fanfare. I hope know one sees this as a pat on my back. The reason I share it is because I do earnestly hope that more GLBTQ people realize their self worth and move forward with their happiness.

Consequently I got basically no real response, just a superficial excuse and I'm sorry. Haven't heard form her since really.

I do have one brother who has kept an open mind but is still not close. My bf and I were invited to their sons bday party with no rules. It went well and the supposedly homophobic (not wanting to see Uncle Ben as a gay man) children of my sister were asking when they would see my bf again. You could see the smoke coming out her ears. I take that a day at a time. If you have someone in your family who is earnestly trying, work with it. Never deny who you are are do anything that causes harm to your self-respect or authenticity.

Good luck on your journey. It has its painful moments, but it is always worth being "dyed in the wool true blue through and through" with who you are.
Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-72203432766440408132011-07-17T01:07:00.000-07:002011-07-17T01:38:11.546-07:00Chasing Cars

Chasing Cars Video Link

I played that song over and over on my cell phone's tiny little speaker. I couldn't fight back the tears anymore and my sons could see it. They just fell and I couldn't stop them anymore. I wouldn't stop them anymore. I was done. I KNEW I was a good father and couldn't hear one more person question that. Not only just "another person" but my own mother; the person in my life that was supposed to be my biggest cheerleader; the one who should know me better than anyone else. It was the straw and I was finished. There was no need for further thought. I picked up my sons, put their shoes on we were out the door. Gone. Doing something that was technically illegal, but should never have been so. There was no "approved" supervisor at that moment; I was alone with my boys and we listened to this song over and over as I just drove. It had given me strength before and I was hoping it could work one more time.

To give some background, I separated with my wife at the end of January 2008. I had lied, I had cheated, and worst of all, I had hurt the people I loved.  However, amongst all those lies I had gained truth. It was a truth I had fought against. I didn't want it to be truth, but I could no longer deny it. There was turmoil in how to embrace that truth and not destroy lives. Unfortunately I did hurt people. I loved being a father, I wanted to be a father and I couldn't see that existing after I told my truth: I am a gay man. My truth had finally brought me peace when I was taught that it shouldn't. It did and I couldn't pray that peace away. It, however, didn't come without complications and pain.

I had made plans to tell Liz that it was over and that I would be leaving. It was going to happen. The first Wednesday in February; I couldn't deny it any longer. I was going to go tell one of the guys that had been very present on my journey. He was out of state at that time and I was going to take off with the car for a few days and, after telling him, I would be home to tell Liz and find a new place to live. Boston was the plan as "Boston" by Augustana was an unofficial theme for me. That was the plan and I had finally accepted it. I was nervous, but I had an inkling of peace.

My plans didn't happen. I was driving to work one morning (1 week before my first Wednesday deadline) and I got the call. The guy I had shared my journey with was on his way home to SLC and I knew it was over. I wasn't going to be in control of my coming out. She had no details, but knew enough to know that it was over. That I wasn't going to be around anymore. We were no longer a couple facing this together; we were now individuals backed into our corners. I said nothing to her, I didn't need to. He would be in SLC soon enough and he would tell her everything. I was numb.

At the beginning of the week (the week of my Wednesday) she told me we could file online and it would be over. No need to fight or make this expensive. By the end of the week, I was notified she had an attorney and it was time to lawyer up. I knew I was fighting her family and I knew it was going to get ugly. I had already gotten the call from her saying that I would not have any in-person alone time with my sons. I could call or I could see them at my sister's house, there was no other option. I was angry. I had been stripped of my natural duties as my son's father. Then, I made the number one mistake most heterosexually married, but divorcing gay men make: I let guilt drive me. I had met with a "bulldog" attorney that was going to push fast and push hard to stop this madness. It was going to get even more ugly and he was going to make it a point to become a total annoyance to the other attorney. I felt good, but then guilt came back. I was the one who cheated, I was the one who stepped out. I was the GAY one. So, I kept looking. I met with an attorney that seemed "nice". He appeared to have some knowledge as to what he was doing and he seemed calm. He was the guy I was looking for. One who could solve my problems, talk smoothly, and persuade the other attorney to solve this. I was wrong on so many levels. He was tree-hugging hippie that suggested I take a trip to nature to calm down ahead of the temporary orders hearing. I was still only seeing my sons if I agreed to have my sister supervise at her house. I went from Dad to visitor. April 12th rolled around and we were set to meet in court for the first time. (Ironically that was the day I proposed 5 years earlier, and the week I had first talked to Liz in 9th grade) I had grown concerned over the overly calm demeanor of my attorney and his lack of responsiveness. He assured me that he knew what he was doing. The attorneys decided to try to settle as much as possible before meeting the judge. I went into a little conference room and Liz and her gang went into theirs. Two of her brothers were there. I knew I wasn't fighting her, I was fighting them.

This was a temporary orders hearing, not an actual divorce hearing. I gave in and gave in and gave in. I was losing everything and wasn't too surprised. Material things were not my concern. Being a father again was my concern. It finally came down to that. She had requested that I be granted minimal visitation with strict supervision. I was appalled. I had always been a great father. She had always told me how glad she was that I her children's father. She had told me how much more involved I was than many of the other fathers she knew. This was her anger talking, this was her family's anger talking. She had requested that I jump through all sorts of hoops and psych evaluations in order to allay her fears that I was a danger to my sons. I had lied, I had cheated, I had emotionally hurt her and others in my coming out, but I had NEVER hurt my children. My lies had brought out a greater truth. I was a gay father. I was finally at peace with myself. I had a sense of honesty and integrity that was never present before. I was a great father and needed to be in that role ASAP. I will give my attorney some credit. He at least didn't foul up as much as he could have. He convinced me (because he really was unprepared) to go along with her request with a few modifications. I would only be allowed to see my children if one of my family members was present or one friend that I had known since I was a kid. That was it, no one else unless they were directly approved by her. I would see a therapist of my choice and she would have a chance to talk with her as well. I had to prove that I wasn't a danger to my children. That was really the one and only night I have ever drunk alone. A bottle of 99 Bananas, some poor gay man I was chatting with, and my misery. I'm a lightweight when it comes to alcohol, but that didn't stop me that night. My life had been stripped from me and I had no idea where to go from there. My lawyer had failed and I had failed. However, it did cure my guilt. My infidelity had nothing to do with my children and I wasn't going to watch as she attempted to push her version of cause and effect on me.

My over-priced attorney dropped me 3 weeks later…..magically just before his license was suspended.

So as of April 12th 2008, I had been unnaturally stripped of my natural role as a father. I was a visitor in my children;s lives; a visitor that was ordered to have supervision. I was told that I was an unfit person. Those that knew me had decided that this punishment was fitting an unrelated crime. Worst of all, my sons became fatherless at the hands of an attorney that took an early weekend to go paint his house.

Flash forward about 6 months. The divorce still trudged along. My family became more and more distant and even less likely to act as supervision. I honestly stopped texting them about it. It hurt too much not only to hear the "we're" busy, but more the overwhelming silence. No reply, no excuse, no concern. Shane's wife (Shane being the one and only non-family adult allowed as supervision) had returned from Mexico and I had moved out of his place. It became difficult for him to be supervision anymore, but he did what he could. I saw my sons for a few hours here and there. On a rare occasion I would see them for an overnight. That was rare.

The only time I had my boys to myself was in putting them to bed. There was no one there (not that Shane really wanted to be). It was dad time. It was our time. It was time to sing "Baby Beluga" or "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star" or "Down by the Bay" and all the other favorites. It was time to snuggle and talk about the day. It was time to laugh. It was time to be a family; no one there to look down on us or try to step in and parent. It was our time. It was always too short, but I cherished those quiet moments laying on the floor of Shane's basement "camping out" with my sons. It was the few moments of peace I had in those ugly times.

Those that have survived some of my previous posts (a certain novel-like one comes to mind) will know that music has a very strong way of connecting with me. "Chasing Cars" by Snow Patrol is one such song that has great meaning.

I first heard this song as a heterosexually married man. Many may think of it as a romantic love song, but it never was for me. I liked the song a lot, but had no real life attachment it matched to. I didn't feel this way about being with my wife even though I did earnestly try. I tried and tried to find songs that matched us, but they never did.

So, it was a song I just loved and let it at that. No correlation to real life, just good music.

That changed in those nights of momentary peace when my sons and I would lay down for bed and have family time; time where I could look in the eyes of these amazing boys and see that they didn't judge me or hate me. They looked up to me. They loved me.

This song came to have meaning. I would play it on my phone on occasion when they almost asleep and I was taking a few moments to myself to enjoy being a dad. They would hear me play it occasionally and began to see it as Daddy's song. Tucker would asking me to play the "car song" over and over. It melted my heart and it was our song to us.

It may have the appearance of a romantic song, but it doesn't have that meaning to me. To me it fits life with my sons and the love I have for them. It is a song that reminds me of the few moments we have to ourselves. (side note, finally proved supervision was ridiculous and no longer have that hurdle in my life). It reminds me of those nights just laying in bed sharing time with my sons as they fell asleep. We had the world in front of us with no limits in those fleeting moments.

My sons are my greatest teachers. Their innocence, their compassion, their resilience, and, most importantly, their unconditional love for me have kept life buoyant in an otherwise world of rough seas. Love is only the beginning of how they touch my heart.

Looking in their eyes I saw innocence. I saw the promise of letting my children keep their optimistic, unconditional love for the world in their lives. I unlearned so much prejudice as their student. I hope to be a better man and help them keep that openness to the world. Let them love who they want and see people as people, not gay, not straight, not black, not Latino, not poor, not "different."

And, so it happened as I mentioned in the first paragraph. Those who are supposed to love me and support me didn't. My family had walked out in a time of need. Those that didn't walk made it a point to stand around and take their jabs. My mom's comment to me about whether I wanted to be a good dad was enough. I didn't need to feel their lack of understanding anymore. I didn't need their judgment anymore.

So, as said before, I picked up the boys and we left. I broke the rules, and I didn't care. I was their dad and I was a damn good one, or at least did everything I could to be.

Life is tossing some ugly things at me. People I want to trust (one specially) continue to break that trust. Continue to turn to the negative. Continue to hurt and bring me down. I have stood up to that, but it comes at a great price. Now I will have to fight to secure that my sons have equal access to a dad they love.

So, this song is our song. My son's still ask me to play it on my phone or light up when it comes on the radio (partially, I'm sure, because Tucker loves cars so much). It is about us. There will always be rough seas, but I will always be their dad and they will always be my sons. When life hits hard and I feel alone or when my heart just aches to see my amazing sons I play this song. Still makes me cry, but brings me peace. I picture their love as I look into their perfect eyes. We will always have that love and bond that fathers and sons should have.

We may end up being a family always doing it all on our own. I may never find the right guy to love and add to our family. I may never be loved or accepted by my family again. I may never have riches or even a house of my very own again, but we will always have each other. We still have our nights at bedtime to sing, to laugh, to smile.  We can forget the world, forget their judgment, forget the pain. We can look forward to their dreams and wishes. We can see a "garden bursting into life."

<o:p> </o:p>
Bridgerhttp://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-76799217827337235932011-04-29T16:06:00.000-07:002011-04-29T16:17:43.606-07:00A few days laterIt has been an interesting week. My blog throw up on my last post is an example. However, throwing up can be good sometimes when your body needs to expel a poison.

My week has been filled with Victor and all that entails. Most of it has been in figuring out where to go from here. How to attract guys that are good for me.

I've noticed that there are many men I find mutual attraction with that want a caregiver and someone to take charge. Victor was a tough case, he wasn't always the best friend or most concerned, but he was there. He was support I had nowhere else. He was also someone who wanted support. And, he is one who obviously took advantage and went too far.

I am generally a strong willed man who likes to take charge. Having someone fall in line is "comfortable" for me, but it gets exhausting towing the line. I think I may keep in mind to have the next guy be my equal in taking charge and being strong willed. Should be interesting to see how that dynamic works. More on Mr Perfect (I know, in reality it will only me Mr Almost Perfect) later.

One more song at the end of Victor week. One that speaks for itself. I know he thinks of me. He missed out on an amazing opportunity.

Take it away Keith
Bridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-64475847798860551132011-04-21T12:52:00.000-07:002011-04-21T12:54:06.684-07:00Your Gay SonNow for something very personal and very cathartic for me. But, whether you like it or not, you know me to be pretty blatantly honest. So here is an unabridged, unedited version of an e-mail I sent today. It has weighed on my mind since the Pflag meeting. I will try to explain one point here. Titles were/are important to my Mom. My brother being the AP in his mission was such a highlight to her life. Every Elders Quorum President calling or Young Men's calling to her sons offered some sort of validation. It was honestly a relief when I was finally called out of Primary to be the Exec Sec. Not really for me, but just because I could finally hope she'd be happy with her son that didn't serve a mission.

I used the title I have because it is something I wear proudly. Not because of the title but what it represents. A group of gay fathers reaching out and supporting each other. It creates a sense of validity in our community as we work to build bridges. Sure I like the title and do get some warm fuzzies as we all do when getting a calling, but what really excites me is that it makes the existence of such a great group of men even more real. In other words its the respect for the mantle not necessarily the person holding it (which sounds all to self-important as I write it). So here is the very personal e-mail I finally wrote this morning:

Mom,

I stood over a week ago on a Tuesday at the PFLAG meeting. I stood as the representative and Director of The Utah Gay Fathers Association. I stood as your gay son. I stood as a loving and effective Father. I stood as a decent man trying to help others. You should have been there. You should see the man you raised. But you don't. You are missing it. I was surprised to feel the hurt so much that you weren't there. Shocked really. As my biological family has chosen to distance themselves from me I have found many others who love, respect, and celebrate who I am. It is sad for me that a sister who I was once close to and did anything/everything for chooses to call me disgusting and bitter. It is sad to hear bro and sis claiming to defend their gospel and protecting their children while isolating and dis owning their own brother in very un-Christ-like ways.

This was my piano recital. This was my sports game. This is what matters to me. This is my passion. You raised a great son. Coming out has allowed me to fully grasp all those lessons in honesty, integrity, love, compassion, acceptance, respect, and service that you and Dad taught me. This is who I am and you should be there to see it. You should be proud to have me as a son.

I spent 27 years hating who I was, loathing my attractions and having countless nights of heartache over what my heart was drawn to. Remember all those late weekend nights I wasn't home til 2 or 3 or later? Most of those were spent driving around crying and begging to not be a disappointment. Trying to find a cure to my orientation. Pleading with God to find me worthy enough to be blessed and cured. Spending nights in quiet desperation just wishing God would end it all one way or another. He finally did.

After 27 years, marriage, and 2 amazing sons, he did. Not how I thought he would, but he did. He made me see that I was just fine. That I was his son and he LOVED me for who I am. He was proud of me and he is there watching me at my version of a "piano recital." I know that Dad accepts me for who I am. I know that he is Proud to have a gay son. I wish he were here to tell others, but he's not. It is only in my heart that I know this.

I don't use my title to gloat. It only represents that you raised a good man who is trying to make a difference. Trying to reduce the suffering for those who are on the journey I was. Trying to stop the nights of quiet desperation. Trying to stop the Bobby's who feel they are alone and have no choice but to end it.

I have no wish to feel like "that" brother anymore at family events. I do not wish to fill my life with that negativity and attitude of "disgust" toward me. I have "family" in my community who care for me and love me. I will be involved where I feel loved and uplifted, not merely tolerated.

This was your chance to be proud. To see that the boy you raised is a strong, confident, and loving man. You weren't there and you have missed seeing it. I wish you wouldn't miss anymore, but I won't beg. I know and love who I am. I intend to celebrate my life and the amazing lives around me. Wish you were here.

I do love you and appreciate the many examples Dad and you gave me. I am a man you should be proud to call your son. Thank you for giving me life and providing for me in my younger years. That has given me a chance to be who I am.

Love,
Your Gay SonBridgerhttp://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2587891718613994068.post-61306235175589840212011-03-13T15:45:00.000-07:002011-03-13T15:46:40.836-07:00What an odd weekFor those that have followed the recent events I have been on a weight loss journey. A healing journey. Honestly, I have always been on a weight loss journey of sorts, but I have become more resolved again recently.

The pounds haven't been falling off, despite my best efforts. I have hit the gym 4-5 days a week for over a moth now but the scale doesn't show it. My belt does and my pants do. That part is awesome. However, this is a mental game and seeing numbers drop on the scale is a huge rush. One that I haven't really had the chance to feel yet. It became even more complicated this week.

I have always dreamed of being on the TV show "The Biggest Loser." Sure, it is narcissistic in a way. I won't deny that. The other side of me sees that exposing myself and embarrassing my self and sharing myself on national TV could help others. There would be no way to avoid the "gay" issue and part of me hopes that it could shed a more positive light on it. I wanted to get on with my ex-wife. I think we have an important story to share on living life and being happy with the unexpected wrenches thrown your way.

Liz and I went to a Biggest Loser casting call here in West Valley yesterday morning. It was a weird group of emotions. The first one was, I'm not big enough to be here and that feels kind of nice. The second was, I'm not big enough to be here and I'm embarrassed because I don't fit in by not being big enough. (odd reversal of the same emoti0n, but opposite of the ususal reason) And then there was the third emotion, I'm still worth being heard and I'm going to fight for this.

We were #56 and 57 in line. We were in and out relatively quickly once the doors finally opened at 8AM. We had been there since 4:30 AM. We were the second group of interviews to go in. It was a group interview with 12 people sitting around one casting call director. The whole interview was under 10 minutes and consisted of 3 questions. I'm sure there is some method to the madness in that process, but I have no idea what it could be. There is no way to really show who you are in under 1 minute of total speaking. I have no idea how they can pick up anything from anybody in that small time.

Liz and I left feeling happy we went and a little determined to send in a video to really have our voices heard. But reality set in. Taping starts in May and in all likelihood we wouldn't know for sure until about a week before. That would mean I would have to stop losing weight and working out for 2 months and possibly gain a little. I tried that this week. I gave up on my diet on Friday and it has been Hell. I feel like I am giving up, even if it could possibly get me on the show. Its a strange set of emotions.

I've spent since Friday going back and forth on what to do. Liz seemed more bought into the idea than she has been for a while. I didn't want to crush that by saying that I didn't want to go further. But I don't. I want to be heard. I think Liz and I should be heard. TBL isn't the only way though. I want to keep momentum. I want to go to the gym. I can't hit the pause button.

After talking to Liz today I think we have decided together to not go further in TBL endeavor and making a video. We ARE going to move forward in losing weight and hopefully we can be on the same health bandwagon to change our lives and make the lives of our sons better.

I have eaten whatever I wanted the last few days, and the first day was kind of nice, but honestly that ended quickly. Liz and I went to breakfast after because I still wasn't sure I should lose anymore weight until we made the video and either were called back for an interview or we knew we wouldn't make the cut. I was quickly reminded as to why I don't eat that way. Honestly the food wasn't great and feeling sluggish after was horrible.

I've honestly been embarrassed by myself and have just stayed home. Its totally mental because I don't anyone could really tell about my stumble....yet. It won't continue though. I'm headed back to the gym today. Biggest Loser or not, I'm moving forward and losing weight. I'll keep you posted. Liz seems on board still too. I'm excited for where this will be going.Bridgerhttp://email@example.com