THE DESCENT INTO HELL

Here's the catch with Good Friday. Death does not somehow "magically" move on to resurrection. Death remains death. And there is a reason that even Christ is represented as having descended into Hell. While I certainly live in hope of the resurrection, its time is not yet come.

In the meantime, I have twenty-six years of hopes and dreams and assumptions to bury. I also have to move out of the house, but will be staying in town as long as my children are home. This is going to be difficult for them, and if any of you have words of wisdom on HOW and how NOT to tell them, I would be grateful for posted comments.

I ask those of you who have come cruising in response to my post that my marriage is over to take your bloodlust elsewhere. I am in mourning and your attentions are most unwelcome.
I am not even sure I wish you luck elsewhere.
Maybe you should just piss off.

I doubt I will be blogging much in the near future, so let me take this opportunity to thank the rest of you for your many words of comfort and support. If I had ever shared my wife's doubts that the internet was connecting me to a community of wonderful, generous people, whether or not they were just as messed up as I was -- which I have not -- this would certainly have brought me to my senses. I cannot thank you enough, or tell you how deeply I appreciate your concern and caring.

Having given so much unsolicited advice to so many over the last months, I find myself ignoring most of it now that it concerns myself. [As Alice, my own IG-nie-out-of-the-bottle, says: "I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it."]

If you are of the praying persuasion, now more than ever I ask you to pray for us all.
I may have suffered death, but Calvary awaits my children, and particularly my wife, whose public position will make this all a hundred times worse.