The road to Hell that ends In Heaven

The Roads To Hell That End In Heaven. Parts One and Two.

As I sit in the dusky years of my life, on the other side of the world, far from the scene of my marital downfall, I cannot help but ponder a little on the roads that brought me here. There were days of desolation, depression and despair, days when I just wanted it all to end. Never did I think, nor allow myself to think, that one day it would all come to a good end. And in some ways, it never really did. But I did my best, and where I did end up is as darn near heaven as one could expect, under the circumstances.

Part One.

Looking back on very turbulent exits from my two previous marriages to two toxic narcissists, I do sometimes wonder how I ever got through it. And then I am reminded on a daily basis of how I didn't get through it, I am in fact still going through it. All I have managed to do is to escape from the front lines of those battles to at least find peace and tranquillity, not to mention the enduring love of an amazing third wife.

Not a day goes by when I do not think about my four children, three with the first ex-wife and one with the second, three of whom I remain estranged. It feels as though I am dead to them, as sure as they may well believe that they are dead to me, which they most certainly are not.

I often wonder how they are doing; are they in good health, living a good life, achieving all of their dreams? I also wonder do they ever think of me, and if so what they think of me. I am curious to know, do they still believe all the awful lies they have been told about me by their mothers? And last but by no means least, I ponder upon what they think I think of them. It all remains a mystery and will continue to do so until such time as some form of reconciliation takes place at some point in the future. I am not holding what little breath I have in my advancing years of chronic illnesses.

It is more than a little frustrating that my one previous attempt to tell the truth (in 2010) about my first ex-wife was seen by my two daughters as me trying to gaslight them, trying to alienate them from their mother. In their eyes, I have become the toxic abuser, and they want nothing more to do with me, ever. What an ironic twist of fate, the abused has become the abuser, at least in the eyes of two of the children, who to this day he loves with all of his heart.

For the fifteen years after my first divorce, I protected my children from the truth. In all of those years I never, ever said a word against their mother. At the time of my separation from their mother, I promised myself that one day they would know the truth, that I had not abandoned them. But that was something that could wait until they were older and perhaps more able to understand adult problems.

In the end, after fifteen years, I had decided that there was no need for them to know anything about the past. And I was more than happy to let the past remain forgotten until the day I died. That was until….

In 2010, my youngest daughter, by that time well into her twenties, insulted me with unsavoury comments about me in comparison to her mother, in front of her elder sister and a female friend. It was an attempt to mock me, to humiliate me, by getting a laugh from the other two females present. I did not take kindly to that portrayal of me as being some sort of deviant and her mother as an innocent saint.

Later on, in the privacy of my kitchen at home, I brought up the subject, telling my two daughters, that they had no right to mock me in that way and it was very hurtful to me. They became defensive and immediately backed away from me. That was the very last time we ever spoke.

I well remember my eldest daughter, who was just eight years old at the time of the break-up in 1995, looking to me for reassurance. "Daddy, I might never see you again," she said tearfully. It almost brought a few tears to my own saddened eyes.

"That won't happen, darling," I said as I put a comforting arm around her, "I'll always be here for you." How ironic that these last thirteen years she has refused to speak to me, not a single word.

I have made two previous attempts to be reconciled with my two daughters and even offered profuse apologies for my reaction to their insults. It was all to no avail, they just weren't interested in even saying hello, how are you, Dad?

About three weeks ago, I emailed my eldest son, with whom I have re-established contact, asking him to get me my two daughters' addresses so that I could once again send birthday and Christmas cards. He replied that he tried, but they did not want to give me those addresses. So I guess that's it, no contact, no more.

Part Two.

And so I come to my youngest child and younger brother to my eldest son. This is a tale of pure and utter evil on the part of his toxic, narcissistic mother.

It had been a roller coaster of nine years of problems with the boy's mother, with the theft and malicious destruction of two very good businesses and personal property. To that, I can add the loss of two cars and two homes, a refusal to access to my son, and outright lies and false allegations, both in and out of courts of law. In all the campaign of persecution lasted fifteen years.

And I am pretty certain that the persecution continues in my absence. That's because I have absolutely no doubt that a multitude of letters and summons' from the courts, still flow through my letterbox, long after I left the country three years ago.

Sometime in the summer of 2013, I went to collect my son for the weekend.

As we set off from his mother's home I told my son I was going to take him shopping for some new clothes. He said, "No Dad, I've got plenty of new clothes, what I need is a kit for my karate classes." And so without a second thought, I drove us to a sportswear store in an out-of-town shopping mall.

My son didn't like any of the karate kits on offer at the store I took him to and told me that across the road was a Nike outlet store with heavily discounted prices. So, wanting the best for my son and to make him happy, we went to Nike. Lo and behold, he was right, I got the goods for about a third of their normal price. Everybody is happy……errr, nope.

When I took my son back to his mother along with the karate kit, she went ballistic. She screamed that I had no right to buy him those clothes when he was in need of other normal clothes. She also accused me of spoiling the boy to make him love me more than he loved her. After that, again my ex refused me access to my son. And from there it just got worse.

One day I went to collect my son from school, and he refused to even say hello to me as he ran away as if his life depended on getting away from me as fast as he could.

The very last time I went to court was (in late 2013) about being refused access to my thirteen-year-old son. This was the beginning of the end, though I did not know that at the time. I won that case with a female judge. I love female judges, they have a lot more bloody sense than their male counterparts, in my experience. Anyway, my ex claimed that our son did not want to be with me (which was a lie) but she was told by the judge it was not my son's decision. It was up to his mother to encourage and support contact with his father.

In court, one thing caught my attention, sitting directly behind my ex was a middle-aged couple, a woman and a man. The woman was conspicuous as she was wearing some sort of woollen headwear, the sort of thing you see cancer sufferers wearing when they lose their hair due to chemotherapy. I didn't know who they were exactly, though did seem to be supporting my ex. Ok, fast forward a little.

In the spring of the following year, my ex called me and said she had a friend who wanted to help us and could we meet in a bar somewhere. She said his name was Paul and he knew a little about the law. And she refused to say what sort of help she thought we needed. So I asked if I too could bring a friend and she said yes. Two minutes later she called me back to say Paul had said no to me bringing a friend. Ok, I said, then the meeting is off.

A week later I got a registered letter from a lawyer called Paul saying that I had to go to his office in town and that if I declined it could have a negative legal impact on my access rights in court. So I went, just to see what it was all about.

A week later I went into Paul's office, which was plastered with dozens of certificates about all the different legal courses he had completed. Compensating for something there, I thought. Then a female colleague came in, wearing woollen headwear that cancer sufferers wear and suddenly the penny dropped. These two clowns were the very same people I saw sitting in court behind my ex last year.

Paul told me that he was an intermediary appointed by the county council free of charge. Then he asked me if I would like custody of my son. "Of course" I replied, excited at the prospect. He told me my ex was going to work in the UK and wanted to leave the boy with me until she returned at the end of the summer. "Fine, I mean yeah, great, let's do it."

So Paul told me to come back in two days to sign some papers with the agreement. On the appointed day I found myself back in Paul's office. Also, present was my ex and my son. Paul took my son to a playroom and left me with my ex for a few minutes. Ahhh, ok, so they are tagging me like a couple of wrestlers, I thought.

"You are going to have to start to trust people sometime, you know," said my ex sincerely. Ha, I immediately smelt a rat. You don't ask for trust, you earn it. And my next thought to myself was, "Ok they are about to pull something here, be very careful. Do not trust these two evil goons.

Then she went to be with our son in the playroom and Paul came in and sat behind his desk.

"Ok, so if you can just sign here." he said as he slid a blank piece of paper across his desk."

"Errr, well no, I want to show it to my lawyer first."

"No, no, no, you can't trust attorneys. In fact, as I told you, I am your lawyer."

"No, you're not, you are her friend from court last year man. You're that friend of hers who wanted to meet me in a bar a few days ago. You are most definitely NOT my lawyer." He was slowly getting agitated.

"Look we haven't got time for you to take it away, trust me, it says exactly what was agreed the other day."

"Ok, then let me read it, my Spanish is excellent these days."

"No, that will take too long, here let me tell you what it says, it'll be quicker."

"Why the rush all of a sudden?" I asked.

"Because she is leaving the country on Sunday. That's why."

"Not my problem mate. No! Not without reading it first."

Paul jumped up from his desk chair and thumped his leatherette desk top violently "Why are you fucking me about man? Sign the fucking thing now as you agreed!"

Of course, I knew by now it was all a fix. I told him he needed some anger management classes and I stood up to walk out.

"You don't know what a golden opportunity this is to have your son," he called after me as I went downstairs and out the front door.

Well, my ex left the country and left my son at her elderly mother's with instructions to not let me see my son. When the next time I went to pick him up for the weekend my ex-mother-in-law refused to let me have him saying my lawyer Paul had said I was not to have my son.

Not too long after that I was up in court and was given a document, a document Paul had been trying to strong-arm me into signing. He had submitted the document to the courts unsigned.

I was appalled, though not too surprised, at what I read. It said that "I confess that I do not love my son and want no more to do with him. I equally accept that my son does not love me and wants no more to do with me. I accept that I have a drink and drug problem which makes me an unfit parent for my son."

Then, in the middle of yet another court proceeding, when with one last throw of the dice, I applied for custody of my son, my ex and corrupt Paul insisted that my young son get up on the stand to speak for himself. As my son was so young we were all asked to leave the courtroom. After about fifteen minutes we were called back in.

The judge told me that my son had said he does not want any contact with me. When she asked him why, he refused to answer the question. I have absolutely no doubt that my thirteen-year-old son had been very carefully briefed by bent Paul on what to say, and what not to say. Needless to say, I did not get awarded custody. Nationally, only two per cent of fathers have succeeded in getting custody. So the odds of succeeding were not good to start with.

I have never ever in my bloody life touched so much as a joint of weed. My drink problem is a glass of sherry once or twice a month. Of course, I reported the swine to the Law Society and he was banned from practising law for a month. His revenge was to send me a bill for his services as an intermediary, 750 pounds, and if I did not pay up in seven days he would take me to court.

I did check if he was a free intermediary supplied by the council, and no surprise at all to discover that no such scheme exists and he was not on any list of approved lawyers. So I reported him again and he was banned for three months. After that, he took to screaming and shouting insults at me every time he saw me in the streets in town.

One last thing which concerns me, Paul promotes himself to the local population as an expert in family mediation. And much as I would love to expose him for the charlatan that he is, I dare not say a word for fear of being sued by him for defamation.

Of course, this phoney lawyer is well known by certain people in the legal profession who speak ill of him in hushed tones. But nobody wants to make waves, they have to look out for themselves. Nobody wants to be accused of bringing the legal profession into disrepute. It is indeed, very seldom that you will find one lawyer prepared to take action against another.

In the summer of 2014, I was looking forward to spending some holidays with my son. The divorce courts had decreed that I was entitled to two weeks in July and two weeks in August. Here's how that went.

My ex told me I could have my son for the second two weeks in July and the second two weeks in August. Then she went and booked a scout camping holiday for my son, which I was expected to pay for, that took place in the second two weeks in July! So I was paying to deprive myself of the first holiday of the summer. And by the time the second two weeks in August came around, she had left the country, illegally taking my son with her!

The day arrived for me to collect my son on the fifteenth of August, and, as usual, I rang him on the telephone to ask him what time would he be ready.

"Errrrr….no Daddy, I'm not at home."

"Ok, where are you?"

"I'm in England Dad."

"Whaaaaat, where in England?"

"Hang on Dad….." he then turned to his mother and said, "Mum, can I tell him where we are?" Her answer was a resounding no and the line was cut.

That was almost the last I heard of him. The following Christmas the boy called me and said hello. Suddenly his mother came into the room and screamed at him to put the phone down. The line went dead. I have never enjoyed neither sight nor sound from him since, and now in 2023, that is some eight years ago.

Well, with all of that horrible nightmare well and truly far away in the past, still I have to suffer all manner of slings and arrows. One day checking my young son's Facebook I saw no new posts, but I did see that amongst his friends he has Paul, the bent lawyer.

Checking my eldest son's posts on Facebook what caught my attention was a photograph of my youngest son with his mother, ex-wife number two, posing for a very cuddly photograph with my youngest daughter from ex-wife number one! All the more galling is the fact that number two hated my first children with a vengeance. So she has inveigled herself into that company to form a united front against me. That woman is totally shameless.

Heaven.

Well, it is all far beyond anything I can do to make things better, other than try to forget them all, and get on with what's left of my life as best as I can, and just be happy that I found a safe place to land and spend the rest of my days with an angel in a place called heaven. Indeed, maybe I did die and come to heaven. It certainly feels like three of my children think I died and I am but a distant memory of somebody who once loved them more than I could ever have said.