Creaking hinges on the door. Light clicks on (amazing)... "Cough cough cough" from the dust. Sweep away the cobwebs.... Anyone still here?

I’m not dead. I have not been sent to Guantanamo Bay Cuba for stock piling too many guns. I am not in the Federal Witness Protection Program. I have not been deported, traded to some foreign intelligence community for a higher value dirt bag. And, to calm the anxieties of my more loyal readers who’ve feared the worst during my extended absence, I most assuredly have not been shanghaied into the indentured servitude of the dark, seedy and secretive (but extremely profitable) world of fat-bald-guy prostitution. Oh yeah we’re in demand baby! A posterior like this will fetch a pretty high dollar on the streets of Mosul Iraq, yes sir! Why a cute, white, infidel like me would literally be snatched of the street!

All joking aside, where have I been? Nowhere and everywhere, I guess. I’ve not left, physically. But I’ve been around the world mentally and emotionally. I’ve been healing, I guess you could say. And all the places one must visit in order to do that, I have been. The desolate isolation of Denial, the sweltering climates of Anger, the drowning desperation of Bargaining, the dark frigid valley of Depression and the healing spring of Acceptance. I’ve been fortunate to have the support of family and friends. I am even more fortunate still to have had my children, steadily by my side through it all. So many fathers are denied what, for me, has been a crucial key to my recovery. Having custody of my children has probably been the single most important factor to my mental health and stability this year.

I made it through. Actually I made it through long ago. The road that grief travels wasn’t especially difficult for me in retrospect. Through reading previous posts, you might have reasoned that I was in for a long haul! I would have agreed. You know, if you find where a man spends his time, you’ll find where he leaves his heart. I have been spending a great deal of my time with an angel. I know she’s an angel because God sent her. . . TO ME! She’s been a warm breeze that has carried away so many of my doubts and fears about what life would be like and what God had in store for me. Her strong Christian faith has been a pillar for my weary legs to lean against. Her gentle heart has been my refuge and her ability to put me first has made it so entirely easy for me to do the same for her. You may have deduced that it sounds like I might be in love. You would have deduced correctly! And don’t worry; the “rebound” was a quick and devious person who disappeared as quickly as she showed up as soon as she discovered I wasn’t “heir” to my family’s fortune. Good riddance. This person is who God promised me. This person is the one he groomed and designed just for me. And it appears that all my failures and successes, sorrows and elation, injuries and recoveries have served as a forging and tempering process to prepare me for her. And if she is my reward, then it was all worth it.

With prayer, pondering, discussions, arguments and careful consideration always measured with a healthy dose of love and affection, we have decided to marry! And so, this April, I will do what at no other time in my life I would have been properly prepared to do. My lessons have been hard-learned. My victories have been hard-won. My losses have been painfully hard-taken and my spirit, having been broken, has spent a hard time healing. But for it all, my head, my heart and my soul are stronger, more resilient, more flexible and more loving for having been put to the flame and forge of the Master Blacksmith. Finally, I will share my life with another who sincerely desires to share hers with me. Kelli is my soul mate, and I am a happy man!

Wadical fans may be happy to learn that the future “Mrs. Wadical” is a writer. Yes, a news editor to be exact and will be encouraging me to write. Perhaps there’s a few more years of ranting in these old bones after all. Stay tuned!