I’m lying in bed and cannot sleep. I‘m burning up inside with frustration and tears.  I’m questioning, “Why do some fathers have to fight so hard to spend a little time with their children?”

The days turn into weeks, the weeks into months and the months into years. The children grow older. They miss out on having everything a loving father wants to offer them.

I used to think my story was unique. The hundred-plus encounters with police. The endless welfare checks. Court and more court. Arrested and arrested again and accused of everything and anything.

But I have learned that while my story is unique in some ways, it is the same for many other men. Every day a father commits suicide because he can no longer put up with the hurt. The pain of being separated from his children, losing everything, and even being turned into a villain.

The family courts and domestic violence syndicates are multibillion-dollar industries. They do not serve the best interests of the masses unless one considers the masses being vindictive ex-partners with or without mental health issues. While the courts serve some purpose, they are plagued with problems and possibly corruption.

The courts protect themselves by making it illegal for any father caught in the mess to publish what is going on in the court. Men cannot even voice the injustice done to them.

In the last six years, not a day has gone by where I have not in some way been involved with either my own challenges or helping men in similar predicaments. I ask myself, “What can be done differently?”

The only answer that comes to me now while I fight to fall asleep is to pray.

I pray every day for my children, morning and night. I pray for the children who do not even know they have a father fighting to see them while their mother tells them their father does not love them.

I pray for the souls of the men, some who I knew who could not take the fight and ended their lives. I pray for the father who gave up and walked away. I don’t judge them. I was there many times.

And I pray for all the children growing up without their fathers. I pray they one day learn the truth that their father lied in bed crying over the lost relationship. That he whispered their names and drew their images in tears. That he asked the angels to carry his prayer of love into their hearts and to God on high.

-Ben

Saturday Mornings

Saturday morning is when this house comes alive;

I pick her up, and we walk in around 9.25.

It's already filling with that wonderful sound, of a sweet child's laughter;

No one is thinking about the end of the weekend, or what happens after.

Gone are the feelings of a Father's Darkness;

Replaced with love and what was a sterile kitchen, now a big mess.

Tripping over toys and clothes, getting pulled around, to and fro, well, it is her weekend, and anything goes.

Playing mindless games and struggling with puzzles for half the day;

But you're an amazing dad, and you know you'd have it, no other way.

All you want, is for this time to never end:

And not say goodbye to your child, your shadow, your little best friend.

But after what feels like 5 minutes, it's time to go;

I tell her sweetie, it's that time again, and she replies the same as always, "no daddy, no".

We pack up the bag and get into the car;

It's just a short trip, not very far.

Neither one of us wants to cry;

So we have a laugh, and play I Spy.

As we walk to the door her smile slipping away;

She sees straight through my guise and says "don't worry daddy it will be ok".

But I can see her eyes Welling, she's about to cry;

"Just one more cuddle daddy" and we say goodbye.

As, I walk back to the car I feel that searing pain in my heart;

I act cool as can be, but I'm falling apart.

It's a horrible drive home, the silence is deafening;

The black dog closing in, hungry and beckoning.

Here is the story of father and daughter, with their lives torn apart;

Of a father who loves his kid, with all of his heart.