Sorry isn't enough

Their names are A and B. A is a girl, 13; B is a boy, 8. It's been almost a year and a half since their parents separated. I recall A's mom telling me she overheard her daughter playing and saying something about being from a broken home. This was before the separation. Those words are haunting, and they also foreshadowed the coming sadness. 

I don't know the full effect on these children of the separation and divorce of their parents. Surely there had to be signs along the way, clues that they can make sense of now. It's hard for me to try to extrapolate how they're feeling from what little I know about them. What I do know: it's not my world they live in, and I have no right to feel anything toward them. But I feel dead inside when I think of what they've had to go through and what they continue to go through. 

There aren't words for what I want to say to them, but I'll try. I know they'll never read this. They'll never know the thousands of times I've brought them to God in prayer, the tears I've cried for them and their mother and their father. They'll never know the love I have for them or the awful, angry fist in my stomach when I think of what they're going through. 

Their dad screwed up. It wasn't their fault. The relationship between husband and wife is the primary relationship; it sets the tone for the whole family. Its importance cannot be weighed. Their mom held their family together for much longer than I could have ever endured. I commend her every time I think of this. She's a rock; she's glue. I likened what happened in their marriage to a person walking down an icy path with one leg tied back. How long do you think that person can hobble about before they fall? She was the leg doing all the work, making sure they wouldn't crash. She got tired, oh so tired. She carried the weight of that body for so long. I was the wind that blew her over, that toppled them in a heap. In her words, I was "100 percent to blame." She blames herself, too, I'm sure, because, well, that's who she is. She loved her husband with a fire and desire, a jealousy that saw her through so many bad situations, competing for his love when she should have been the apple of his eye. And when he cheated and their counselor proclaimed her to be at fault for wanting to control his behavior, well, that was the dumbest thing I've ever heard. The man couldn't even be bothered to wear his wedding ring and she was to blame. That's ... incomprehensible. 

Regardless of her husband's weaknesses, they built a wonderful life together. Their love for their children is beautiful. And all the while, she was covering for him. And he was so damn sloppy. On the outside, everything looked perfect. Even on the inside, when she could adequately convince herself, it was perfect. 

Then this shithead came along. Goodbye happy family. I could not be any sorrier. I can't squeeze any more remorse from my soul for having anything at all to do with meddling in the fragile nature of mom and dad's relationship. I've repented so many times, I think I've worn grooves in my hardwood floors with my knees. I've watered my cheeks so many times with hot tears begging for God to put things back, for Him to strike me down if necessary to raise them up again. I pray, but the earth is as brass and the heavens are as iron. Sometimes the best punishment God can send your way is to see the end result of your actions. Sometimes the best thing for you to do is to eat the bitter reward of your words. I'm sick. Sick of myself. 

I'm so sorry, A and B. You'll never know the lowlife who laid your family low, the callous creep who didn't even think twice about wrecking your world. If setting myself on fire would bring you back any measure of your former life, I would do it. I'll never be able to look you in the eyes. I'll never feel like anything but a worm when I think of you. The guilt has gone to my bones and has sunk into me like leeches. I'm laid open to my God, begging for any solution He offers. 

Sorry isn't enough, but it's all I have. I hope you understand someday the truth of the matter. I hope you don't hate me. I was jealous, and I wanted something that wasn't mine. I'll feel the weight of it the rest of my life. Most of all, I hope you forgive me. Someday. I know it will take a long time, but with distance and perspective, it's possible. Meanwhile, I pray God will comfort you and bring you closer to Him.

I love you both. You deserve much better than this. I pray God restores all the years the locusts have eaten many times over. As long as I have breath, I'll pray for you and the damage I've done to be set right. I'd say I'm sorry again, but sorry just isn't enough.