Several interesting things happened after I moved to Milan. Umar Farouk Abdulmutallab, the infamous “Christmas Bomber” who tried to blow up a Northwest Airlines flight headed to Detroit on Christmas 2009, with a bomb hidden in his underwear, was the only other inmate in the hole when I arrived. But later, I had two good bunkmates in my cell, Nate Cox, a Detroiter, and Charles Fisher, who played important roles in my spiritual growth and maturity. Also, people started asking me for help or assistance in certain areas. I helped guys write letters, tutored them for GED tests, and even led Bible study. I was serving, for the first time in a long time, and it felt good to my soul.
A man I refer to as Mr. Oday approached me. He’s spent forty years in State prison, and came to Milan to begin a five-year federal sentence. He didn’t kill anyone. He’s an example of the many people who are trapped in State and Federal prisons, mistreated, over-sentenced, and forgotten.
Mr. Oday is an incredible man. He reads and exercises daily, and keeps his cell immaculate. He is funny, articulate and smart, and has mastered several martial arts. He told me that one of his sons sent him an e-mail address, and asked him to communicate. This was big, because Mr. Oday hasn’t had a visit since the 1970s, hasn’t received a letter in years, and has never used a computer. Most of his family and friends are either dead, or have moved on. So I took him to the computer room and helped him establish an e-mail account. We then sent a query to his son and, a couple of days later, saw that his son accepted it. Mr. Oday was now free to send e-mail.
“What would you like to say?” I asked him, readying myself to type a message for him. And for the first time, I saw this rock of a man humbled in absolute fear. He paced the floor, walked in circles, and stop-started several times. I calmed him, and we wrote a simple message together and walked away. That was the easy part. Three days later, I approached him in front of his cell. “Did Charles write you back?” I asked.
“I haven’t checked,” he said. “I was waiting on you.” I knew he was nervous, so I invited him to walk with me to the computer room. We opened his account, and Charles had indeed responded.
“Oh, man, there it is!” I said. It was a beautiful message about love, hope and relationship. I focused on Mr. Oday to keep from looking at the screen (it got a little personal after a moment), and saw tears stream down his face. I cried with him, because I’d never seen someone so happy.
“Thank you, Kwame,” he said. We cried some more. Walking back to my cell, I felt stronger, more encouraged and more empowered. I felt like myself, like a servant of God. And that’s when it hit me. That’s who I am! A servant! I always have been! It’s who I’m called to be! I hurried to my cell to think about all the labels I’ve been given—corrupt, criminal, thug, thief. I thought about the barrage of negative media about me, which continues to this day. Well, I am not who they say I am. But I realized who I’d become.
This may sound metaphoric, but look at the City’s new man. She/Detroit constantly compares Bing to me. Detroit can’t get me off her collective mind. Bing doesn’t stimulate Detroit the way I did. He’s older, slower, and devoid of spontaneity. But he’s touted and I’m lambasted because they want the city to forget me. But she won’t because, at her heart, she knows my intentions. I was supposed to be faithful to Carlita, but Detroit was the one I swore in my heart to honor. Foolish as that was, it was “the D” that I was unable to cheat on. That’s why these accusations about me stealing from her are so ridiculous.
Metaphor considered, I was never committed to anything the way I was to Detroit. Accepting that Detroit stopped loving me was a jagged pill to swallow. When God showed up in the Wayne County Jail, He set my mind straight, and helped me move past the pain and realize who I am supposed to truly marry. Carlita weathered every storm, no matter how tremendous. Every year. Every episode. Every accusation. She endured. She stood. She protected our children. She forgave and believed in me. Carlita was awesome in rededication. Do you see why I say God showed me my wife? How many men spend their lives taking their wives’ strength for granted? Through Carlita, I learned what it means to be truly married. And that helped me let Detroit go. Detroit is my Egypt. Prison is my mountain. Freedom is my Promised Land.
I stumbled across this passage while reading The Alchemist: “If what one finds is made of pure matter, it will never spoil. And one can always come back. If what you had found was only a moment of light, like the explosion of a star, you would find nothing on your return.” If I liken Detroit to a moment of light, I admit to loving the city, and I will always treasure what it taught me. But I will also say goodbye. At least, for now.
I lost my fear. I placed complete trust in God and emerged from my pondering, returned to the computer room, and sent my wife an e-mail—the birthday message that ends this book. My renewed commitment was to her, and only her, for the rest of my life. I left my past behind.
Some will not believe this. That’s no longer my concern. I have surrendered… to God’s will.
Columbus said that, “Truth is truth. If a thousand people believe something foolish, it is still foolish. Truth is never dependent upon consensus opinion. I have found that it is better to be alone and acting upon the truth in my heart than follow a gaggle of silly geese doomed to mediocrity.” I agree.
I’ve been fortunate to have some amazing experiences. I have met with presidents, prime ministers and sheiks. I talked Monday Night Football with President Bill Clinton while riding on Air Force One. I walked on the road to Damascus in Israel, watched the sun set behind Table Mountain in South Africa, and strolled through the expansive corridors of The Louvre in Paris. I helped build Habitat for Humanity homes, and watched families cry after receiving their keys. I distributed water bottles and food to hurting people in Darfur, and felt the profound impact of hope while sitting in Nelson Mandela’s Robben Island prison cell. I watched children dance in a Liberia, torn by civil war. I had lunch with Ellen Johnson Sirleaf, Liberia’s, and the modern-day African continent’s first woman head of State.
There were more experiences, and each blessed my soul abundantly. But nothing stirred me like the one I had in the computer room with Mr. Oday.
I don’t know how all of this will end, or why I had to come this way. It’s said that, in adversity, there are no problems to face, just choices to make. I choose to remain surrendered, to feed my soul faith, hope and love, even while I am doing time, because there is one thing I do know. Time will tell all. And all is well.
epilogue
by Carlita Kilpatrick
ANY WOMAN who has experienced the devastation of adultery can attest that the emotional road of recovery and forgiveness is long, arduous, painful, scary and lonely. This journey is one of highs and lows-a lot of lows. There are times when you seem to be finally coming out of the darkness only to be flooded all over again with anguish and self pity.
Each day you face a self-inflicted and constant emotional battle—”You need to leave his sorry ass!” “You love him and your faith will pull you through.” “Even the Bible says that adultery is punishable by death.” “But, Jesus saved the adulterous woman by convicting the crowd that was about to stone her.” Some days my faith wins and others my fear does.
When fear has the upper hand, I believe that I and all that I hold to be true about love and marriage has been sent careening into a deep dark hole of nothingness, of which there seems no escape; each time recognizing that I’ve been in this hole before. Recently, I was struggling to free myself and was at a spot on my ascent where I could see daylight, when I was knocked back to its bottom; angry, ashamed and afraid that I would not be able to summon the strength to begin this slow, arduous and emotionally painful climb again.
In this hole you reside with loneliness, fear, anxiety, self-pity, rage, self-doubt, pain, bitterness and sorrow; each one knocking on the door of your heart as you helplessly let them in.
My first encounter with these familiar frienemies was the night of January 23, 2008. This was arguably the
worst night of my life. I knew something was wrong. We had to inexplicably leave a restaurant where we were having dinner as a family. Kwame had spent most of the short time we dined there in the car on the phone. He gathered us up and said we needed to go. He then called his father and asked him could we drop the boys off at his house for a while. It was at this point I knew. My inner voice screaming at me, “You dummy! I told you!” But, that part of me that believes in “happily ever after,” however, was holding out hope that something else was wrong.
It wasn’t.
Upstairs in our bedroom as I was seated in my silver reading arm-chair, arms clasped, bracing myself for whatever horrific news was about to be disclosed, my husband proceeded to tell me that he had been engaged in an affair with Christine Beatty several years earlier, but it had ended before his re-election in 2005. He also cautioned me that this “old news” was soon to hit the headlines.
My first reaction, interestingly and surprisingly, was relief. I had a fleeting moment of edification. I wasn’t crazy after all. My intuition had been right. My unyielding need to rid her from my life had merely been a form of subconscious self-preservation. How fleeting that moment was! It was promptly replaced and compounded with rage, hurt, hate, shame and a plethora of other emotions that I don’t even know how to describe. I was shaking uncontrollably, but my voice was eerily low and calm, “You bastard! You bastard! How could you? How could you make me think I was insecure and wrong about my discernment toward her? How could you dishonor us like that? You selfish bastard.”
As he tried to plead his case about what state of mind he had been in at the time; how much pressure he was under in his position; how he didn’t feel like he could come to me, I began to cry- or, more precisely, wail. The pain in my gut was so profound I thought I might actually pass out. I began to hyperventilate. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stand. He tried to console me, but I didn’t want him to touch me.
“Bastard!” I felt that if I had really expressed the intensity of my emotions, I would have found any object that I could swing and tried to beat him to death or at least until I felt better, which ever came first. I made a conscious choice in the middle of this emotional collapse to hold on to my civility. I would allow neither him nor her to determine or decide how I would respond to their despicable behavior. I chose to wrap all of my rage in tears. I curled up into a ball on the floor by the window, looking for relief from the heavens and cried. And I cried. And I cried. And then, I prayed.
So, here I am in this hole again; a recurring tenant. For the better part of three years my healing and reconciliation have been a struggle. But, this visit is strangely different. This time my closest frienemy is rage instead of pain. My first visit I was enveloped by so much pain, I honestly didn’t think I could make it through. Depression became my companion and loneliness became my mate.
This time I am pissed. I’m pissed and I’m scared. Confused. Shaken. Likewise, I’m stronger. I’m pissed, but I’m wiser. I’m girded with the Word. So although the initial impact of this fall is brutal, I now stand up, brush the dirt from my skinned knees and look to heavens, not for relief, but this time for resolve, knowing that I can and I will climb out and stay out of this pit.
The emotional battles that I have had to endure over the past few years I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. My reflection at times has been unrecognizable. The physical and mental toll has been high. But, by God’s abounding grace and endless mercy, I am still here. I’m not the same woman I was three years ago. I’m wounded, but I’m better. Now I would be delinquent if I lead you to believe that I’ve finished my transformation and I no longer harbor any emotional issues. On the contrary, I am still on my journey of forgiveness, I struggle with depression and I fight everyday to stay optimistic about my life and the future of my family. Some days I win. Some days I don’t.
To say these last few years have been the worst of my life would be simple and without any real investigation or insight, but life is full of contradictions. While my family and I have had to endure some incomprehensible as well as reprehensible situations we have also grown immensely. We have had to cleave to one another thus deepening our love, respect and admiration for each other. I marvel at the maturity and resiliency my sons have shown throughout this time. There were times when they were my examples, getting me through stagnant or backsliding moments. My relationships with my sister-in-law and mother-in-law have grown tremendously. My mom and dad tell me how proud they are of me (No matter how old you are having your parents utter these words just make you feel great!). Our new home, Dallas, Texas, has received us with open arms, welcoming us without judgment and making the transition easy. I have been blessed to be surrounded and supported by a wonderful group of sister-friends, the Nobus, as well as positive, gifted and giving women who pour into me unselfishly. I have a church home that loves and supports me and my family, and we are pastored by a Bishop and First Lady who wield the Word as a mighty sword giving us the strength to continue.
As the great author Charles Dickens laments, “It was the best of times; it was the worst of times…”
Perspective is what determines what kind of time it is. A different perspective can broaden your view of your situation. A different perspective can offer solutions when you think there are none. A different perspective can turn a problem into an opportunity. A different perspective can turn your life around.
That is what I hope Kwame’s story offers, a different perspective!
While I am apprehensive about the release of such personal, intimate details about our lives, my husband’s betrayal, and the subsequent sequence of events that bring us to this moment, I am hopeful this book releases me from the humiliation and shame of his transgression. I hope this book releases me from Christine and the resentment that I still harbor not just for the affair, but for the unmitigated gall of encroaching upon my family. I hope this book can propel me into the kind of forgiveness of which the Bible speaks. I hope this book makes me take a long, hard look at myself-the good, the bad and the ugly- so that I can be transformed and renewed into a better wife, mother daughter and friend. I am hopeful that this book can release me and Kwame from the past. It’s self-defeating to be held captive by something that you can no longer change. I hope this book can release me and my husband from our old selves and transform us into new creatures who honor the vows we spoke nearly sixteen years ago and make our marriage an example of a union ordained by God.
I am not totally prepared for what this book may bring. But, even in the face of this uncertainty is the more powerful need for clarification and purification. There exists an intrinsic need to tell the other side of the story-not in defense of or out of an egoistic necessity, but because there are some real truths that need to be told and a different perspective that needs to be offered.
It is my prayer that this different perspective offers healing.
~CARLITA E. KILPATRICK
Kwame’s Letter to Carlita
on Her 40th Birthday
From: 44678039
To: Carlita Kilpatrick
Subject: Mama’s Birthday Letter
Date: 8/3/2010 12:10:36 PM
I was so nervous on that warm April afternoon back in 1990, but I tried to be cool. You were so beautiful, smart, intriguing and, yes, very intimidating! “Certainly, she’s just a girl,” I told myself. Yet I sensed that you were unlike any other. Even then, I was sure that you had been truly touched by the hand of the Living God.
I wanted desperately to know you. To talk to you. To somehow make you a part of me. And the day finally came, the long-awaited moment in which I had the courage, the nerve, and the audacity to tell you how I felt. Sure, I had spoken to you in class, but I wanted to connect with you on a deeper, more spiritual level. I was completely overwhelmed!
Looking back on those moments, my spirit knew that this seemingly simple act of engaging you was the inauguration of my future. The wife and mother of my children. I felt the danger of being reje
cted and swallowed alive, but I soldiered on with dogged determination, guts and pure adrenaline. I stepped smoothly to you with a slight pimp in my walk and a serious gangsta lean. I softly and casually stood by your side. I steadied my mind to deliver, with insatiable eloquence, the opening line that would spark the flame of our eternal bond. You gracefully turned to me and said, “Hello.” And I looked into your eyes and said…
…”Um, um, um, uh, uh… what you about to do?” Damn, I blew it! Panic flowed through my mind. She must be thinking that I am ignorant, a fool, a buster, a complete idiot. How could I sound so stupid? My mind was racing.
In typical Carlita form, you calmly replied that you were heading to the library. Though I had never been to the library, and I couldn’t remember the last time I actually studied, I said, “Me, too! Can I go with you?” You said yes, and that was it. I had climbed my own Mt. Everest. No one, not even you, saw my anguish, sweat, nerves, shortness of breath or my conquering spirit, but I had achieved a major goal. I got her fine self now.
Baby, we went to that library more than twenty years ago. Of course, we didn’t get any studying done, but we began to emotionally and spiritually connect immediately. We laughed. We laughed a lot! As a matter of fact, we laughed so much that we were threatened with removal from the premises several times, and ultimately got kicked out. I fell head over heels in love with you that day. And after a few short months, I couldn’t imagine a universe where I could love you any more than I did on the campus of Florida A&M University. But my love for you has grown, exponen-tially!
I want you to know, on your fortieth birthday, that I can’t thank God enough for how He has manifested His love for me through you, in so many ways.
Surrendered: The Rise, Fall & Revolution of Kwame Kilpatrick Page 27