Two Hours of Normal

Series: Coming Home To Uncertainty

One year ago, I landed in Canada after 2.5 years behind bars.

I thought release would feel like victory. I thought going home would feel like closure. I thought chains coming off would mean peace.

I was wrong.

This series is a day-by-day look back at my first week home — the panic, the cold, the shelter bunk, the uncertainty, and the quiet ways God showed up when nothing else felt stable.

Release doesn’t always mean relief.

Sometimes freedom is just the beginning of a different kind of fight.

Two Hours of Normal
Coming Home to Uncertainty – Part 3: A Birthday, a Movie, and the Call That Changed Everything

The shelter lights came on at 7:00 am,

That was the routine. Breakfast at 7:30. Everyone out after that. No returning to the beds until 4:00 p.m.

I had only been back in Canada a few days, and already the question was becoming familiar:

What do I do now?

The Mission’s client services centre was next door, so that’s where I started. I didn’t have proper identification yet, and I knew that was going to be a problem for almost everything.

The staff were exceptionally kind and completely non-judgemental. The first thing they did was write a letter confirming my address at the shelter. Another letter would help me start the process of getting my health card back. My driver’s licence would take longer.

I had almost nothing left for identification. My ex-wife might have some of it, but at that point I hadn’t spoken to her yet. I was afraid to for some reason.

The Mission had two computers, but they were limited to fifteen minutes at a time. Staff suggested the public library instead. They also assigned me an intake worker and gave me a one-week bus pass.

I left the Mission and walked to the CF Rideau Centre. The library didn’t open until 10:00 a.m., and I had time to kill.

I still had no money.

So I walked the mall for nearly an hour. Not sitting. Just moving. Trying to stay warm and look like I belonged there.

I desperately wanted to blend in.

I knew how people felt about the homeless. I knew how I used to feel about the homeless.

It’s different when you suddenly realize you’re one of them.

Eventually I walked over to the Rideau branch of the Ottawa Public Library. I arrived right at opening.

I knew I needed a library card, but I didn’t have great identification. The only thing I had was a photocopy of my emergency travel document. The original had been taken by customs when I arrived back in Canada.

Instead of roadblocks and suspicion, I was met with kindness again.

The staff issued me a library card using the Mission letter and my inmate ID.

I hated pulling that card out of my wallet.

It explained too much.

Later that day I had an appointment with the John Howard Society. They were supposed to help people in my situation find more permanent housing.

The intake worker was polite but honest. Finding something quickly was unlikely.

It felt like I was just going through motions.

Before I left, I was able to use a phone.

I called my ex-wife.

Up until that moment I had been extremely nervous about making contact with her. I didn’t even know if anyone had told her that I was back in Canada yet.

I told her I was in Ottawa.

It was March 3rd.

My third child’s birthday was March 4th. I had promised her that I would be home for her birthday. I wasn’t sure if I had already broken that promise.

My ex said I could see her the next day.

The next day was my daughter’s birthday.

I was both nervous and excited. I didn’t know what to expect.

We had arranged to meet at a restaurant in the east end of Ottawa near the movie theatre. After dinner we were going to see a kids’ movie together.

I can’t even remember what movie it was.

I arrived early. We had agreed to meet around 7:00 p.m.

Seven came and went.

My ex was horribly late. Long enough that I started wondering if it wasn’t happening at all.

I had no way to contact her. I didn’t have a phone yet.

Eventually she arrived.

I saw three of my four kids.

She didn’t bring the youngest. She said she was worried about her behaviour.

But the others were there.

My ex also brought a phone for me. Technically it had always been my account, but she had been using it while I was gone. She also gave me some cash and a few of my identification documents.

Those things mattered more than they should have.

Without them, rebuilding anything would be almost impossible.

We ate dinner. We watched the movie.

For a couple of hours, life almost felt normal.

For a couple of hours, I wasn’t the guy sleeping at the Mission.

I was just Dad.

Afterward my ex picked up the kids and I started walking back toward the shelter.

I called her using the phone she had given me.

That’s when she told me the bank wanted to talk to me about my car.

My car had been totalled while I was away. I had assumed the insurance payout had been used to pay off the remaining loan.

It hadn’t.

The money was gone.

No one could even tell me what it had been spent on.

I told my ex that before speaking to the bank I would need legal advice.

That’s when she said something that stopped me in my tracks.

If I did anything that “caused her problems,” she said, I would never see my kids again.

I stopped walking.

I knew I had legal rights.

But rights are one thing.

Enforcing them when you’re homeless is another.

I got back to the shelter that night feeling gutted.

It felt like I was going to spend years dealing with consequences that weren’t mine to begin with.

I barely slept.

Lying there in that bunk, staring at the ceiling, one thought kept circling my mind.

What if I lose my kids?

Fear has a way of getting loud when everything else in your life feels unstable.

And in that moment, a verse I had heard many times before came back to me.

“But when I am afraid, I will put my trust in you.”
Psalm 56:3 (NLT)

It wasn’t a solution.

It didn’t fix the situation.

But it was a reminder that fear didn’t have to have the last word.

The next morning I started making calls.

I needed to know what my rights were regarding my kids. I also needed to understand the financial situation I had just walked back into.

What I didn’t know yet was how bad it really was.

Eventually I would learn that I was roughly $30,000 in debt.

There were even accounts opened in my name while I was away.

I started booking appointments with lawyers and advisors. Most of them were weeks away.

I would love to say those issues were resolved quickly.

That wouldn’t be true.

Some of them still aren’t resolved to this day.

The rest of that first week mostly consisted of walking.

I applied for Ontario Works, but I still didn’t have a bank account. Without proper identification, even that process moved slowly.

Most days were spent wandering the city — trying to stay warm, trying to stay occupied, trying to figure out how to rebuild a life from almost nothing.

Some days the only real accomplishment was making it from morning to night.

Freedom had opened the door.

I was still learning how to walk through it.

What I didn’t know yet was how complicated things had become while I was gone.

The next few days would make that painfully clear.

**Please note, unless otherwise stated, all images on this site are AI generated and do not resemble any real persons(s). Any resemblance to any person or place is purely coincidental.**

This post is part of the Coming Home to Uncertainty series about rebuilding life after prison.

Previous: Part 2 – Day 1: Freedom Felt Colder than Prison

Next: Part 4 — The Financial Reckoning: Starting Over After Prison Got Even Harder

View the full series: Coming Home to Uncertainty