My ex contacted me two days after Christmas. I have had no contact with him for a year and a half. He texted that our daughter was going to Europe in February and, "she needs you to sign the form for her passport. Please choose a notary that is convenient for you so I can drop it off for you to sign." Just that. No, "Hi, how are you? The kids are well." No, "Gee, we'd really like you to do this."
He needed me to sign the form because she is a minor and I still have legal custody. That's all the text was. No explanation about the trip to Europe. No aside about how the kids were doing. Nothing. My first thought was now he needed something from me. Never has he responded when I've asked about the kids...except on the rare occasion I've mentioned going back to court over custody issues. Then he's responded to threaten me. In a year and a half all I get is this one text. An order. Do this now. On his command. My next thought was, if he wants something from me can't he at least ask nice? I texted back, "We will probably need to discuss this trip." I'm thinking, if I am going to sign for my daughter to get a passport to go to Europe, I would like to know something about the conditions under which she is going. I am her mother after all.
My ex has always made commands. He texted, "This is the only thing your daughter has ever asked of you." I responded that it wasn't her asking it of me, it was him asking it of me.
I then received a text from a different number, "This is the least you can do. I do not wish to speak to you. And I would appreciate it if you would sign the form for my passport so I can even go. So please give me the name and address of a place I can take the form to." I texted back to ask if it was my ex-husband. I got a text back from the new number, "No."
I called the number to make sure the message had come from her phone. I haven't had the kids' numbers for a long time. I really hoped she would answer, but I was very nervous. What do you say in all that time? There is uneasiness, hostility, ugliness. She has written, "I do not wish to speak to you." It was her voice on the message. I still recognized her voice, mannerisms in her speech. She sounded sweet, and a little flippant. I left a message saying, "Hi, this is your mom. It is nice to get to hear your voice. I am excited for you to go to Europe, and I am happy to sign the form for you to get your passport. I would just like to know a little more about the trip. I love you and I miss you very much." She soon texted, "Are you going to help me or continue to hold it over my head?"
This is my child. The daughter I have not spoken to in four and a half years. She has gone from a child to a young woman. The daughter who has grown over a foot since I've laid eyes on her. My child.
Because I am her mother and I share legal custody they needed my signature for her to get a passport. I would've have liked to have used that signature to my advantage. I said we could meet in person and I could sign it. I wrote that to both her and her dad. She said she would take that as a no, and my ex said never mind. I wrote that I had never said I wouldn't sign it. I said I was happy to. My ex wrote, "Great. I think this'll be a big step in getting you two back together. I'll even set up reunification therapy when she gets back from Europe." My stomach flipped, a surge of joy ran through me. And my head said, "Don't believe it." How often had he dangled that carrot before? He dangled carrots all through our divorce, pretending to be reasonable, agreeing to do things he never did, or that he did the exact opposite of, signed court orders he then defied. He'd actually dangled carrots in front of me our entire marriage, and then snatched them away as soon as I got close enough to take a bite.
I ended up asking him to send me the information of where to to go to sign the paper. I would do it for my daughter. I did not want to give her father any more ammunition to use to poison her against me. I hope she is safe. I hope she has a wonderful time.
Showing posts with label custody battles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label custody battles. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Come Back To Me
I've seen my friend's daughter. My daughter and my friend's daughter played together when they were little. From the time they were babies. Less as they were in elementary school and made their own friendships, little cliques. And then it stopped completely when I separated from my husband.
My friend's daughter is beautiful. A lovely teenager. Blonde, blue-eyed, all American-type beautiful. She looks very California, effortless, carefree. I've only seen her in person once or twice since my divorce. It is hard for me since I haven't seen my daughter in all that time. I have no idea what my daughter looks like. When I saw my friend's daughter I stared and stared at her. Such a transformation. She squirmed and blushed as I practically gobbled her up with my eyes, my mouth open...wanting to absorb the changes that had probably occurred with my daughter. I apologized for staring at her, and this seemed to make her more uncomfortable. My friend made comments about how her daughter was the typical teenager, you know, self-conscious and self-absorbed. No, I didn't know. Just concerned with herself, her friends, wanting to go out all the time, you know. But no, I didn't. I don't know.
I used to read my daughter poems before bed. She asked for Shel Silverstein, Where The Sidewalk Ends. I'd sit in the wicker chair as she laid in the bottom bunk of her bed. I sat at a distance from her, and I think now, why didn't I sit closer to her? Why didn't I read longer? Why didn't I just stick to my kids like glue?
I set up an FB account a while ago. I set it up with a name close to my middle son's name, and added an initial. My rationale was he couldn't block himself. Because he'd blocked me.
I was thinking, my kids are adrift without their mother. I was thinking, they are grief stricken. And I was responsible for their well-being. It was my job to rescue them, to keep them safe, to raise them up and prepare them for this world. Apparently, I wasn't up to the job. And I was not taking into account their father and his capabilities. I was seeing myself and my children in a cove, cliffs surrounding us, sheltered from the elements, with the sea beyond. I was the mother bird going to get food and regurgitating it for her young so that it was palatable to them. And they were bald little birds, with squawking beaks open, hungry and waiting for their meal.
I fear my daughter has a hole where a mother would go. Because I have a hole where children should go. I have anxiety always because I am not there for them.
Their father effectively abducted our children without ever leaving the state, let alone the city. He scarcely moved at all. A few blocks from our former home. He accomplished this so cleverly it was fairly within the legal system, and with the help of an attorney. They were abducted before they ever left home. If there had been pictures on a milk carton, "Have you seen me?", I would not have known them. They were not the same children. They were brainwashed to believe their mother wanted to do them harm. He made them think I wanted to kidnap them. On the two occasions I saw my youngest and my middle child, in the first six months after they moved in with their dad, they ran from me.
I felt a bit of uneasiness in my gut creating a facebook account in my son's name, just changing one character. I rationalized it by saying, he is the only way to get through to my other two children. And, he blocked me but he wouldn't think to block a name like his. Any variation of my name I was sure was blocked. My other two children had little information on google search at all. There was a blurb about my daughter from ten years ago when she played soccer. I didn't know how to try to find them. My ex had cut off all means of communication with them. I figured my middle son was the only way of trying to get through to them. To any of them.
Their grandma, my ex mother in law, is the one address I have for my kids. I send things there, letters, gifts, and hope it reaches them. I have no way of knowing. It has been this way for over four years. Except in the very beginning. I sent Keegan a letter and he wrote on the outside in his asymmetrical, awkward childish writing 'return to sender'. I sent it back again even though it had come back to me.
My friend's daughter is beautiful. A lovely teenager. Blonde, blue-eyed, all American-type beautiful. She looks very California, effortless, carefree. I've only seen her in person once or twice since my divorce. It is hard for me since I haven't seen my daughter in all that time. I have no idea what my daughter looks like. When I saw my friend's daughter I stared and stared at her. Such a transformation. She squirmed and blushed as I practically gobbled her up with my eyes, my mouth open...wanting to absorb the changes that had probably occurred with my daughter. I apologized for staring at her, and this seemed to make her more uncomfortable. My friend made comments about how her daughter was the typical teenager, you know, self-conscious and self-absorbed. No, I didn't know. Just concerned with herself, her friends, wanting to go out all the time, you know. But no, I didn't. I don't know.
I used to read my daughter poems before bed. She asked for Shel Silverstein, Where The Sidewalk Ends. I'd sit in the wicker chair as she laid in the bottom bunk of her bed. I sat at a distance from her, and I think now, why didn't I sit closer to her? Why didn't I read longer? Why didn't I just stick to my kids like glue?
I set up an FB account a while ago. I set it up with a name close to my middle son's name, and added an initial. My rationale was he couldn't block himself. Because he'd blocked me.
I was thinking, my kids are adrift without their mother. I was thinking, they are grief stricken. And I was responsible for their well-being. It was my job to rescue them, to keep them safe, to raise them up and prepare them for this world. Apparently, I wasn't up to the job. And I was not taking into account their father and his capabilities. I was seeing myself and my children in a cove, cliffs surrounding us, sheltered from the elements, with the sea beyond. I was the mother bird going to get food and regurgitating it for her young so that it was palatable to them. And they were bald little birds, with squawking beaks open, hungry and waiting for their meal.
I fear my daughter has a hole where a mother would go. Because I have a hole where children should go. I have anxiety always because I am not there for them.
Their father effectively abducted our children without ever leaving the state, let alone the city. He scarcely moved at all. A few blocks from our former home. He accomplished this so cleverly it was fairly within the legal system, and with the help of an attorney. They were abducted before they ever left home. If there had been pictures on a milk carton, "Have you seen me?", I would not have known them. They were not the same children. They were brainwashed to believe their mother wanted to do them harm. He made them think I wanted to kidnap them. On the two occasions I saw my youngest and my middle child, in the first six months after they moved in with their dad, they ran from me.
I felt a bit of uneasiness in my gut creating a facebook account in my son's name, just changing one character. I rationalized it by saying, he is the only way to get through to my other two children. And, he blocked me but he wouldn't think to block a name like his. Any variation of my name I was sure was blocked. My other two children had little information on google search at all. There was a blurb about my daughter from ten years ago when she played soccer. I didn't know how to try to find them. My ex had cut off all means of communication with them. I figured my middle son was the only way of trying to get through to them. To any of them.
Their grandma, my ex mother in law, is the one address I have for my kids. I send things there, letters, gifts, and hope it reaches them. I have no way of knowing. It has been this way for over four years. Except in the very beginning. I sent Keegan a letter and he wrote on the outside in his asymmetrical, awkward childish writing 'return to sender'. I sent it back again even though it had come back to me.
Sunday, August 7, 2011
Only In My Dreams
I dreamt about my middle son early this morming. He was older, probably 16. This was different for me because when I dream of my kids they are always the ages they were when I saw them last, or younger.
In my dream he was taller than me, but his body and his face looked like it did when I was last with him, when he was 14, and still thicker than my other two children and his face round. I was staying at my best friend from high school's house in Washington, but the house was like a hotel, and she no longer lived there. My head felt cloudy, like I was sick with flu. My mom and sister were staying at my friend's with me. We were all getting ready to leave, it seemed to be check-out time, and they got irritated and left without me. I had no car and no money. I had to get back to California, and it was urgent. I needed to get back to California. I'm not sure why it was urgent in my dream. I felt abandoned and helpless, angry at my mom and sister.
In real life my attorney had told me to go to WA and live with my mom and put my house up for short sale, and then shortly after she told me get back to CA as soon as I could so I could try to get custody or at least visitation with my kids. And this whole time--in real life--I had no money, and no resources.
It was that kind of urgency in my dream. I was in a panic trying to figure out how to get back to California. And then my son, Keegan, walked into the room. I still hadn't seen him in four years, and it was like he didn't know I was there. He came into the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth. He seemed a bit surprised to see me, but not much. He was out of it,hungover, acted pretty drunk. I was thrilled to see him, amazed at how different he looked, but he was still the same Keegan, just drunk. I didn't want to scare him off. I didn't hug him as I wanted to, I wanted to throw my arms around him and not let go. He was taller than me and bigger. There were boys outside the room calling, "Hurry up!" I told him I was happy to see him. I commented that he must not be feeling too well. He asked why I would say that. I told him I was hungover all the time when I was a teenager. He grabbed a toothbrush and began to brush his teeth and I moved out of the way. He was not running from me, which I figured was a good sign. I initially expected him too--he had in real life. Part of me was panicked--how could I stay in his presence as long as possible? I asked if he would like to have lunch. I said that his grandma and aunt would love to see him too, it had been so long. Even though I was not sure at that moment where they were. He continued brushing his teeth, but seemed to be thinking it over. His friends called for him again. The room was dark and I began rolling up a sleeping bag, wondering how I would take all my stuff with me. He said, Sure, I guess we could have lunch. And he was my Keegan again. There had been a wide gap between us, anxiety and panic in my heart as I waited for his answer, but now I felt comfort, connected again.
If only it was that way in real life. And if money and homelessness did not matter, choices could be reversed, resentments evaporate and vanish, wounds miraculously heal. But in dreams, at least, I am with my children.
In my dream he was taller than me, but his body and his face looked like it did when I was last with him, when he was 14, and still thicker than my other two children and his face round. I was staying at my best friend from high school's house in Washington, but the house was like a hotel, and she no longer lived there. My head felt cloudy, like I was sick with flu. My mom and sister were staying at my friend's with me. We were all getting ready to leave, it seemed to be check-out time, and they got irritated and left without me. I had no car and no money. I had to get back to California, and it was urgent. I needed to get back to California. I'm not sure why it was urgent in my dream. I felt abandoned and helpless, angry at my mom and sister.
In real life my attorney had told me to go to WA and live with my mom and put my house up for short sale, and then shortly after she told me get back to CA as soon as I could so I could try to get custody or at least visitation with my kids. And this whole time--in real life--I had no money, and no resources.
It was that kind of urgency in my dream. I was in a panic trying to figure out how to get back to California. And then my son, Keegan, walked into the room. I still hadn't seen him in four years, and it was like he didn't know I was there. He came into the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth. He seemed a bit surprised to see me, but not much. He was out of it,hungover, acted pretty drunk. I was thrilled to see him, amazed at how different he looked, but he was still the same Keegan, just drunk. I didn't want to scare him off. I didn't hug him as I wanted to, I wanted to throw my arms around him and not let go. He was taller than me and bigger. There were boys outside the room calling, "Hurry up!" I told him I was happy to see him. I commented that he must not be feeling too well. He asked why I would say that. I told him I was hungover all the time when I was a teenager. He grabbed a toothbrush and began to brush his teeth and I moved out of the way. He was not running from me, which I figured was a good sign. I initially expected him too--he had in real life. Part of me was panicked--how could I stay in his presence as long as possible? I asked if he would like to have lunch. I said that his grandma and aunt would love to see him too, it had been so long. Even though I was not sure at that moment where they were. He continued brushing his teeth, but seemed to be thinking it over. His friends called for him again. The room was dark and I began rolling up a sleeping bag, wondering how I would take all my stuff with me. He said, Sure, I guess we could have lunch. And he was my Keegan again. There had been a wide gap between us, anxiety and panic in my heart as I waited for his answer, but now I felt comfort, connected again.
If only it was that way in real life. And if money and homelessness did not matter, choices could be reversed, resentments evaporate and vanish, wounds miraculously heal. But in dreams, at least, I am with my children.
Wednesday, August 3, 2011
Fight, Fight, Fight
I wish I would have had the money and the guts to fight for my kids. My ex just wanted me out of his life, and the kids' lives completely, once he understood we were no longer going to be together. Anything it took to get me completely out of their lives he was going to do. And he did it.
I am not saying I am a perfect parent, or I did everything perfectly. I have made many, many mistakes. But I believe it is a child's right to have both parents in their lives. Unless there is a good reason for that not to happen.
I know my ex left a message on my daughter's phone on her eleventh birthday saying I was on drugs, and that my 'boyfriend' was a criminal. I know because I listened to her message which ordinarily I didn't do. I wanted to encourage her to stay in contact with her father, and when we were going through the separation and she said she missed him I told her to call him. If he wanted to come over, I'd go out so she and her dad could hang out.
A month before we separated we had gone up to Oregon for spring break to spend the Easter holiday with my sister, brother-in-law, niece, and my mom and step-father. We drove up from California, with my daughter and eldest son. My middle son wanted to stay home in CA with his grandma, and my ex-husband agreed against my wishes.
We got to my sister's house where we had spent much time during many summers. My daughter was happy to see her little cousin Maddie, and her aunt, uncle, grandma and grandpa. My oldest seemed pleased to be there too, but mostly interested in his video games.
My ex decided on Easter day to leave me at my sister's and drive back to California. We were just getting the table set up for Easter dinner. Apparently, he had heard me discussing some of our marital problems in the kitchen with my mom and sister. Next thing I knew he was loading his suitcase in the suburban. I ran outside, baffled and scared. He said, "That's it. I'm divorcing you!" I asked him to stay, to discuss it. I said I was sorry I'd been discussing our problems with my mother and sister. He said he was leaving.
He told our son and daughter to go with him. I told them it was up to them if they wanted to stay or go. I was shaking from head to toe, feeling like jelly on the inside, but I willed myself to stay calm for the kids. My family seemed on the sidelines, out of vision. I heard a few pleas of, "Jim, calm down. Come eat some dinner." I'm not sure who said it, but I'm pretty sure my sister, brother-in-law, mom and step-father all did.
My daughter clung to my waist while her dad begged her to come with him. Easter dinner was on the table and our eldest son was in the passenger seat of the suburban ready to go. My daughter said, "I'm staying with mom." She had been put in the middle, stretched like a rubber band, put in a position I didn't want her to have to be in, of having to chose. Her dad kept saying, "Come home with me. I want you to come with me."
My daughter and I stayed at my sister's for the rest of spring break. The weather was nice and we went kayaking on a lake nearby, rode the horses, played with my niece, and enjoyed getting to be around family. My daughter didn't ask too much about her dad, but became very anxious if I was out of her sight.
My family didn't seem that surprised by my ex's behavior. They put it down to an extreme over-reaction. My mother didn't tell me until we were in the process of divorce that Jim had called and left a message on her phone the night he left. His message was that in the event I needed to be hospitalized, (apparently assuming I would have a breakdown because he left) would my mother please ride on the airplane with my daughter to bring her home.
I am not saying I am a perfect parent, or I did everything perfectly. I have made many, many mistakes. But I believe it is a child's right to have both parents in their lives. Unless there is a good reason for that not to happen.
I know my ex left a message on my daughter's phone on her eleventh birthday saying I was on drugs, and that my 'boyfriend' was a criminal. I know because I listened to her message which ordinarily I didn't do. I wanted to encourage her to stay in contact with her father, and when we were going through the separation and she said she missed him I told her to call him. If he wanted to come over, I'd go out so she and her dad could hang out.
A month before we separated we had gone up to Oregon for spring break to spend the Easter holiday with my sister, brother-in-law, niece, and my mom and step-father. We drove up from California, with my daughter and eldest son. My middle son wanted to stay home in CA with his grandma, and my ex-husband agreed against my wishes.
We got to my sister's house where we had spent much time during many summers. My daughter was happy to see her little cousin Maddie, and her aunt, uncle, grandma and grandpa. My oldest seemed pleased to be there too, but mostly interested in his video games.
My ex decided on Easter day to leave me at my sister's and drive back to California. We were just getting the table set up for Easter dinner. Apparently, he had heard me discussing some of our marital problems in the kitchen with my mom and sister. Next thing I knew he was loading his suitcase in the suburban. I ran outside, baffled and scared. He said, "That's it. I'm divorcing you!" I asked him to stay, to discuss it. I said I was sorry I'd been discussing our problems with my mother and sister. He said he was leaving.
He told our son and daughter to go with him. I told them it was up to them if they wanted to stay or go. I was shaking from head to toe, feeling like jelly on the inside, but I willed myself to stay calm for the kids. My family seemed on the sidelines, out of vision. I heard a few pleas of, "Jim, calm down. Come eat some dinner." I'm not sure who said it, but I'm pretty sure my sister, brother-in-law, mom and step-father all did.
My daughter clung to my waist while her dad begged her to come with him. Easter dinner was on the table and our eldest son was in the passenger seat of the suburban ready to go. My daughter said, "I'm staying with mom." She had been put in the middle, stretched like a rubber band, put in a position I didn't want her to have to be in, of having to chose. Her dad kept saying, "Come home with me. I want you to come with me."
My daughter and I stayed at my sister's for the rest of spring break. The weather was nice and we went kayaking on a lake nearby, rode the horses, played with my niece, and enjoyed getting to be around family. My daughter didn't ask too much about her dad, but became very anxious if I was out of her sight.
My family didn't seem that surprised by my ex's behavior. They put it down to an extreme over-reaction. My mother didn't tell me until we were in the process of divorce that Jim had called and left a message on her phone the night he left. His message was that in the event I needed to be hospitalized, (apparently assuming I would have a breakdown because he left) would my mother please ride on the airplane with my daughter to bring her home.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Another Un-Anniversary
My former wedding anniversary came and went. I thought of my ex-husband on that day, July 14, not realizing it was our anniversary. I had been thinking, "I will text him and plead with him to help me see the kids." I didn't text him because I knew in my heart that if I got any response at all, it would be negative. And later on toward the evening I realized it was our anniversary.
I keep thinking that there must be something I can do to change this. That somehow I can change the fact that it has been four years now since I have laid eyes on my children. That I can turn back the clock and get those years back with them. I have had a huge hole in my heart. And I am convinced that they have needed their mother. Then I wonder, is there some major life lesson here that I am supposed to learn? That my kids are supposed to learn? My ex?
I looked at a picture of my daughter today. It was a photo of her around the time that I saw her last. She has large dark eyes, thick hair, a dimple to the side of her cheek. She is beautiful. I looked carefully. Did she look like a child with an unstable family life? Did she appear as though she knew she was loved?
I saw a recent picture of my middle son. (Because I look for my kids online all the time.) He looks a lot like his father. He has a bit of a mustache. I don't know that I would recognize him in a crowd. He is tall and thin, and his hair is styled in a sort-of rockabilly way like his dad's.
I felt betrayed seeing the photograph.. I had missed the transition from child to adult completely. My son went from stocky, cuddly and cute, to a tall thin man with a mustache and deep voice. My child is gone.
I keep thinking that there must be something I can do to change this. That somehow I can change the fact that it has been four years now since I have laid eyes on my children. That I can turn back the clock and get those years back with them. I have had a huge hole in my heart. And I am convinced that they have needed their mother. Then I wonder, is there some major life lesson here that I am supposed to learn? That my kids are supposed to learn? My ex?
I looked at a picture of my daughter today. It was a photo of her around the time that I saw her last. She has large dark eyes, thick hair, a dimple to the side of her cheek. She is beautiful. I looked carefully. Did she look like a child with an unstable family life? Did she appear as though she knew she was loved?
I saw a recent picture of my middle son. (Because I look for my kids online all the time.) He looks a lot like his father. He has a bit of a mustache. I don't know that I would recognize him in a crowd. He is tall and thin, and his hair is styled in a sort-of rockabilly way like his dad's.
I felt betrayed seeing the photograph.. I had missed the transition from child to adult completely. My son went from stocky, cuddly and cute, to a tall thin man with a mustache and deep voice. My child is gone.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
I May Never See Them Again
Sometimes it feel like my chest will implode. It will cave in from being empty and rotting on the inside.
How to decribe this sadness? I haven't seen my kids in so long. I don't know what they look like. I know they must look different. Four years. The major transformation. Teenagers, then young adults. All kid years are transformative years. I feel resentment at parents that have children, have their children period.
It is not the pain it was before. The pain of every day being dark, one I did not think I could live through. The pain raw, open, blood fresh on the surface.
At first, in every child, I would see my own. A skinny long-limbed girl with thick auburn hair. A stocky, laughing boy with mocking eyes, my middle son. An awkward, knock-kneed boy with fair skin, large clear brown eyes, halting speech, my eldest.
Sometimes it hits hard, air sucked from my lungs, like I am drowning. A scab pulled off a wound that has begun to close up, ripped fresh. Always I feel a dull, constant ache.
There is a real possibilty I don't ever want to look at head-on. But it is there. I may never see them again. I may never know them as they are. The possibility is that all I will have of my children are my memories. The looks backward in the rear-view mirror that are never quite accurate. The feelings that are unquestionable.
How to decribe this sadness? I haven't seen my kids in so long. I don't know what they look like. I know they must look different. Four years. The major transformation. Teenagers, then young adults. All kid years are transformative years. I feel resentment at parents that have children, have their children period.
It is not the pain it was before. The pain of every day being dark, one I did not think I could live through. The pain raw, open, blood fresh on the surface.
At first, in every child, I would see my own. A skinny long-limbed girl with thick auburn hair. A stocky, laughing boy with mocking eyes, my middle son. An awkward, knock-kneed boy with fair skin, large clear brown eyes, halting speech, my eldest.
Sometimes it hits hard, air sucked from my lungs, like I am drowning. A scab pulled off a wound that has begun to close up, ripped fresh. Always I feel a dull, constant ache.
There is a real possibilty I don't ever want to look at head-on. But it is there. I may never see them again. I may never know them as they are. The possibility is that all I will have of my children are my memories. The looks backward in the rear-view mirror that are never quite accurate. The feelings that are unquestionable.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
It is Christmas
It is Christmas time. Children are everywhere. I look at couples with children. Families. It seems like a group or club, I no longer belong to. That I never belonged to. A lie I made up.
It is as though I invented a life full of detail, in which I gave birth to three beautiful children. A grand hallucination, and all a lie.
I grieve daily, over and over, many deaths. The death of my role as a mother. The deaths of my children from my life.
At Christmas time, I remember decorating the tree with ornaments they made at school. Usually the ornament had a photo of their little face at the center. We baked cookies and frosted them, wrapped gifts.
I remember snuggling them, my nose in their hair. Each of them smelled different. My oldest had a sweet, soft smell, my middle was pungent, my youngest a combination of the two. Their smells were the same from the time they were babies till I saw them last.
It would be easier, it seems, if it were a beautiful and sad lie. A life I concocted for myself that never truly existed. A story of a family with three very real-seeming children, dogs and cats, rabbits and lizards and birds, mismathced socks,video games blaring through the house, kids yelling, "Mom, mom, mom, mooooommmm!!" A story I read. That I imagined to be true. Christmases of Barbie, and Power Rangers, Star Wars and candy, baking cookies and going to grandma's, wrapping gifts and hiding them under the bed. Putting my kids in flannel pajamas for Christmas Eve that were much too warm for Southern California.
I cannot talk about my kids without feeling I am lying. When I tell stories of things that have happened, I feel I have no right to the stories. I feel the stories belong to my children now. That I am not suppossed to have even the memories.
So Christmas time is here. And I have plenty of memories that I feel are not mine to have. And plenty of stories that I feel are not mine to tell.
It is as though I invented a life full of detail, in which I gave birth to three beautiful children. A grand hallucination, and all a lie.
I grieve daily, over and over, many deaths. The death of my role as a mother. The deaths of my children from my life.
At Christmas time, I remember decorating the tree with ornaments they made at school. Usually the ornament had a photo of their little face at the center. We baked cookies and frosted them, wrapped gifts.
I remember snuggling them, my nose in their hair. Each of them smelled different. My oldest had a sweet, soft smell, my middle was pungent, my youngest a combination of the two. Their smells were the same from the time they were babies till I saw them last.
It would be easier, it seems, if it were a beautiful and sad lie. A life I concocted for myself that never truly existed. A story of a family with three very real-seeming children, dogs and cats, rabbits and lizards and birds, mismathced socks,video games blaring through the house, kids yelling, "Mom, mom, mom, mooooommmm!!" A story I read. That I imagined to be true. Christmases of Barbie, and Power Rangers, Star Wars and candy, baking cookies and going to grandma's, wrapping gifts and hiding them under the bed. Putting my kids in flannel pajamas for Christmas Eve that were much too warm for Southern California.
I cannot talk about my kids without feeling I am lying. When I tell stories of things that have happened, I feel I have no right to the stories. I feel the stories belong to my children now. That I am not suppossed to have even the memories.
So Christmas time is here. And I have plenty of memories that I feel are not mine to have. And plenty of stories that I feel are not mine to tell.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I Used To Be A Mom
The holidays are starting again--and during the holidays I am acutely aware of my children's absence. I am aware all the time. So I guess that is a gross misunderstatement.
Now it has been nearly three and a half years without them. During this time I have been trying to survive.
I don't go around telling people I don't have my kids. I do find myself saying, "When I used to have kids-". This is a blunder I quickly try to cover up, that I hope others don't notice. I feel my face redden, and inside I feel a hole opening. Sometimes I see the other person's expression change to one of bafflement and judgement. The judgement part could be me, judging myself.
People always ask, "Do you have kids?" I want to tell them the truth. I want to say, "I used to." What I say is, "Yes." They ask, "How many?" I say, "Three. Two boys and a girl." They ask, "How old?"
I have to stop and think about it. How old are they now? I hope people don't notice this pause. Especially when your children are younger you can rattle off their ages to the day, practically.
To me, my children haven't aged at all. They are still the ages they were when I saw them last. I have not seen them in person since that time, three and a half years ago. This was the last time they went, each, individually, for a 'visit' with their father.
Keegan was short and stocky still, fourteen, he left with his backpack and his skateboard. Tanith, too, left with a backpack. When Keegan left he was mad at me, in a fit, and he called his dad to come get him. Tanith, same thing. I don't believe they made up their minds to leave. Levi, on the other hand, had. He decided when I told him I had a boyfriend. I think the next day he told me, "Mom, on the last day of school, I am going to live with dad." He said this very calmly.
School was over in about two weeks, out for the summer. I didn't believe him, I thought maybe he was angry and saying something he didn't mean. Without emotion of course, because he never really expressed emotion. He has Asperger's syndrome. And he did say things he didn't mean, or that were majorly skewed in some way, very black and white. But when the last day of school came, and by then I had mostly forgotten about his pledge to move in with his dad, Levi calmly packed up two back packs, (as far as I could tell just with video games,) and his dad came to pick him up. My mother-in-law came back in the house with Levi just a few minutes after he'd gone out the door, to hurriedly gather some clothes. (My ex was living at his mother's.) She scarcely looked at me and did not smile. It was awkward, scary, uncomfortable. I did not think Levi would really leave. He seemed composed and deliberate. Levi and his grandma went out the door, their arms ladden with his things, and got in the suburban with his dad. That was June 21, 2007. I haven't seen my son since.
I feel like I'm lying when people ask me if I have children and I say,"Yes."
I want to tell the truth. I want to say, "No. I used to have children." Or, "I was a mom. But I lost my job." Something like that. And when they ask me how old my kids are and I tell them, I feel like I should say, "At least I think that's how old they are. I haven't seen them in over three years, so I don't really know."
And then they ask me what grade they are in, and again, I feel like I need a giant disclaimer: "All characters and names in this story are fictious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental."
Now it has been nearly three and a half years without them. During this time I have been trying to survive.
I don't go around telling people I don't have my kids. I do find myself saying, "When I used to have kids-". This is a blunder I quickly try to cover up, that I hope others don't notice. I feel my face redden, and inside I feel a hole opening. Sometimes I see the other person's expression change to one of bafflement and judgement. The judgement part could be me, judging myself.
People always ask, "Do you have kids?" I want to tell them the truth. I want to say, "I used to." What I say is, "Yes." They ask, "How many?" I say, "Three. Two boys and a girl." They ask, "How old?"
I have to stop and think about it. How old are they now? I hope people don't notice this pause. Especially when your children are younger you can rattle off their ages to the day, practically.
To me, my children haven't aged at all. They are still the ages they were when I saw them last. I have not seen them in person since that time, three and a half years ago. This was the last time they went, each, individually, for a 'visit' with their father.
Keegan was short and stocky still, fourteen, he left with his backpack and his skateboard. Tanith, too, left with a backpack. When Keegan left he was mad at me, in a fit, and he called his dad to come get him. Tanith, same thing. I don't believe they made up their minds to leave. Levi, on the other hand, had. He decided when I told him I had a boyfriend. I think the next day he told me, "Mom, on the last day of school, I am going to live with dad." He said this very calmly.
School was over in about two weeks, out for the summer. I didn't believe him, I thought maybe he was angry and saying something he didn't mean. Without emotion of course, because he never really expressed emotion. He has Asperger's syndrome. And he did say things he didn't mean, or that were majorly skewed in some way, very black and white. But when the last day of school came, and by then I had mostly forgotten about his pledge to move in with his dad, Levi calmly packed up two back packs, (as far as I could tell just with video games,) and his dad came to pick him up. My mother-in-law came back in the house with Levi just a few minutes after he'd gone out the door, to hurriedly gather some clothes. (My ex was living at his mother's.) She scarcely looked at me and did not smile. It was awkward, scary, uncomfortable. I did not think Levi would really leave. He seemed composed and deliberate. Levi and his grandma went out the door, their arms ladden with his things, and got in the suburban with his dad. That was June 21, 2007. I haven't seen my son since.
I feel like I'm lying when people ask me if I have children and I say,"Yes."
I want to tell the truth. I want to say, "No. I used to have children." Or, "I was a mom. But I lost my job." Something like that. And when they ask me how old my kids are and I tell them, I feel like I should say, "At least I think that's how old they are. I haven't seen them in over three years, so I don't really know."
And then they ask me what grade they are in, and again, I feel like I need a giant disclaimer: "All characters and names in this story are fictious. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental."
Saturday, October 23, 2010
Halloween
Dear Children,
It is almost Halloween. At the holidays I become sadder than usual. I remember decorating with you at the holidays, and r of course, at Halloween. Tanith, you really liked to decorate with me, but you boys liked it too. Less as you got older. And Tanith, you were only just eleven when I last saw you.
We would hang plastic ghosts in the trees in our front yard, and wrap orange lights around the picket fence. We had skeletons to hang on the porch, and black cats. The last Halloween I had with you kids, you boys were thirteen and fifteen. Tanith, you went out trick or treating with your girlfriends and one or two of their mothers. I remember you wore pink and I helped you put on eyeliner and eye makeup. I think you were dressed as one of the Bratz dolls. I haven't heard of them lately. Bratz. But then, why would I? I work primarily with boys.
I think of you all the time. I wonder if I am feeling sorry for myself. I think that maybe working with kids is a bad thing, that it makes me think of you more. I go over and over in my head what happened and what I could have done to change it. I think of how little I valued the time I had with you, how I was always tired, how I wish I had played with you more, listened, paid attention. How true it is when they say to enjoy your children because they grow up so fast.
Now Levi, you are grown up. You are nineteen. A man. I worry about you. I worry because you have autism, and I worry about how, and if you are functioning in the world. And Keegan, you are a young man playing guitar in a rock band. I worry about you having girlfriends, how you are doing in school, if you're using drugs or alcohol, how you are coping emotionally. And Tanith, my baby girl. You are becoming a young woman now. I worry about you going through your young womanhood with no mother to guide you. I know you have a step-mother, but she is scarcely older than you.
Oh, my children. You are still my babies. How does one let go? What can I do? I think, well, what does one do in situations like these? Should I try to help others so I don't think of my own pain? But, what would I tell someone in a situation like mine? I have no help to give you?
It is almost Halloween. Every year during grade school you kids had Halloween parades at school. For many years Keegan and Levi, you dressed as Power Rangers. Tanith, the last year I saw you, for Halloween you did dress as a Bratz doll, I remember now. Pink velour and the shoes you had with heels. Every year I made chili on Halloween and we'd carve pumpkins that day.
I wish I had known how precious all those moments with you chilren were. Maybe I did know. I just didn't know I wouldn't have moments anymore.
It is almost Halloween. At the holidays I become sadder than usual. I remember decorating with you at the holidays, and r of course, at Halloween. Tanith, you really liked to decorate with me, but you boys liked it too. Less as you got older. And Tanith, you were only just eleven when I last saw you.
We would hang plastic ghosts in the trees in our front yard, and wrap orange lights around the picket fence. We had skeletons to hang on the porch, and black cats. The last Halloween I had with you kids, you boys were thirteen and fifteen. Tanith, you went out trick or treating with your girlfriends and one or two of their mothers. I remember you wore pink and I helped you put on eyeliner and eye makeup. I think you were dressed as one of the Bratz dolls. I haven't heard of them lately. Bratz. But then, why would I? I work primarily with boys.
I think of you all the time. I wonder if I am feeling sorry for myself. I think that maybe working with kids is a bad thing, that it makes me think of you more. I go over and over in my head what happened and what I could have done to change it. I think of how little I valued the time I had with you, how I was always tired, how I wish I had played with you more, listened, paid attention. How true it is when they say to enjoy your children because they grow up so fast.
Now Levi, you are grown up. You are nineteen. A man. I worry about you. I worry because you have autism, and I worry about how, and if you are functioning in the world. And Keegan, you are a young man playing guitar in a rock band. I worry about you having girlfriends, how you are doing in school, if you're using drugs or alcohol, how you are coping emotionally. And Tanith, my baby girl. You are becoming a young woman now. I worry about you going through your young womanhood with no mother to guide you. I know you have a step-mother, but she is scarcely older than you.
Oh, my children. You are still my babies. How does one let go? What can I do? I think, well, what does one do in situations like these? Should I try to help others so I don't think of my own pain? But, what would I tell someone in a situation like mine? I have no help to give you?
It is almost Halloween. Every year during grade school you kids had Halloween parades at school. For many years Keegan and Levi, you dressed as Power Rangers. Tanith, the last year I saw you, for Halloween you did dress as a Bratz doll, I remember now. Pink velour and the shoes you had with heels. Every year I made chili on Halloween and we'd carve pumpkins that day.
I wish I had known how precious all those moments with you chilren were. Maybe I did know. I just didn't know I wouldn't have moments anymore.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Remembering
I don't want to feel sad anymore. Sad, sad. Everything still makes me think of my kids. Seeing a lizard. My car. Putting capers in a salad. Going to the beach. Doing laundry. Watching a movie. Sad, empty,lost.
I don't want to feel sad. I've been sad for three years.
In the beginning, I felt ripped apart, literally. A week away from my children was an eternity. Not hearing their voices, not touching their skin, not pressing my face in their hair.
Now, I tell stories of them. Over and over. It is as if they have died and I am keeping them alive with remembrances. I tell stories to new friends. They haven't met my children but they know them through stories.
How Keegan as a five year old called the Tahoe the Toe-ha. How Levi's pet rat Nicky, got pregnant by Keegan's rat named Jason, and then how Levi rushed into my bedroom waking me up at six in the morning calling out, "Mommy, mommy, Nicky's birthing her babies!"
How Keegan's pet rat Jason was named after Keegan's favorite Power Ranger. And then how Jason met an early demise when Tanith at two and a half years old was holding Jason and then suddenly threw him in the air to see if he could fly.
Tanith loved capers and ate them straight from the jar. Levi never had mathcing socks on school mornings so I'd tell him to go find some in the dirty clothes basket. Keegan named my favorite beach "Squirrel Beach" because of all the squirrels in the cliffs along it. Whenever we shopped for shoes Tanith insisted on trying on the high heels. Because of my children, I have seen every Disney movie made from 1993-2007.
In the beginning, I watched alot of movies (no Disney), to try to forget for just a moment. Often, then and now, I imagine I am in jail, or away at war, and that is why I can't see my kids. I remember, there are other people who haved loved ones they miss terribly, that they can't be with.
Sometimes, my memories make me happy. Other times, they are like a punch in the gut leaving me gasping for air.
I don't want to feel sad. I've been sad for three years.
In the beginning, I felt ripped apart, literally. A week away from my children was an eternity. Not hearing their voices, not touching their skin, not pressing my face in their hair.
Now, I tell stories of them. Over and over. It is as if they have died and I am keeping them alive with remembrances. I tell stories to new friends. They haven't met my children but they know them through stories.
How Keegan as a five year old called the Tahoe the Toe-ha. How Levi's pet rat Nicky, got pregnant by Keegan's rat named Jason, and then how Levi rushed into my bedroom waking me up at six in the morning calling out, "Mommy, mommy, Nicky's birthing her babies!"
How Keegan's pet rat Jason was named after Keegan's favorite Power Ranger. And then how Jason met an early demise when Tanith at two and a half years old was holding Jason and then suddenly threw him in the air to see if he could fly.
Tanith loved capers and ate them straight from the jar. Levi never had mathcing socks on school mornings so I'd tell him to go find some in the dirty clothes basket. Keegan named my favorite beach "Squirrel Beach" because of all the squirrels in the cliffs along it. Whenever we shopped for shoes Tanith insisted on trying on the high heels. Because of my children, I have seen every Disney movie made from 1993-2007.
In the beginning, I watched alot of movies (no Disney), to try to forget for just a moment. Often, then and now, I imagine I am in jail, or away at war, and that is why I can't see my kids. I remember, there are other people who haved loved ones they miss terribly, that they can't be with.
Sometimes, my memories make me happy. Other times, they are like a punch in the gut leaving me gasping for air.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Forced into retirement
So...it's been almost three years without seeing my kids. Unimaginable. Three years ago it was unimaginable. Three weeks would have seemed like a life time. Christmases, birthdays, have gone by without my children. I have since found out this is called "Parental Alienation Syndrome" and I am the alienated parent. I was a stay-at-home mom. Being a mother to my three children. Until I filed for divorce. And that was the beginning of things to come I could never imagine. Only in nightmares. In paranoid fits, when you can't find your child for a moment in a store and you imagine the worst. That has become my life.
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