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.

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."

My ex-husband moved with our three children. Where--I don't know. It was conincidence I knew where they were living the past year anyway. I am supposed to know where they are living--according to the courts. We have shared legal custody so I am supposed to know alot of things. So many things the courts decreed that were not imposed, and my ex-husband simply did not do. Such as pay the mortgage payment. Give me my half of the tax return. Go to family law court to decide child custody. Take the kids to reunification therapy. Sell the house. Abide by shared legal custody of the children. Pay spousal support. And on and on.

He is remarried now. He got married ten months after we divorced to a woman more than twenty years his junior. Our oldest son is 19 and a half. My ex-husband's wife just turned twenty-five. My ex-husband is forty-five.

He did not tell me any of this. I saw it on facebook before he changed his account to private. I also saw their child who was born while we were still married. There were pictures of his son, named Skyler, at around two and a half years old. He was the spitting image of my middle son at that age. At first I thought they were pictures of my son Keegan, except they were labeled "Skyler," and the child was in surroundings I didn't recognize. By the ages posted I realized Skyler was conceived and born several years before my ex and I separated. My ex maintains his new wife had Skyler before they got together and that Skyler was "her" child. The resemblance to Keegan is uncanny. As a mother, I would have told you that Skyler was my child.

While we were still in the process of getting a divorce, one by one my children moved in with their father. Initially, he refused to tell me where they lived or give me thier address. I still had an attorney and she managed to get this information from his attorney. But after our divorce was final I was shit out of luck. I was out of money and my ex-husband refused to comply with any of the settlement stipulations--and having no money and no access to money, I have been powerless to change this. By coincidence (or not) I happened to see his wife driving one day--she was driving my ex mother-inlaws mustang that was suppossed to be a first car for my kids.) I followed her and she led me to their house.

Every now and then I'd drive by there hoping for a glance of my children, and comforted that at least I knew where they were.

The other day, after my son Keegan's birthday, I drove by and the house was completely vacant. It loooked like it had been empty awhile. The windows were bare, there was trash in the front yard,the grass was yellow, full of weeds and about a foot high. I instantly panicked--where were my kids? And I don't know. To me, they are lost.

Happy Birthday Keegan

Dear Keegan,
Tomorrow is your birthday. You will be seventeen. And it has been almost three years since I've seen you.

When I was last with you we still lived at our home of nearly twelve years. It was Tanith's birthday the next day. I was getting ready for her party. She was going to have a slumber party with eight girls. Your dad was gone. I had asked him to move out and had already filed for divorce. What a horrible, painful time that was. For you kids I'm sure it was excruciating. I had a panacea already--a boyfriend to ease my pain. I chose to tell you and your brother and sister I had a boyfriend. Looking back, of course, everything I did was all wrong.

Your father has been so bitter toward me. I was so angry at him. I'm sure he was hurt, and so was I. Now that time has gone by I remember more of the good things he did, and his good qualities. How he liked to go on outings as a family, how we went to Oregon every summer driving up in the Suburban and stayed with my sister, your aunt Lisa, and his dad, your grandpa. I remember how he took care of everything with the Suburban, getting it ready, new tires, tune up, getting a VCR player put in so you kids could watch movies on the trip up.

And your dad got the Suburban for me because I said I needed three rows of seats for you and your brother and sister: one row for each of you. Once your sister was old enough to pester you, you fought like wild cats when you were in the car. Your dad agreed that separating each of you would be a good solution for the arguing that went on anytime we went somewhere as a family. One afternoon he came home driving a shiny new Suburban.

You will be seventeen, tomorrow, June seventh. When you were born all the nurses came in to look at you because of your astonishing hair. It was black at the base, red in the middle, and white blond at the tips. Your dad called you "Flame Tipper." The nurses had never seen anything like it. And you had so much hair. You were the biggest of my babies, nine pounds. And happy. My Keegie-love, I called you.

I meant to write about you--because it will be your birthday. You have been so angry at me, too. Not that this is new. You became a hostile child, teenager. And I suppose the fact of you being your father's and my child that should come as no surprise to me. Your father and I were moody rebellious teenagers.

I know you are in a band and play guitar. You are so tall and skinny now. And handsome. You have your dad's gorgeous jaw line. I see videos of you in your band on YouTube. I know too, that you have played with bands I idolized as a teenager. I'm pretty sure you have no idea I know any of these things, and I know you have no idea how proud I am of you. And how in awe.

It will be your birthday. I was blessed to help bring you into the world. You have been a gift to me. Happy Birthday.