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.

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."