I remember you leaving us with no food or money in the house. I was a stay-at-home mom, who wasn't expecting her husband to just up and leave for good, without even trying to fix us. I remember that you couldn't or wouldn't tell me why. Even now, I pretend to myself that if I could have just known Why... maybe I could have handled myself better.
I remember telling Jeremy that "Daddy is coming to see you" and him standing on the back of the couch, looking and waiting for a Daddy that didn't show up most of the time. And how he would stare out the window, chattering to himself about daddy coming to see him. And how eventually, I would have to distract him and tell him the words "busy" and "flat tire" and "sick" and "work" and finally, "I don't know" when he cried in my arms and asked me "why?". He was 18 months, 2 years, 2 1/2 years, 3 years old. Covering for you, always covering for you cause they say you're not supposed to talk negative about the other parent.
I remember standing next to you in my house when the phone rang. I remember handing Jacob over to you so that I could go answer it, and almost dropping him, because you recoiled, flinched, winced, shrunk from his being handed over to you by me. Was it our paralyzed, dead weight of a baby with the possible brain damage or was it me that made you physically disgusted? I couldn't ask, because I was too busy making sure he didn't fall to the ground between us because you had stepped away as I reached him out to you.
I remember a hysterical fight between us, me calling you late at night, asking you to take my babies, convinced I couldn't do it - I couldn't be a single mother of a two year old and a paralyzed, possibly brain damaged, deaf baby by myself, and support us too. It was the day I'd found out I had to move out of the preacher's house, because they finally had found a pastor, and I was all "At least you have a house" on you. It was also the night before having to take him back into the hospital for the first time. I asked for help, and you said No, and threatened me instead with taking them both away from me for good, when all I needed was a few days so I could find another place to live. I remember hitting bottom that night and shutting down, perhaps permanently, as it turns out, according to Jeremy. Mavlow's Law is true - the energy required for basic survival negated the ability to manage anything more than the basics for the longest time. Years even.
I remember hurting sooo much for Jeremy because he was getting the short end of the stick, because I was burned at both ends by the lack of sleep, lack of understanding from my family, my husband, lack of emotional support. I was burned at both ends because it seemed as if leaving me wasn't enough... you had to add torture to the leaving of us, with stories of your girlfriend and boasting about buying her a car, instead of supporting your children, while I provided 24 hour damn near nursing care for our youngest, and damage control for a hurt and lonely toddler.
I remember the nurses telling me that you accused me of killing our baby, and how they worried about you coming to see him, and how to handle it, and asking me what I wanted. I remember falling to the ground, unable to fathom how the father of my children could say such a thing, and how hopeless I felt at my ability to understand, much less cope with the death of our baby.
The WAY you left us was cruel. And I do say "us", meaning me and Jeremy, cause I know you would say you didn't leave Jeremy. But by not showing up time after time to see him, saying that you didn't leave him doesn't wash. Having a baby with severe birth defects is hard on any parent, but you took it to the extreme by recoiling away from your baby son. And the cold-hearted "No" when I begged hysterically for help babysitting and or money, and threatening me instead with taking them away was also cruel. You always seemed to stab and then twist the knife - which should only happen with avocados and clam shells. You were always so calm and sure you were doing the right thing. That calmness would mess with my head, making me feel like I was crazy.
Learning that you thought I killed my baby...there are no words.
Last month, I practically begged you for help once again, cause our son needs us, and you said no. You colored it in pretty colors, but threatening once again underneath your calm voice. You have saved my letters and will use them if you have to, you said. ??? So fucking what. I wanted us to get together and make peace, rehash the past if necessary, agree to disagree on some things, and apologize where necessary. So that we could be a united front as PARENTS for if and when Jeremy decided to face his demons about us, so we would say and do the best thing/s for him. To take OUR past out of the equation, so we could hear what he experienced in our past as our child. He will NEED to be heard, and not have to deal with OUR issues, which is what he's had to do his entire life. That is what I wanted, when I finally got up the guts to call you. For the life of me, I'll never understand why I've always had to "get up the guts" to talk to you.
I had hoped that you had changed, but that icy, hard glint was back in your voice, the superior "you are crazy" was once again implied, and I remembered the fear.
I remember telling Jeremy that "Daddy is coming to see you" and him standing on the back of the couch, looking and waiting for a Daddy that didn't show up most of the time. And how he would stare out the window, chattering to himself about daddy coming to see him. And how eventually, I would have to distract him and tell him the words "busy" and "flat tire" and "sick" and "work" and finally, "I don't know" when he cried in my arms and asked me "why?". He was 18 months, 2 years, 2 1/2 years, 3 years old. Covering for you, always covering for you cause they say you're not supposed to talk negative about the other parent.
I remember standing next to you in my house when the phone rang. I remember handing Jacob over to you so that I could go answer it, and almost dropping him, because you recoiled, flinched, winced, shrunk from his being handed over to you by me. Was it our paralyzed, dead weight of a baby with the possible brain damage or was it me that made you physically disgusted? I couldn't ask, because I was too busy making sure he didn't fall to the ground between us because you had stepped away as I reached him out to you.
I remember a hysterical fight between us, me calling you late at night, asking you to take my babies, convinced I couldn't do it - I couldn't be a single mother of a two year old and a paralyzed, possibly brain damaged, deaf baby by myself, and support us too. It was the day I'd found out I had to move out of the preacher's house, because they finally had found a pastor, and I was all "At least you have a house" on you. It was also the night before having to take him back into the hospital for the first time. I asked for help, and you said No, and threatened me instead with taking them both away from me for good, when all I needed was a few days so I could find another place to live. I remember hitting bottom that night and shutting down, perhaps permanently, as it turns out, according to Jeremy. Mavlow's Law is true - the energy required for basic survival negated the ability to manage anything more than the basics for the longest time. Years even. 
I remember the nurses telling me that you accused me of killing our baby, and how they worried about you coming to see him, and how to handle it, and asking me what I wanted. I remember falling to the ground, unable to fathom how the father of my children could say such a thing, and how hopeless I felt at my ability to understand, much less cope with the death of our baby.
The WAY you left us was cruel. And I do say "us", meaning me and Jeremy, cause I know you would say you didn't leave Jeremy. But by not showing up time after time to see him, saying that you didn't leave him doesn't wash. Having a baby with severe birth defects is hard on any parent, but you took it to the extreme by recoiling away from your baby son. And the cold-hearted "No" when I begged hysterically for help babysitting and or money, and threatening me instead with taking them away was also cruel. You always seemed to stab and then twist the knife - which should only happen with avocados and clam shells. You were always so calm and sure you were doing the right thing. That calmness would mess with my head, making me feel like I was crazy.
Learning that you thought I killed my baby...there are no words.
Last month, I practically begged you for help once again, cause our son needs us, and you said no. You colored it in pretty colors, but threatening once again underneath your calm voice. You have saved my letters and will use them if you have to, you said. ??? So fucking what. I wanted us to get together and make peace, rehash the past if necessary, agree to disagree on some things, and apologize where necessary. So that we could be a united front as PARENTS for if and when Jeremy decided to face his demons about us, so we would say and do the best thing/s for him. To take OUR past out of the equation, so we could hear what he experienced in our past as our child. He will NEED to be heard, and not have to deal with OUR issues, which is what he's had to do his entire life. That is what I wanted, when I finally got up the guts to call you. For the life of me, I'll never understand why I've always had to "get up the guts" to talk to you.
I had hoped that you had changed, but that icy, hard glint was back in your voice, the superior "you are crazy" was once again implied, and I remembered the fear.
How I wish Jeremy could have learned that you were the worthless one, rather than him learning to believe he was worthless.
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