You Weren't There, Plain and Simple

Yesterday, I asked you for help so we could maybe help our son.  During our talk, it became clear that you think you are right and that it doesn't matter what anyone else NEEDS.

I realized that if you ever did talk to Jeremy about why you neglected him, your truth would be to blame me.  I told you Jeremy didn't want the DETAILS of our past... and right now he thinks he doesn't want to know why, but eventually, in order to heal fully, he will need to ask you "Why?" I was letting you know my part in neglecting his emotional needs, and giving you the heads up that you needed to get your ducks in a row when and if Jeremy ever talked to you again.



You told me that you've kept the letters that I wrote to you back then as proof of how awful I was to you.  That I demanded child support in order to you to be able to see him, blah blah blah.  That argument is as old as the hills, and back then, it was the tail end of the law and society believing child support = the right to visitation.  It changed to visitation = the child's right no matter what, as it should be, and what I subscribed to MOST of the time myself.  I remember it was usually me and Renee who made visitation happen, most often to "surprise" you for some special occasion.  I remember her calling me to get Jeremy to come for your wedding.  Jeremy was in junior high by then, so I left the decision up to him.  He said No, because you hadn't "invited" him yourself.  He was finally realizing that it was me and your wife who made visitation happen... not you, most of the time. 

You weren't there, and saying it was because I demanded child support is a cop-out.  Showing him the letters is a cop-out.  Blaming me in anyway is a cop-out, because there is NO excuse for ignoring him.  None whatsoever.  Zip.  Nothing.  Nada.  You DID ignore him, and me demanding child support once in a while is just a damn handy excuse for you. 

I know sometimes I did, most probably because the cupboards were bare and it was my last resort to get some HELP from you.  It was also a constant source of contention between my boyfriend/husband and I... he was supporting YOUR son, and you weren't paying child support, ever.  In order to keep the peace, sometimes I would demand. 

You once told me that you would never pay child support because all I would do with it was buy dresses and... something else that I can't remember.  Ironically, I started getting $75.00 a week from the State of Washington's Support Enforcement when Jeremy moved out when he was 18 or 19 years old and I was no longer supporting him.  The only reason I got it was because the laws had gotten better - your paycheck was garnished.  Guess what I did with it?  :-))))

Yesterday, you said sometimes you had money and sometimes you didn't.  I could understand that.  But I didn't get any  when you DID have money, hence that breakdown the one night.  The night I hit bottom was the day you boasted about buying your girlfriend a car.

During our talk yesterday, you also boasted that you would always tell Jeremy the truth.  There was the implied threat of showing him my letters.  I use the word "boast" because of your tone - the superior attitude of knowing right from wrong, and you're the authority on what is right and wrong.

In some countries, it's "right" to mutilate female genitalia.  In our country, it's wrong.  So who's "right", Dan?  I'm being extreme because you are extreme.

I don't CARE if you show our son those letters.  He's been thru 2 divorces - I think he'll get it that people do and say stupid things when going thru a divorce.  Hopefully, he'll understand that we had the added stress of your girlfriend, the pregnancy, the birth of a baby with severe birth defects, and his death.  Hopefully, he'll realize how f*cked up I was, and cut me some slack.

I remember one time you didn't return Jeremy when you were supposed to, and he missed the first day of Kindergarten.  You didn't answer the phone.  I didn't know if you were carrying out your threat to take him away from me, or if you both were dead on the freeway somewhere between Spokane and Idaho Falls.  When I went to the cops, they couldn't do a thing to help me because there was no visitation dates specified on our divorce decree.   I was sick with worry, vomiting in the toilet, triggered by the loss of a child.

My husband hired a lawyer to change visitation to specific times, and you agreed to sign the papers when we met next time in Deer Lodge to exchange Jeremy for visitation.  We met in Deer Lodge.  But you refused to sign them.  So I turned around and drove away with Jeremy.  You followed us, and the way Jeremy looked out the back window broke my heart and I had to stop and let you take him. I don't remember if you signed them right then and there, or if we had to pursue it in court.  The point of the papers was to protect me from losing my child, because you threatened to take him away from me all the time, whenever I showed any signs of weakness about being a grieving, single parent with no money, and because you pulled the stunt of "Kindergarten is no big deal, and I wanted an extra day with my son". 

The Skeleton in Our Closet

Jeremy's dad and I split up when SonOne was 18 months old.  We still got me pregnant shortly thereafter, with Jacob.  Jacob was born, and then he died at 3 1/2 months of age.  Jeremy was 3 years old.  One night, his father came into my house in the middle of the night to have sex with me.  This was not unusual... we had a hard time staying apart in that area of our life.  (Hence, Jacob!)  The difference this time was ... I didn't know about it ahead of time.  He didn't knock on the door and I let him in.

I had several minutes of total terror for my 3 year old down the hallway and how was I going to protect him.  The layout of the house meant I couldn't sneak into his room without the bad guy knowing it.  If the bad quy turned down the hallway towards his room first, I prepared myself to kill him.  Luckily, he turned towards my room instead.  I wished my husband hadn't taken the gun that used to be stored in our headboard.


The nightlight in the hallway backlit his profile, even tho I still couldn't see anything but a large, dark/black body.  It was my husband.  My relief was so overwhelming that I did not protest about the sex.  I fought at first.  But then I became very passive, partly out of relief it wasn't a murderer, partly because our 3 year old son was down the hall, and partly because our baby had VERY recently died.  I wanted another baby and if this was what I had to do to get one... so be it.  I hoped tho, that I had scratched his back hard enough to leave marks so his girlfriend would see them.  He left without saying more than a word or two, nor had I, if anything.  The next morning, my heart was still racing with the terror of believing there had been a stranger in my house, and the sex had NOT been consensual.  The circumstances had made me extremely passive.  Like a robot, I called the cops and curled up in a ball to await their presence.

They took the report and the system played out.  His defense was that he was fulfilling a fantasy of mine.  He got off fairly light considering he was still my husband, and our "special" circumstances.  I had admitted to the cops why I hadn't fought harder.  He also had a key I had given to him because he watched my house for me when I traveled to Idaho right after Jacob died to see my parents.  I had forgotten he had the key.  I had other things on my mind.  Actually, I had no mind at all - I was grieving. 

I don't remember if the charges were 3rd Degree Rape or 1st Degree Trespassing.  He got put in the Work Release Program, where he could go to work during the day, and report to the minimum security prison at night.  Ironically, where I worked, but had to quit after Jacob was born. 


It wasn't the sex so much - altho it very much was, emotionally - I felt physically invaded.  But it was the terror of the invasion of my HOME and the safety of my 3 year old that stayed with me, that I couldn't get rid of.  For months, I obsessively got up in the night to check my door locks and for years, I wore long, flannel nightgowns with clothes underneath, to bed.  I only got 3 or 4 hours of sleep a night between grieving and that fear that stayed with me.  I wanted very desperately to sleep with a knife under my pillow, but I had a three year old in the house.  The knife under the pillow didn't start till years later.  



The other thing I remember about that night?  Right before the "stranger" came in, Jeremy had gone potty by himself for the first time, without calling me to take him. 


Between that, and watching my son standing on the back of the couch to look out the window, waiting for his dad, who was supposed to come visit him, and would not show up after all... so I had a heartbroken kid, over and over again...


... I moved 800 miles away, because I was drowning in grief and I needed the help of my parents in Idaho.