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". 

I Wanted to Apologize, But...

You know... over the past years, since Jeremy's first divorce, I've often had the urge to apologize to you.  For some reason, I could never follow thru.

If I could do it all over again, I wouldn't have equated visitation with child support, but that doesn't explain the fact that I contacted Support Enforcement to tell them Jeremy was living with you and had them erase the back child support, too so that there would be peace in YOUR family about it because my son was going to be a part of that family finally.  They erased about $19,000 worth of back child support. 

Threw away the letters

The Skeleton in Our Closet

~

I remember the absolute terror I felt when I heard someone coming into my front door and walking thru my house late at night when Jeremy had woken himself up for the first time to take himself to the potty all by himself.  I was terrified he might still be awake and witness the rape and/or murder of his mother.  I wondered what I could do if the person walked down towards his room instead of towards mine.  I wished the pistol was still in the headboard because I knew I could and would kill if the person creeping into my home headed towards my son's bedroom.  To think it took this to make me realize I wanted to live after all.  Living after the death of a baby is hard.  Jacob was just barely dead still. 

The person turned towards my bedroom, and I resolved to be as quiet as possible because I didn't want my son to wake up and be scared or to attract the axe murderer's attention.  All I could see was the black shadow of a man's body coming towards my room, back lit by a nightlight in the hallway.  I can remember my need for quiet, in the hope that it was somehow a mistake and the man was just passing thru.  My mind was not rational - it was focused solely on not attracting attention so to find the phone and speak didn't seem to be an option - he would hear me, and maybe reat badly?  Perhaps if I was still, I could suddenly erupt into a wildcat, scratching his eyes out when he got close enough.  Quietly.

At the doorway, he turned his head and his profile  was familiar.  Relief flooded over me like a flood of hot lava.  I knew him, it would be okay, it was my husband who had left me many months before.  But something was still wrong because he wouldn't say anything.  Which made the something terribly, terribly frightening.  Even tho I knew him. 

I called the cops in the morning.  I knew if I didn't, I would never be able to stop the next time, because I had remembered something while he took my house, my bed, my self.

In answer to the questions the cops asked

Yes, it was my husband.
No, I didn't remember if he had a key or not.  (He did, I'd forgotten I'd given it to him when I needed a house sitter when I travelled a week after our baby died.  Scuse me for forgetting - I had a dead baby on my mind.)
Yes, I think I marked him up with scratches on his back.  On purpose, so his girlfriend would see. 
Yes, I fought.  At first, till I realized that's what he wanted.  So I quit.  Plus... the RELIEF that it was my husband and not an axe-murderer made me glad it was "just" him.  The adrenaline from the fear, and then the relief made me strangely passive and tired and weak. 

Plus what I remembered?  It might make a baby.   Our baby had died.  And oh how much I needed a baby back in my arms.  

I seem to remember he came over shortly after the cops had talked to him and I think he apologized.  I remember he left angry, but was trying not to show it.  That's when I felt it the most.  He must have apologized in hopes that I'd drop the charges, but it was out of my hands at that point.  Prosecutors were beginning to take it into their hands and keep it in their hands because too many women backed out of doing what needed to be done.  I didn't care anyways.  Once I told the cops, I quit caring about what happened.  Cept for the part where I had to check the locks several times a night and sleep in long flannel nightgowns with sweat pants and a sweat shirt every night, for months. 

The cops came back to fill me in.  They told me the 3rd degree rape charge had been dropped down to 3 degree trespassing, and that he got 30 days in the Work Release Program.  Which was ironic, because that is where I worked when Jacob was born, and had to quit so I could care for him.  The prosecutor felt that rape charges wouldn't stick because I had given him a key voluntarily AND he was still my husband after all.  I remember thinking that the trespassing part was good - the terror of having someone come into my house uninvited was something that I was living with every night.  But the not saying a word, along with the terror, and the invasion still made it feel like rape to me.  But who cared.  My baby was still dead.

His defense was that I had told him about having a rape fantasy at one time.  When they told me that, I exploded.  How dare he tell anyone about our "pillow talk".  I felt invaded all over again.  And he didn't get it. 

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Rape fantasies consistently rate among the top 3 fantasies for women.  Check it out.  I say this just in case my son reads this and feels icked out by thinking about the fact that his mother had sex fantasies. 



In rape fantasy role playing, the acts are 100% consensual. You and your partner are just pretending to the non-consenting. 

The key word is “consensual.”  Attempting to do this in real life without my permission was not okay, was not what I wanted. And most definitely, even if I had wanted it, I most certainly did not want the sneaking into my house in the middle of the night unbeknownst to me part.  That was not part of the fantasy, if I had ever really thought thru ever really wanting it to come true. 

Why do I bring this up some 30 years later?  Read here. 

There is a REASON

There is a REASON why he left Spokane without telling you and why he ignored your phone calls, and why he doesn't call you now. 

This is what I remember...

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. 

How I wish Jeremy could have learned that you were the worthless one, rather than him learning to believe he was worthless.  

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.