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

Happy Halloween... Why do I keep thinking about The Walking Dead show???

~

A son any mother can be proud of... Happy Halloween to my son, Jeremy, here's hoping for SOME good memories!  He's gonna be here for Halloween, hopefully, if SuperStorm Sandy doesn't mess with his flight, and we're going to the parade for the World Series winners, the San Francisco Giants.  Go team!  I'm so excited to see him!

 Ohh maybe this is why I keep thinking about the Walking Dead... my son's eyes are creeping me out!

TTFA
~

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. 

Aurora, Colorado

SonOne used to live in Aurora, Colorado, and I did not know if he still lived there when he bought his new house.  I turned on the news this noon and saw the story about the shooting at the Batman movie premiere. 

This is how my brain worked.

Hmmmm.  Aurora.  That sounds familiar.  Hmmm Outside Denver.  Yeeps I know this place.  Jeremy lives there.  Or does he?  I don't know where his new house is located.  Regardless, he is there or nearby.

I texted him. 

"Are you there?"  

No answer. 

Me:  hmmm he texted me last night with a "Hi !", at 11:15ish my time, which is 12:15ish his time.  We texted back and forth a couple of times and then just quit.  The shooting happened at midnight.  Was he happy cause he was at the movies???  Totally feasible. 

Oh man, he's dead cause he hasn't answered. 

Not two minutes had passed.  I called him.  He answered. 

Me:  Are you okay? 

He:  Laughs.  "Yes".  He said he and his friend, who had just recently moved there, had had several phone calls asking if she was okay, and he hadn't had any phone calls, and was getting a chuckle out of it when I called. 

Me:  Well, I texted the second I heard.  So you're okay? 

He:  Yes. 

Me:  K.  I love you.

He:  love you too. 

I hung up in a hurry cause my heart hurt from beating too fast.  This mothering gig doesn't ever get easier. 

Now that I think about it, what if I didn't tell him I loved him?  Habit is habit and I don't remember.

Jeremy, I LOVE you.  Love, love, love you.  Please don't ever go to the movies.  Thankyouverymuch. 

~

Thanksgiving 2011

Jeremy and I had "the other white meat"... pork, for our Thanksgiving dinner.  With mashed potatoes, skin left on (ick), and stuffing, cranberry sauce, yams and pumpkin pie.  Easy peasy enough.  And cleaning up for his arrival only took about an hour.  I am LOVING studio living more and more.  I thought cooking a major meal in such a tiny kitchen would be awful, but it was actually easier.

;

Chop chop chop, scoop into the pot.


Also, I have no idea why there's a fire hazard on the stove. 

And... I have no idea why I'm chopping celery all over the place. 

And the only reason I can think of why I took a picture of the garbage is to show that I can chop chop chop, and then slide the scraps right into the garbage.

I am truly confused as to why I took so many pictures of my kitchen.  To tell the truth, I found this in my "Draft" folder, of Thanksgiving.  2011.  I forgot to post it, and obviously forgot the point of the pictures. 

I do remember wanting to remember what I served for dinner.  Which was taken care of in the first paragraph...

Finally.  The damn celery is in the pot.

Last, but not least, (evidently) is a picture of my scrap bucket....