Oh ... Really?

That's not all I have to say! »

The story of my divorce and the subsequent loss of my children could fill many pages, and millions of bytes of bandwidth. But today, I write of one child ... no longer a child, but a man in the eyes of the law and the world at large.

Ten years ago, my life shattered. I was handed divorce papers, in which the father of my children claimed full custody. I was a stay-at-home mother with no formal education beyond one year of college and an EMT certificate. I had no money, not even a place to live. When the divorce went to court, I could not fight for anything more than joint legal custody, which the judge was inclined to grant, since I was a good mother ... broke, but good.

The early years after the divorce brought me daily heartache as I had to pass nearly each day without the company of my three babies. However, at the time, their father was generous in the time he "allowed" me to see my children. This cordial relationship continued until he had a girlfriend move in with him, and later they would marry.

During those rare and precious moments that I was with my children, it was a bittersweet experience. When the time came that I had to again leave them with their father and return to my quiet, lonely apartment and my 5 dollar an hour part-time job, I wept bitter tears. As the months, then years went by, I plummeted further into the depths of depression. I was self-destructive, sabotaging nearly every chance I had to get ahead, to become financially stable enough to make a bid for true joint custody. It's Fate! It's bad luck! It's my bad Karma for "leaving" my children, I would cry out. But no ... looking back with the clarity that wisdom brings us later on, I did myself in. The utter agony and despair I felt, the depression and self-hatred led me to make bad choices that caused me to lose jobs, destroy relationships and ultimately give up my fight for my children.

When things started to go bad between my Ex and I, it started with him not allowing me to see the children when I wanted, as was specified in the divorce decree. I was angry, and at the same time, in a state of shock that he would do this, not to me, but to the children that he professed to love. The situation grew worse as I fought harder and protested louder against his unreasonable demands and restrictions. During the times I was able to see the children, I sensed distrust in them, anger and bewilderment. Then, I had no idea what was going on. Not until the day came when I got this letter from my oldest son, then aged 12:

Dear Lissa (Not "Mom" and underlined to get my attention)

I no longer wish to spend any time with you. You have hurt me in more ways than one. Do not try to talk me into coming to your house or try to call me.

And so started the true years of agony. The total loss of my oldest son.

My other two children did continue to come on their weekends. I had to go to court to get my parenting time enforced and amended into the divorce decree. While this ensured I would have my time with my children, it also served to further enrage my Ex, who was already steadily progressing to his total descent into what can only be called madness. He had fed this child a whole load of lies ... telling him that I didn't care about him, because I wasn't seeing them as much. Neglecting to inform him that this was due to his refusal to allow me to see them! That my "refusal" to pay child support was further proof that I didn't care. Again, neglecting to tell him that he was refusing to accept what I tried to pay him! And that the whole divorce was my fault. Once again, he didn't tell my son that he was the one that filed for divorce!

I created a monster. The harder I fought for my and the children's rights to see each other, the more angry and vicious he became. I would make plans for my Christmas time in October, verifying the dates with him then, and then submitting my request for time off at work for those dates. He would change the schedule a week before Christmas. Somehow I had to cope. He would tell the children that my work was more important to me than they were. I was not only doing my best to adhere to the divorce decree, which forbids either of us from speaking against the other in the presence of the children, but I was actually trying to defend him to his children! To defend myself, I would break that law. My Ex had no compunctions, obviously, about trampling all over it though. He was trying to turn my children against me, to use them as a weapon to hurt me and wield what power and control he could over me. He was abusing all of us, mentally and emotionally. He hates me more than he loves his children.

My son and I had a brief reunion the Fall and Christmas of 2000. It was stilted and uncomfortable. I never managed to get up the courage to ask him why he all of a sudden decided, after 4 years, to come see me again. We did have a nice time together, but then he stopped coming, citing extra-curricular school activities on the weekends. The two younger ones kept coming though. At least I had that. But our relationships were straining.

A few months later, in May 2001, my younger son was taken into custody because his father and step-mother had been abusing him. I can't help but feel, with more than a twinge of guilt, that my Ex's rage and hatred towards me had been turned against the children, violently against my younger son.

In the immediate aftermath was a weekend that I was to have the children, but now my younger son lived with me, and it would only be my daughter coming to "visit." In a phone call prior to that weekend, she told me that her father had made other plans and she wouldn't be coming. He got on the phone, very angry, yelling and cussing. His wife got on too, also yelling and cussing. Then my older son, got on. He called me all kinds of ugly, vulgar things. I could hear his father in the background yelling his encouragement. I was in shock.

I know that their household was filled with stress ... the Ex and his wife had just been arrested and charged with child abuse, and one child had been removed. But why yell at me? Why the anger at me? Hell, my ability to take in my son to live kept him out of permanent foster care. Two years later and I am still unable to analyze what the hell all that was about. But that angry exchange with my son is the last communication I have had with him.

All along, while I grieve for my lost child, I also fear. One day, I know, when he is grown, perhaps when he has children of his own, he will come around to the ugly truth. Now that he is 18, I am no longer bound by the decree forbidding me from speaking against his father. I can now, if I choose, tell him the truth. But for the truth to be fully realized, he must come to it himself. His father had lied to him, misled him, and essentially, brainwashed him into hating his own mother. I can only imagine the devastation that will bring him. I pray daily, that when that time comes, that he will be able to put aside his pride and come to me. I pray that he knows, that no matter when, or where, or how ... my heart and arms will always be open to him. He will forever be my child, my firstborn ... the little bundle of squirming, squalling joy that transformed me from being simply a woman to a mother ... a label, an identity, a persona that no one can take away from me. He is a part of me, and I a part of him. No amount of denial, anger or hatred can change that.

Today, my son enters a new phase of his life. I have missed too many before this ... his first girlfriend, his first heartbreak, getting his driver's license, Junior Prom, his first job. I glimpse tiny peeks at his life through stories told by his sister .. this is how I learned he was in Europe during the outbreak of the Iraq war, and lived in constant fear until I knew he was safe back on American soil.

I have not sent him anything. I cannot think of a gift or card that could possibly convey a fraction of what I want to say to my baby boy on his 18th birthday. Previous birthday cards have been returned, unopened. The day will come, I know it will ... when I can finally say to my son again, simply ... I love you.

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