#lostson

25th Anniversary of my First Child’s Birth

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Twenty-five years ago today I gave birth to my first child; I, myself, was only 25 that beautiful day. The day that I found out I was pregnant with him was such a shock and a blessing all in one since previously a doctor had told me I would never be able to carry a child to term due to problems that I did not even comprehend at that time.  However, the further I became in my pregnancy, I gained more hope that I would prove the medical doctors wrong and be able to have my beautiful child.

Six months into my pregnancy, I developed preeclampsia, which is a condition that is discovered due to high blood pressure and proteins in the urine. I was told I needed bed rest for the next few months.  I followed every order the doctor gave me because delivering my son meant the world to me regardless of the stress going on around me.  I actually went through 48 hours of hard labor before they discovered that he was crooked and his head was too big to fit into the birth canal; the doctor said that if I kept on trying to deliver him naturally that his neck could be broken and that it was time to perform a C-section.  I remember how terrified I was, but once I saw my gorgeous, blonde headed son, I fell in love with him instantly and the ordeals of the months before became a distant memory.

I am so aware of the mistakes I made along the way, but I was not that woman that I have become today.  I was a scared 25-year old, learning how to be a wife, learning how to be a mom, and learning how to navigate the world for the first time as an adult.  Every decision I made from there on was based on what I thought would be best for him.  Did I make mistakes? Of course I did, who hasn’t, but no one ever told me that the day you become a mom, no matter how young, naïve, or inexperienced you are, everything you do from the day forward – good or bad – will be used as a blueprint to praise or crucify you.

In the news, it doesn’t matter how old a person is – the press, commentators, talk shows, and so on, will always ask about the person’s mom – not the person’s parents or the person’s dad, but what was wrong with the mother.  Everything that is wrong in the world can be traced back to what the mother did wrong. This was something I was never, or will ever, be prepared for. Even when my husband deserted me and my three kids, I heard the whispers and the gossip, what did she do to drive him away? I didn’t even handle that correctly; I did the best to grasp together what pieces of a family that I had left and be both mother and father to my children. However, I was also judged for that. What people, and even my own children, forget is that my husband had not just deserted his kids, he had walked out on me. I am the one who fell in love with him twenty-years prior and chose him to be the father of my children. That first year as a single-mother my life felt like I was walking through a fog.  I remember some things people said, but even when I try to recollect that first year alone, it feels like a dream sequence that I can only pull bits and pieces from.

Yet, even that year has been held against me. As mothers, we are expected to respond perfectly to everything that is thrown at us. Others forget that we are human beings too – we experience fear, we feel pain, and we, too, bleed. My son, who turns 25 today, holds me up to those inhuman standards. He keeps a score card of everything I have ever done wrong; yet, I have never heard about what I did right.  He has never been willing to calmly sit down and ask me questions on why I did certain things.  Maybe I will have a good explanation or maybe I won’t, but at least I would have the chance to a trial before my conviction.

CJG

Maybe giving birth and loving your child isn’t enough to base a relationship on, but I believe it has earned me the right to not be wrongly convicted.   One thing I have learned along the way, is that people who want to be judge and jury and quickly toss you out of their life are hiding from their own skeletons, their own issues, their own ghosts.  If they allow a healthy conversation to pursue, then they may have to take some accountability for their own pain or even hold others that were involved in their life accountable as well.  Doing so would stir up memories and emotions they would rather keep buried, so it is much easier to blame someone who will love you despite the hate and anger you throw their way.  They are a safe scape goat for every wrong that has happened in their life.  But maybe, just maybe, that person could become the entry way into a world that could be lived without anger and hate.  My son has told me that he has let go of the past and that is why he chooses to have his father in his life and not me.  If this was true, then he would have also let go of the fear, the hate, and the anger

Fear is debilitating; it can take years from each and every one of us if we let it. Does it pain me that another year is passing without my son being a part of it?  Yes it does. What pains me the most is what he has let fear do to him.  He has let it stand between us, he has let it stand between him and his sister and brother, but most importantly, he has let it stand in between him and the incredible future I imagined for him.  However, despite what the rest of the world believes, mothers are not to blame for everything that has gone wrong, and as long as my son wants to blame me for everything, then I will choose to love him from afar. Not because I want to, but because I believe it is the safest choice for me and his siblings.

I will continue to live my life the best way I can and continue to have healthy relationships with his brother and sister.  He may have cast me out, but he cannot take away the incredible childhood memories I have of him, or the undying love I will always have for him.  The only gift I have for him this 25th anniversary day of his cherished beginning is my love for him and the fact that I will wait the rest of my life if I have to, for him to let go of his fears and let me in – one day at a time. Change does not come easy, but in the end it will be so worth it.

Happy Mother’s Day: A gift for my children

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I can’t help on Mother’s Day to reflect back on my life as a mom. I see all of the messages on the internet to the best moms ever. Can we all be the best moms ever? With all of the dysfunction in the world, do people really believe this? I know I do. I think moms get a bad rap. If a child messes up, the mom is always at fault. I never hear in a news story, what kind of dad did they have? Yes, today we celebrate the moms in the world, but it seems the rest of the days in the year, we blame them for everything that goes wrong.
I know I live with my own guilt as a mom for the mistakes I made as my children were growing up. I have “two” amazing children. Everyone is always complementing me on what a great mom I am because of my “two” special children. But I always wonder if my daughter and son are a reflection of my parenting than what kind of parent do others think I am when they learn I have a third child? He hasn’t spoke to me in over a year and continuously blames me for everything wrong in his life. Even though, his father was abusive and I fought to get us away from him, his dad is who he wants in his life. This torments me daily. No matter how many successes I achieve, it’s always in the back of my mind, is my older son right about me? Am I the terrible person he says I am? Am I a failure as a parent or the wonderful parent my other two children say I am?
Recently, I was given a glimpse into my ex-husband’s new life. He’s remarried with a one-year old son, and has three thriving businesses. He’s the toast of his new town. Since he left, all of his professional dreams have come true; maybe even his personal ones. It’s been seven years since I filed for a restraining order, and I too, have had my own successes. I was awarded 100% custody and have gone on to receive not one, but two Bachelor’s degrees and a minor, and in a few weeks will have my Master’s degree, and in the fall will begin my doctoral program. I have watched my two younger children grow into amazing, thriving, independent, loving young adults. We have lived in sketchy places and had to scrape every dollar together to survive, but we have done it all while at the same time trying to be the best, honest persons we can be.
So if my ex and I have managed to be happier apart, maybe the common variable in the equation of our destruction was me? That scenario plays in my head daily; after all, my older son still blames me for the demise of our family. But for the first time, I decided to use my critical thinking skills I acquired in college. I decided to trace the paths of my ex and myself since we split away. My path has been hard work and hard choices. I have worked as hard as I could to make a better life for me and my kids. Being their sole parent, I strive to be the best role model I can; not only have I worked to be an advocate for people in domestic violence situations, but an advocate for children with Asperger’s Syndrome. It’s been a rough seven years, and it may be another three or four before I receive my doctorate, but I can say I traveled this path with my head held high and without hurting others in order to travel down it. I have actually tried my best to uplift others along the way. My journey wouldn’t hold as much value if I wasn’t striving to pay it forward as I headed down it.
As for my ex, he continues to avoid his financial responsibilities he left behind, and may be in his one son’s life, but he has moved on as if the other two children never existed. He has lied to his current business partners and community about his true identity and the path of destruction he left behind along with the mounds of debt. He even attempted to file bankruptcy on child support and alimony. He has all of his businesses in other people’s names, so that he doesn’t have to pay more for his children he deserted. He even lied to the judge and said he was dying of Colon Cancer. He’s committed tax and bankruptcy fraud; yet, no one calls him out on his bad deeds. He may seem professionally and personally like he has it all, but I have to wonder if he lies asleep at night wondering if he will ever be found out. What if his one-year old son finds out that he has a long lost brother and sister? What will he tell him? I doubt it will be the truth. He doesn’t know what the truth looks like. He is known in his community to be this incredible engineer and fabricator; yet, he never went to college nor graduated from high school. I am not putting him down for not going to college; I married him knowing that. What I hate is how he lies about who he is. What if his designs that people are buying, due to his engineering background, are faulty? Who takes the fall for that? Him? Or his business partners who have taken all the financial risk and have staked their reputations on his background that they never checked into? If his past speaks for itself, he won’t stick around to be accountable.
The best part of my look into my past, is that yes, it’s been a tough seven years, but I can sleep at night. I know that I am a good person, not a perfect person, but a good person. I no longer have to look over my shoulder due to his abuse and lies. I decided to take another path; yet, seeing who he is now, I know that his character and moral values have stayed the same. I am grateful to be free of him; I am grateful two of my children are safe from him as well. Yet, should I still beat myself up for the 24 year old son who chooses my ex over me? I would be lying if I didn’t say I miss my son and am hurt by it, but on the other hand, how long do we let others punish us for decisions we made years ago? I didn’t know his dad was an abuser when I met him or I wouldn’t have married him. Do I think it affected how good a mother I was at the time? Most definitely. Did I continue to be that person and bury my head in the sand after leaving his father? No! I left and I fought for three years to keep my kids safe.
I have worked extremely hard to build a life built on ethics and love. I have been in counseling with my children and apologized for not leaving sooner. I will be haunted by the memories of that man forever, but I am proud that I took a stand and left. We have struggled to make ends meet, but I see the light at the end of the tunnel and am grateful for the friends I have made along the way. I am proud of the woman/mom I have become and have decided today is the day that I give myself a Mother’s Day present – that present is forgiveness and permission to start this day and every day after, loving myself for the woman I am and finally walking away from the woman I was in my marriage. She no longer exists. If my oldest son cannot move into the future with the woman I have worked, long and hard, to become, and let go of the woman I was then, he will have to deal with that. I know my truth and am proud of who I am. I will always love my oldest son, but I cannot ever allow abuse and degradation ever back into my life, so until he can do that too, I will have to love him from afar. Today is the day that I love myself, forgive myself, shut the door on the past, and embrace the new life that awaits; my children deserve it, my friends and family who have supported me deserve it, and last, but not least, I deserve it! Happy Mother’s Day to the woman I am and to the children who have been waiting patiently for this day – I love you – always and forever!

Happy Birthday to my lost child

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Today is my oldest son’s 24th birthday.  Some would be full of joy, but instead waking up and thinking about it, brought me to my knees.  He was my first-born and I have never forgotten the day I found out I was pregnant with him.  I was at my parent’s house, with my fiancée, addressing wedding invitations.  The phone rang and it was a nurse calling about my pregnancy test earlier in the day.  The only reason I agreed to the test was because during the marriage license blood test, I learned I had a low Rubella count and the doctors couldn’t give me the vaccine if there was a possibility I was pregnant.  I laughed at the thought of it, as I knew I took birth control, but nevertheless, the doctor insisted on the test. 

To my shock, the test came back positive.  I just stood there in my parent’s basement, holding the phone, speechless.  I did not know what to say.  My fiancée was scared something was wrong and begged me to tell him what the nurse said.  I looked at him and told him I was pregnant.  To my further shock, he grabbed and hugged me and said, “you are having a boy and his name is Cody”.

My pregnancy and delivery were extremely hard, but were all worth it when I held my beautiful son in my arms.  He was the most beautiful baby I had ever seen; he had stolen my heart. I went on to have two more incredible children, but still, no one forgets the feeling of having a first child.  It is so scary.  Children aren’t born with instruction manuals, so I was constantly worried about being the perfect mother.  I have learned through the years, I was not.   I could have given my son all of the love in the world, but it would not ever erase that I had chosen an abuser as his father.  

I didn’t know his father was abusive, that was something I slowly learned over the years.  It’s like putting a frog in a pot of hot boiling water, it will immediately hop out, but if you put that same frog in a pot of warm, comforting water and – s l o w l y – turn up the heat, the frog won’t know to jump out before it’s too late.  That is how my ex-husband introduced me to abuse.  He courted me and was charming, loving, and doting; he made me feel like I was the only person in his world. It wasn’t until he had a ring on my finger and our first child was born that he started to gently turn up the heat.  He always had reasons for the way he talked to and treated me.  I knew I could take anything he sent my way, as long as he didn’t hurt my children.  I never wanted a divorce because I may not have been there to protect my children from him if he got custody, so in my mind, I thought it was better that I endure his abuse until my kids were grown and then attempt to escape his madness.

What my husband’s abuse never prepared me for was the torture I would suffer after I had left.  I realized I couldn’t wait until my kids were grown because once he kept turning up the heat, I didn’t know if I would survive and then my kids would be left with no one to protect them.  So when my children were 17, 13, and 10, I fled; that was almost 7 years ago.   I got all of us into counseling and have worked 18 hours a day to be the best parent and person I can be.   My younger two children have flourished in our new environment, but my ex was successful in turning my oldest against me.

We were always so close, and he told me how proud he was of me that I had the strength to leave, but a year afterwards, he started talking to his dad again and I saw him being drug down into my ex’s way of thinking.  He told me that year that abuse is genetic and he had no other choice, but to follow in his dad’s footsteps.  I felt those words as if someone had slit open my chest and ripped my heart from inside of me.   When I had my children, I thought of the beautiful futures they would have; I didn’t picture them to grow up with anger and hatred.

Today when I woke up and knew it was his birthday, I pictured the boy, who when he was three, would pull me into the living room to dance to video music on VH1.  When he was in elementary school, he loved to have me play Lover Boy’s “Working for the Weekend” everyday on the way to school.   I never missed one of his concerts, soccer games, basketball games, or swim meets.  In the summer in California, we would go swimming every day and on the way home from Six Flags, we would turn on the Backstreet Boys and sing their songs, at the top of our lungs, all the way home.

Yet, one by one, we lost his grandmother, his cousin, and then my dad.  With each death, he started to build a wall that I didn’t know how to get through.  Unfortunately, that wall has grown so high; he may never reach around and grab my hand.  Even though, I see him once in awhile, we have not had an honest conversation in five years.  I miss my son with all of my heart and every year when he turns a year older, I wonder if I will ever know him again.  He lives less than a mile from me, but it might as well be a thousand.  No matter how much I loved that little boy, I cannot embrace a 24-year old man, who chooses hatred over love.  I can only live my life with honor, and then hope, one day, he will see that he too can choose that path.    Until then, I guess there will be days I wake up in tears, not just for what I have lost, but for the future, he too, deserved.