Every day I face a unique stigma. I’m a mom who lost custody of her daughter. The challenges I face creep into every area of my life. Innocent conversations often become painful when talking to strangers or people I do not know well. Especially when talking to other mothers. I often find myself in a no- win situation, as innocence turns to judgment and often find myself wondering “to tell or not to tell?”
If you are a mom, talking to another mom inevitably your children will meander into the conversation, especially when talking to strangers. Children are the one thing that every mother has in common. The conversation begins innocently enough, curiosity peaked while admiring the two little ones I have in tow. The stranger inquires how old the girls are and if I have other children. They assume that my Firstborn “must be such a big help”, and that “I have a built in babysitter- aren’t I lucky”. I just smile and nod, politely agreeing, all the while feeling the hole in my heart grow a little bigger. And if I am unfortunate enough to have stumbled across a mom that has a child my Firstborn’s age, the question I dread most rears its ugly head: “Where does she go to school? Perhaps my so and so knows her.”
As I explain that my Firstborn goes to school in another state because she lives with her father, I can literally see the color drain from most people’s faces. The innocent conversation is then filled with judgment. I can see the other mom’s eyes searching me for my flaws because of gendered expectations. There must be something wrong with me if my child does not live with me. Is it an addiction? Did I abuse her? Am I mentally ill? The eyes searching me for that one little clue that will give them insight as to what kind of horror I am. The eyes then settle on the girls, pity filled, surely assuming the Firstborn is the lucky one. She is the one who will not have to be subjected to my shortcomings.
If I were a man sharing that my child lived with her mother the perception would be drastically different. Shock and judgment would be replaced by compassion and understanding. The expectation in society is that mothers are supposed to have their children and any mother who doesn’t is somehow unfit.
The only other choice I have is to omit my Firstborn’s existence when talking with strangers or folks that I don’t know well, but that is hard for me to do. She does exist and I want to acknowledge her. I just can’t bring myself to say that I only have 2 children because it simply is not true. And although the conversations begin innocently enough, the other probably getting more than they bargained for and later on talking with friends in hushed tones about “the woman she met today”, I am left again wondering “to tell or not to tell.” I am left feeling vulnerable and judged and almost wanting to share my story in the hopes that it might change just one person’s perception.
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Showing posts with label My Firstborn. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My Firstborn. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Uncharted Territory
I lost custody of my Firstborn when she was three years old. It was a nasty and bitter divorce and custody battle. A fight that I lost not because of poor parenting, but because of a poor financial situation, a pack of lies and a lack of visible support in the courtroom. My ex only permitted to see her a few times over the next year and then visitation was stopped all together. It was devastating.
I literally lost my mind. I missed her so much it physically hurt. Most of all I missed being a mom.
Then came The Big One. She saved me more than she will ever know. She helped to fill a void that had been empty for 9 years. She brought back that little piece of me that died when I packed up my Firstborn and handed her over to her dad.
For the last three years I have constantly compared her development, temperament, and personality to my Firstborn. I have been in awe of the similarities and at times dumbfounded at the significant differences. My firstborn was the easiest baby. She only cried if she was hungry and even then it was but a whimper. The Big One cried constantly for the first three months. Both were early walkers the Big One at 8 months, my Firstborn at 9. My Firstborn would play quietly by herself or watch a movie for hours. The Big One needs a constant companion and hates movies- she prefers 15 minute programs. They both love to dance.
Now I find myself in uncharted territory. From this point on I have no point of reference. Sadly, I do not know what kind of child my firstborn was after the age of three. I have no idea where she went to preschool or how she celebrated her fourth birthday. I have no idea how her first day of kindergarten was. From this point on I will not know if my Firstborn and The Big One are the same or different, and that makes me sad. Very sad.
Not only do I have no point of reference, but every passing milestone with The Big One will just reinforce everything that I have missed with my Firstborn. When she loses her first tooth, learns to ride a two wheeler, learns to read I will be reminded that I wasn’t allowed to share that experience with my firstborn and it will hurt. It will bring the pain I have buried for so many years to the surface.
But as I have so many times in the past, I will make it through. I will laugh. I will cry. I will wonder. And most of all I will pray. I will pray for the strength to deal with the hurt. I will pray that I will live to see the day that my Firstborn will once again want me to be a part of her life.
And maybe, once the Little One passes the three year mark the pain will be a little more bearable because I’ll have been there once before. I’ll no longer be in uncharted territory.
My Firstborn at 3.
The Big One at 3.
I literally lost my mind. I missed her so much it physically hurt. Most of all I missed being a mom.
Then came The Big One. She saved me more than she will ever know. She helped to fill a void that had been empty for 9 years. She brought back that little piece of me that died when I packed up my Firstborn and handed her over to her dad.
For the last three years I have constantly compared her development, temperament, and personality to my Firstborn. I have been in awe of the similarities and at times dumbfounded at the significant differences. My firstborn was the easiest baby. She only cried if she was hungry and even then it was but a whimper. The Big One cried constantly for the first three months. Both were early walkers the Big One at 8 months, my Firstborn at 9. My Firstborn would play quietly by herself or watch a movie for hours. The Big One needs a constant companion and hates movies- she prefers 15 minute programs. They both love to dance.
Now I find myself in uncharted territory. From this point on I have no point of reference. Sadly, I do not know what kind of child my firstborn was after the age of three. I have no idea where she went to preschool or how she celebrated her fourth birthday. I have no idea how her first day of kindergarten was. From this point on I will not know if my Firstborn and The Big One are the same or different, and that makes me sad. Very sad.
Not only do I have no point of reference, but every passing milestone with The Big One will just reinforce everything that I have missed with my Firstborn. When she loses her first tooth, learns to ride a two wheeler, learns to read I will be reminded that I wasn’t allowed to share that experience with my firstborn and it will hurt. It will bring the pain I have buried for so many years to the surface.
But as I have so many times in the past, I will make it through. I will laugh. I will cry. I will wonder. And most of all I will pray. I will pray for the strength to deal with the hurt. I will pray that I will live to see the day that my Firstborn will once again want me to be a part of her life.
And maybe, once the Little One passes the three year mark the pain will be a little more bearable because I’ll have been there once before. I’ll no longer be in uncharted territory.
My Firstborn at 3.
Friday, March 23, 2012
For The Daughter I Lost
My Dearest Firstborn,
I still remember the day of your birth. I remember it like it was yesterday. The day I became a mother.
Ever since I was a little girl I have wanted to be many things - a teacher, a singer, a forensic psychologist, a social worker, to name a few. The only thing that remained constant throughout , was my desire to be a mother. Sixteen years ago I held you in my arms for the first time. I had what I wanted. I was a mother. I was 18. I looked at you and I was terrified. Here, before me, was tiny little being that I helped create. A tiny little person who had grown inside me and now was living, breathing, laying in my arms, completely dependent on me for everything. I was overwhelmed. The first few weeks were difficult. It was not at all what I expected. Most of what I knew about life I learned from watching television and I quickly learned that real life is nothing like a weekly sitcom. I was alone a lot. I was depressed. I was far away from everything I knew. I was not (and still am not) good a making friends, so I was very lonely. I didn’t feel like a mom.
And then one day you smiled at me. Not the smile that you wonder if it’s gas, but a genuine smile. A smile that is from deep inside and when it comes out, it shines mostly through the eyes. At that moment I fell so deeply in love with you. At that moment in my heart I became a mother. In that moment my dream came true. At that moment, I never could have imagined the pain and heartache that would soon take over my life.
Although the time I had with you was short, I was devoted to you. You were my entire world-my everything. I lived and breathed through you. No matter what anyone may tell you this is the truth. There are some that know this to be true and willing to share the love I had for you, but then there are others, the ones who have been your sole influence, that will deny you the truth. Those in your life who have turned you against me . The people that want nothing more than for you to hate me. And as I write this it seems that they have gotten what they want.
When you were three years old, you were ripped from my arms following a nasty battle. A custody battle that I never could have imagined. One that was filled with lies and hatred. That day, I stood sobbing in the courtroom, in shock wondering how I was going to say good-bye to my precious little angel. That day my world stopped. That day changed me forever, and I will never be the same. That day I lost the one thing I had always wanted, I lost the title “Mom”.
In the months that followed, I was permitted to see you infrequently at best and had to fight for every visit. At times the hatred prevailed and those who tried their best to keep us apart succeeded. Several times my visitation rights were suspended and I had to fight to see you again. For two years I fought for every visit and every phone call. Then came the final visit. The visit where my heart was broken. It was during this visit that you told me that you didn’t need me anymore because you had a new mom. I had no way of knowing how true that statement would become. I had no way of knowing it would be the last time I would see you for 8 years.
Two months later, while preparing to leave work to drive to pick you up, I received a phone call. It was your dad. He told me not to bother coming to get you because I was no longer allowed to see you. It seems, as he told me that you had made horrific allegation of things that I had done to you. He refused to tell me any more than that and it would be another several months before a dear friend of mine would share that information with me. That was the end for me. I could not bear the pain any longer. I could not stomach the daily battle. It was then that my heart had finally shattered and I never thought it could ever be repaired, and in truth I will never fully heal.
Every day I struggled. I wondered many days where you were, and if you were okay. I cried for you every night, I prayed that God would one day allow you to be in my life again. I prayed that I would one day again be “Mom”. I celebrated each of your birthdays by baking you a cake and singing Happy Birthday to you, though this you would and may never know. I imagined once again sharing holidays and special times with you, but never believed it would be so.
For 10 years I lived a reckless life. I pulled away from all my friends and family. I disappeared from anything or anyone that reminded me of you. I just couldn’t take the pain. But still in all that pain, I ached for you. I ached to see you just one more time. I longed to tell you how much I loved you. I longed to hug you one more time. I wanted to hear your little voice call me mommy. In every little girl I saw you. I wondered if I would recognize you, should I see you on the street. Every day I struggled with the what-ifs. What could I have done differently? Why didn’t I fight harder? Why couldn’t I pull myself out of the darkness? Why couldn’t I just shake it off?
I was elated that year when I finally heard from you. I couldn’t wait to tear open the letter I had pulled out of the mailbox. That feeling would not last. It was not the letter I had always dreamed of receiving. It was a letter that would cause the deepest wound. It was the first time you would ask me to allow you to be adopted.
You agreed to at least take the time to get to know me, and since you were so close we visited several times. I was amazed at how you had grown, and how much you are like me. It amazed me that we share so many interests. I could not help mourn the loss of watching you grow up into the beautiful young lady that you are. It was so hard for me. I often had no idea what to say. The knife in my heart was driven deeper each time you called her mom, and deeper still when you called me by my first name.
The worst betrayal of all, came as a surprise. Although I knew all those years ago that I had done nothing to harm you, I was finally told the truth- that it was all a lie. Unfortunately no one had the guts to tell me when the truth came out, thus keeping us apart, as was their wish. But I, being the bigger person, suppressed my anger so as not to taint the time we were sharing-the time we were taking getting to know each other again.
The time we had was short, and soon you were once again moving and thousands of miles away. It would not be long before I was “unfriended” and communication stopped.
Imagine my surprise when a simple Facebook message remembering the day of your birth- the day I gave you life was returned with a message filled with hate. The feelings that I had buried deep inside me immediately surged to the surface when I realized that I had once again lost you. And this time, it would probably be forever.
Now, the only thing I can do is let go and let God. I have to surrender to Him, for He is my only hope. I will continue to pray for you, my dearest firstborn. I will continue to pray that he will open your heart and show you compassion. I will pray that you will never in your life know the pain that I have felt and that one day, maybe one day, when you hold your newborn baby in your arms that you will think about me. I will pray that when you give life you will think about the one who gave you life. Until then, I will love you. I will think of you always and I will be here when you are ready.
~Mom
I still remember the day of your birth. I remember it like it was yesterday. The day I became a mother.
Ever since I was a little girl I have wanted to be many things - a teacher, a singer, a forensic psychologist, a social worker, to name a few. The only thing that remained constant throughout , was my desire to be a mother. Sixteen years ago I held you in my arms for the first time. I had what I wanted. I was a mother. I was 18. I looked at you and I was terrified. Here, before me, was tiny little being that I helped create. A tiny little person who had grown inside me and now was living, breathing, laying in my arms, completely dependent on me for everything. I was overwhelmed. The first few weeks were difficult. It was not at all what I expected. Most of what I knew about life I learned from watching television and I quickly learned that real life is nothing like a weekly sitcom. I was alone a lot. I was depressed. I was far away from everything I knew. I was not (and still am not) good a making friends, so I was very lonely. I didn’t feel like a mom.
And then one day you smiled at me. Not the smile that you wonder if it’s gas, but a genuine smile. A smile that is from deep inside and when it comes out, it shines mostly through the eyes. At that moment I fell so deeply in love with you. At that moment in my heart I became a mother. In that moment my dream came true. At that moment, I never could have imagined the pain and heartache that would soon take over my life.
Although the time I had with you was short, I was devoted to you. You were my entire world-my everything. I lived and breathed through you. No matter what anyone may tell you this is the truth. There are some that know this to be true and willing to share the love I had for you, but then there are others, the ones who have been your sole influence, that will deny you the truth. Those in your life who have turned you against me . The people that want nothing more than for you to hate me. And as I write this it seems that they have gotten what they want.
When you were three years old, you were ripped from my arms following a nasty battle. A custody battle that I never could have imagined. One that was filled with lies and hatred. That day, I stood sobbing in the courtroom, in shock wondering how I was going to say good-bye to my precious little angel. That day my world stopped. That day changed me forever, and I will never be the same. That day I lost the one thing I had always wanted, I lost the title “Mom”.
In the months that followed, I was permitted to see you infrequently at best and had to fight for every visit. At times the hatred prevailed and those who tried their best to keep us apart succeeded. Several times my visitation rights were suspended and I had to fight to see you again. For two years I fought for every visit and every phone call. Then came the final visit. The visit where my heart was broken. It was during this visit that you told me that you didn’t need me anymore because you had a new mom. I had no way of knowing how true that statement would become. I had no way of knowing it would be the last time I would see you for 8 years.
Two months later, while preparing to leave work to drive to pick you up, I received a phone call. It was your dad. He told me not to bother coming to get you because I was no longer allowed to see you. It seems, as he told me that you had made horrific allegation of things that I had done to you. He refused to tell me any more than that and it would be another several months before a dear friend of mine would share that information with me. That was the end for me. I could not bear the pain any longer. I could not stomach the daily battle. It was then that my heart had finally shattered and I never thought it could ever be repaired, and in truth I will never fully heal.
Every day I struggled. I wondered many days where you were, and if you were okay. I cried for you every night, I prayed that God would one day allow you to be in my life again. I prayed that I would one day again be “Mom”. I celebrated each of your birthdays by baking you a cake and singing Happy Birthday to you, though this you would and may never know. I imagined once again sharing holidays and special times with you, but never believed it would be so.
For 10 years I lived a reckless life. I pulled away from all my friends and family. I disappeared from anything or anyone that reminded me of you. I just couldn’t take the pain. But still in all that pain, I ached for you. I ached to see you just one more time. I longed to tell you how much I loved you. I longed to hug you one more time. I wanted to hear your little voice call me mommy. In every little girl I saw you. I wondered if I would recognize you, should I see you on the street. Every day I struggled with the what-ifs. What could I have done differently? Why didn’t I fight harder? Why couldn’t I pull myself out of the darkness? Why couldn’t I just shake it off?
I was elated that year when I finally heard from you. I couldn’t wait to tear open the letter I had pulled out of the mailbox. That feeling would not last. It was not the letter I had always dreamed of receiving. It was a letter that would cause the deepest wound. It was the first time you would ask me to allow you to be adopted.
You agreed to at least take the time to get to know me, and since you were so close we visited several times. I was amazed at how you had grown, and how much you are like me. It amazed me that we share so many interests. I could not help mourn the loss of watching you grow up into the beautiful young lady that you are. It was so hard for me. I often had no idea what to say. The knife in my heart was driven deeper each time you called her mom, and deeper still when you called me by my first name.
The worst betrayal of all, came as a surprise. Although I knew all those years ago that I had done nothing to harm you, I was finally told the truth- that it was all a lie. Unfortunately no one had the guts to tell me when the truth came out, thus keeping us apart, as was their wish. But I, being the bigger person, suppressed my anger so as not to taint the time we were sharing-the time we were taking getting to know each other again.
The time we had was short, and soon you were once again moving and thousands of miles away. It would not be long before I was “unfriended” and communication stopped.
Imagine my surprise when a simple Facebook message remembering the day of your birth- the day I gave you life was returned with a message filled with hate. The feelings that I had buried deep inside me immediately surged to the surface when I realized that I had once again lost you. And this time, it would probably be forever.
Now, the only thing I can do is let go and let God. I have to surrender to Him, for He is my only hope. I will continue to pray for you, my dearest firstborn. I will continue to pray that he will open your heart and show you compassion. I will pray that you will never in your life know the pain that I have felt and that one day, maybe one day, when you hold your newborn baby in your arms that you will think about me. I will pray that when you give life you will think about the one who gave you life. Until then, I will love you. I will think of you always and I will be here when you are ready.
~Mom
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