Wednesday, May 11, 2011

Prologue: Mothers Day Nightmare - Leaving The War Zone

Leaving The War Zone

Mothers Day Nightmare
May 10th, 2011

The night before last night, it was mother’s day no less.  I had a terrible dream. My daughter had died, and I was not informed, like everything else in her life –and in the dream-her death, I frantically was searching the computer –where, how and when and why—when would the funeral be --where? I found it, like I do on her school track stuff—I saw her from a distance at two meets this year—frantically searching.

Once I found where the funeral was via the internet, online obituaries, I went. I was met at the door by hostile forces—like I am now currently met whenever I try to attend something that my daughter—may or may not be in. In the dream, nothing changed. I was denied to see my daughter. To be a part of her life at all—and now her death.

In the dream, I went to her dad’s to get some pictures of her life—I have none for you see it has been 11 years since I was allowed any photographs of my dear daughter. Including school photos. As well as a denial to all school and medical records. In the dream for some dumb reason I thought I may at least obtain some photos of my daughter in her life of the past 11 years – I was wrong. Nothing had changed-just like my reality- I am denied.

Mothers day this year was especially hard on me. As they all have been this past 17 years. My own dear mom died, my daughter all but—except in the dream. I stayed home in bed watching end world stuff on FX—storms, tornadoes, meteors—all those low grade but non reality shows—to keep my mind off both my mom and my daughter. Secretly in my heart, I had hoped for a cyber foot print from at least my daughter. It never came.

Here we are two days after the nightmare.-the only dream I have ever had of my daughter. I do not know why, but I have never dreamed of her—perhaps the torment is too great and my mind denies me this too. I crave to have dreams about my daughter and about my mom. I miss them. My heart, all I ever loved dead and or gone.

That is why the nightmare above so unnerved me. Finally a dream about my daughter. Not what I had in mind. Easy to explain though, as it is what life is now. Some people with children could call it ‘empty nest’ I call it just gone. Hence I feel 17 years of hope and ‘it will all work out’ –has come and passed.
Nothing worked out. Hope does not float—except perhaps to keep me going through all the years of rikkis child hood. But now that too is gone. Just like my mom.

I am tired of the movement- drained in fact. There is nothing left of me, to even give to myself. So many moms new in the battle—messages of ‘you inspire me’, messages of ‘help me.’ Messages of ‘this the 1st mothers day without my child’—birthday, holiday, sun rise and sunset, weeks into months, then years, and I have no words left in me to say they only get worst. The tears that so many cry will never go away. The pain like a knife in my soul so real so jagged that surely like the ‘1st mothers day’ and the 17th one later, I knew I would just die. I haven’t. the tears have turned to tears of blood and become even more heavy.

So, I have thought about all this the past few days. To take care of me, whatever me is left. To finally let go and go forward with life. I have a pool set up, a gazebo- well in Kansas the winds are as high as the temps- gazebo idea has yet to work out quite like I thought it would.

I am here now, painting a room, mowing the grass- it is peaceful here. No one around except the trees, the wind, the birds, the sun and my thoughts. Sometimes like last year I can even feel my mom. Today though, I feel noting but emptiness. Thinking, about my cat Gus the closest family I have, then thinking god, what life? Why look forward to the next 20 years-? I’m old now, my health has followed suit. What do I do? How do I heal myself?

That is it. The real issues. What is left of me needs to heal from the trauma—no one could ever heal but to allow at least the scar tissue to form.

I am trying, but again I feel only emptiness. Why do I have 24 ft pool? My daughter will never swim in it—my mom wont. That part of my life, Rikki and I both grew up in the pool- is gone. Oh sure I love the pool, it does offer peace even by myself, but this year no hope for Rikki. No connection with my mom yet. But definitely feel the body pains of age and my own physical issues and hydrotherapy was long ago ordered for all the broken bones, and arthritis- of late – even more, so swimming is the only thing that is not painful, in fact it feels like heaven.

I have heard that some parents have to literally divorce the child from their own hearts and mind to survive. Let it go- act as though there never was. Maybe that is what I need to try to do. The memory is tearing me apart—as it did in the beginning of abuser litigation—17 years ago—it continues now to the end.

Oh sure, in some small place in my heart she may come back—but only if her jailer is gone—and I do mean as in dead. As so many other child survivors have told me—the abuser literally had to A. die or B. go to jail—either way they were not ever free of the torment as long as the presence of complete evil was anywhere near, and they don’t just of free will decide to do that. Its all about control, to them there is no life without it.

Thing is-- we all know only the good die young- he will outlive me. As fast as my health is going—he will be around years after I am gone. And Rikki still knowing nothing about her mother—her maternal family. So I have decided to try to write to her about things that I would want to know about my mom—especially if I had never seen her. As is the case with rikki.

Well, so much for divorcing her out of mind and soul… maybe I could write it as letter or something, 3rd party perhaps. But I do at least need to write it, as I need to—I love her too much to not. A very dear friend of mine Susan Murphy Milano once said to me—‘you can’t miss what you never had’- but I do. I know I gave birth to a beautiful little girl who about died before she was even born due to all the beatings inflicted by her loving father- and captor.

I know we had 7 years of life of freedom—although they were court hell. Monthly hearings sometimes even weekly in the family court,  to include two KS State Appeals, two petitions for review at KS supreme court and even an international law suit. But we were together, minus his long visits’. We saw each other, we laughed, we played, we cried, we talked. It was perfect in an imperfect world. She, wise beyond her years and for good reason. The only child hood she did know—I was at least able to give her that and be a part of that for her, she so deserved to just be a kid. And she was-- until she was taken from me and given to the abuser at the tender age of 7 never to see her mom again, in any meaningful way.

I am still seeking freedom, in this land of the non free- held special for a sadistic criminal to continue his reign of terror. Specially advocated through the family court mafia- the profit- of blood.

Before you think that I am all gloom and doom-although the past 17 years has been like a torturous death day in and day out- I am learning me again. A person who loved to read, loved life-more so now after so much darkness, I embrace every living thing, every tree that blows in the wind. As I know how very precious and how so very beautiful the world is.