November 16, 2016.
It was over.
Or so we thought.
June 13, 2018.
Our never-ending nightmare began, again.
With a single phone call.
Today was June 28, 2018.
And we hadn’t slept in 15 days.
Not since that phone call that changed everything.
Not since DFS deemed our home “unsafe.”
Not since we faced 27 new allegations of false abuse.
Not since 2009.
Not soundly anyway.
Not that wake-up-feeling-refreshed kinda sleep.
There was always tension in the air.
Whispers behind our backs.
Lies to our faces.
Our home had been a psychological obstacle course for YEARS.
It was a mine field full of Emmy award winning performances.
And chess moves.
And mask wearing.
It wore on my soul. It fractured my heart.
It forced me to love them differently than I had ever wanted.
And I couldn’t trust them anymore.
Their betrayals left deep gashes in my back.
They’d turned me into someone I didn’t like.
All for the sake of survival.
And today, I was again faced with the unknown.
I told him they’re your kids, your flesh and blood.
He told me he’d decide the next move when we arrived.
Our attorney called us in route and told us the alienator’s next advance.
All three children are here ready to testify against you and Cheryl, Jack.
I was sick to my stomach.
He was quiet.
They weren’t my flesh and blood.
My cuts are deep.
But his wounds are bottomless caverns of endless grief.
I told him I would never make him choose.
But in my mind, I’d packed up every single thing I ever owned.
And run far away.
Almost ten years.
I just couldn’t chase this anymore.
This never-ending merry-go-round of doing the right thing while the person who breaks every court order wins.
We’d drained every account.
Tried every tactic.
Taken multiple vacations.
Provided opportunities, love, support, encouragement.
BUT THEY STILL WANTED THE ABUSER.
And today, I drug myself up the 18 courthouse steps just one more time with the fate of our future literally unknown.
It’s a lie.
What they say about court.
That justice wins.
And truth finds its way.
It’s nothing of the sort.
Here we are again.
Proof that justice never prevails.
The expunged parental figures to three children that no longer exist.
Fighting to save the elusive childhood that was savagely taken during an invisible war.
When children start playing an adult game, the rules change.
No manual exists for a parent fighting parental alienation.
No Web MD.
No free trial to see if it you liked it.
Just dive in.
Work extra jobs.
Then hope for the best…
Maybe just a wave across a parking lot when the alienator isn’t looking.
Now a whole new level.
Three children lined up.
With scripts in hand.
Ready to speak about the unfounded abuse that has been impregnated into their souls forever.
And the decision that would forever change our lives.
To continue the battle.
And so one year ago today.
Our war ended.
Not by judge.
Or court order.
But by our own breath.
Upon hearing the news, the alienator screamed.
Seems even after “winning”, she still wasn’t satisfied.
For what now would be her purpose?
The supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. -Sun Tzu
Photo: Mary taken October 15, 2011. She was 11-years-old.