It’s Almost Tuesday was created after my case with the family court and child welfare systems
My son was never returned home to me.
I had fought with all my might. He was taken from me on Mother’s Day, in May 2004, when I sent him to church with his grandmother. These were the two places you would think it would be safe to allow your 8 year old child to go- to church and to grandma*s house.
By 2006 I was by myself – after fighting against my own birth family and entities much larger than I could ever be, and who had unlimited resources. I certainly did not.
They were far more corrupt and evil than I ever imagined could exist. Until that time in my life I mistakenly believed in the system.
I believed that cases were judged on their merit.
I believed if you loved your child, and took care of them and did not abuse or neglect them, that they were safe from being removed from your home, much less your life, forever.
I believed that the truth would prevail. I believed in being honest.
I didn’t know how much I believed in was wrong. I learned the hard way.
I had no chance of victory from the day my son was kidnapped, I just didn’t see it until it was too late. By that time I was gutted with grief, and exhausted from fighting a losing battle. I
I was left to die. I was utterly destroyed and the aloneness was deafening.
People would say to me “oh if that happened to me, I would do this or do that…” and I would say “You have no idea what you would do…”
People would say “They can’t do that… It’s against the law…” and I would say “Yes they can. They can do whatever they want to do… They don’t care if it’s legal or illegal”.
So, what did I do? i traveled across the country …and beck again, and again. I had to keep going because I didn’t know what else to do.
I was continuously looking for something I would never find.
I left flyers on the walls of rest stops, bathrooms, store windows, etc, anywhere j could as I traveled. It was my way of talking about it without talking about it. I got towed if advice and opinions.
The flyers told my story, begging for help and relief. I had wished maybe someone would see it, take pity on me, and save my son and I, any give us our life back.
That never happened.
At home I would lay in bed staring at the wall trying to find a reasons to live, to clean, to eat, sleep, change clothes, bathe, or do anything. I would turn on the TV to watch judging Amy, a show about the child welfare system. In the show, the endings are just and fair Nothing about mine was just or fair. I would watch and pretend that was my judge and my ending.
i would paint. Nothing good, not like art. But spray paint. Just to change something to another color. Not a better color or a prettier of more favorite color… just different…
I felt empty, as though my soul was taken and I was only a shell of the person I used to be.
My grief had drawn itself onto my silhouette with permanent markers, and when they erased me that was all that remained.
I couldn’t stop running, driving, looking for answers and help that was not there.
I couldn’t accept that my life as a mother was over I would ‘stalk’ (for a pack of better terms) my son on the Internet as much as I could, it was nearly ten years until I even saw a photo of him after he was taken. It seemed that screaming was all I could do. I screamed all the time.
My grief overwhelmed me. People would say to me “At least you know he’s alive and with people you know, not dead or with a stranger.”
Every member of my birth family, which included my 3 older brothers, an older sister and nieces, nephews, all got to be in my son’s life. They all know him, and have shunned me. I’ve heard they feel bad about it but that means nothing. They did n’t feel bad enough to stop it from happening. It was easier to erase me than to stand up for me. So how is that better?
As far as being dead… no, technically he’s still alive, but the child I lost is gone, forever, with no resting place, no place I can go to mourn, except to an adult man who is a stranger.
No, I never healed. to this day I am still bleeding out
i was murdered.
It’s Almost Tuesday is my story.
It is my son’s story.
Our life’s story.