Nobody Told Me It Would Be This Hard

Every parent at one time or another has thought or said “nobody told me it would be this hard”. I think of myself as a logical, and at the risk of sounding pretentious, intelligent person. I knew the moment my son was born that it wasn’t always going to be easy being a mom. I was lucky though. He was born healthy, developed normally and somehow I managed to raise a polite, sweet, caring and beautiful little boy for 6 years.

When he was 3 years old, I had to make the difficult decision to split up with his father. It took me almost a full year to get up the courage to break up my family, guilt racking me every step of the way. But I knew in my heart of hearts that I wanted my son to grow up with parents who were happy and have the influence of healthy relationships, even separately, instead of a mother and father who fought all the time together.

We made the transition slowly and miraculously, my son didn’t seem to bear any scars from the separation and continued to blossom and thrive. Behind the scenes, my ex-husband continued to harass me verbally and make decisions and scheduling difficult at every turn, but I managed to keep my son shielded from any sign that I wasn’t right as rain.

Then the pandemic hit.

Then the lockdown happened and I had to shift to remote work and my son had to begin remote learning. I had to, like many millions of parents around the globe, juggle these things by myself and somehow keep it together amidst the fear, panic, uncertainty and toilet paper shortages. This experience in itself was not enough to break me. It was not so hard that I couldn’t cope or that my work was suffering or my son’s education was suffering. It was not pleasant, but it was bearable.

My ex-husband had partial custody and my son was splitting his time fairly equally between both of us, so there were days when I only had to worry about work. There were nights when I could take a hot bubble bath or Facetime with my friends or read a book. And early in the pandemic, I think we all had the naive hope that it would only last for a little while longer. The powers that be would get this under control quickly and things would go back to normal soon.

Two months into the lockdown, I received a call at 10 pm on a Tuesday night. This particular night my ex-husband had my son and I was relaxing at home, about ready to tuck myself in for the night. The call was from my mother-in-law, and given the late hour and the fact that I rarely heard from her since the divorce, I was surprised and a little worried.

“You need to come pick up Mason from my house,” she says.

She tells me we can talk when I get there when I ask why, so my anxiety is increasing by the second. Luckily, she only lives down the street, so I immediately jump out of bed and throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt and head out the door. I’m there in 5 minutes and she opens the door as I pull in the driveway.

I see my son standing there in the clothes I dropped him off in this morning, looking physically fine but an odd expression on his face. I walk up to the door and greet him with a hug and take him to the car. Even in my panic I thought to bring his tablet with me so I put on a kids show and tell him to wait for me while I talk to grandma.

My mother-in-law has a concerned expression on her face and her husband (not my ex’s father) does as well. They tell me that they had to pick my son up from his house when his girlfriend called to tell them he was being taken to the hospital. She found him passed out on the bathroom floor when she got home from work and my son was with him unattended. I immediately started wondering what medical condition or issue could cause this and asked if he was going to be ok.

“I don’t know, but I know he needs help. He’s not right. He’s been drinking a lot and Cathy told us she keeps coming home finding him drunk. This time he was passed out and wouldn’t wake up, so she had to call an ambulance,” she tells me.

I am in a state of shock at her words. Drunk? My ex always liked his beers and one of the reasons I left him was because he would get nasty with me if he drank too much, but he never got that way if he was alone with our son. He never got physical, just verbally or emotionally aggressive, and only towards me. Never in my wildest dreams did I think he would put our son in danger like that. And I was under the impression that he was happy with his new girlfriend and her son and Mason liked being with them.

I couldn’t imagine how my son felt to see his father like that and how scary it must have been to see an ambulance pull up to the house. I asked her how long this has been going on and she said she wasn’t sure. My head is spinning with a million other questions but my little boy is sitting in the car waiting and it’s way past his bedtime.

“You need to do what you can to keep him safe. My son needs help and I don’t think Mason should be with him for a while. Do what you need to do,” she says.

This is a heavy statement coming from her. She was never my biggest fan and when we got divorced, even blamed me for ripping her son’s family apart. For her to imply that I should take her grandson away from him, even temporarily, means she is really concerned. Which causes me to become very alarmed. I go into survival mode. I get back in my car, take my son home and get him tucked into bed. He begs me to sleep with him so I get in and lay with him for a bit.

“Mommy, I just want to live with you for a while. I don’t want to go back to Daddy’s,” he says.

"Ok, buddy. Why don’t you want to go back to Daddy’s?” I ask calmly.

“I just don’t. I only want to live with you,” he replies.

He doesn’t seem keen on elaborating and I don’t want to push him after the night he’s had, but his words chill me to the bone. What has been happening at that house? What is so bad that he doesn’t want to even see his Dad, whom he normally idolizes?

I barely sleep the rest of the night, worst case scenarios swirling around in my brain and creating a level of anxiety that makes it impossible to relax. The next morning, I get on the phone with Cathy, my ex-husbands girlfriend. She tells me a story of his progressive drinking habit, his tendency to pass out while she’s at work and alone in the house with my son, his graduation to now physical aggressiveness towards her when he’s drunk, the numerous times the cops and ambulance have been called to their home. She echoes the same sentiment my mother-in-law had: he needs help.

I had previously worked for a family law attorney and I knew the drill. I needed to file for temporary full custody.

In the middle of a pandemic.

With no real physical proof at my disposal.

No police reports, no medical records, nothing on paper to show the judge that my ex-husband was a danger to my son other than my word.

My ex was due to pick up my son the next day so I needed to go to court right away and pray that something could be done. I called my sister to help me out with Mason and put on a nice blazer and skirt so I looked my best. On the outside I looked professional and put together, but on the inside I was a wreck. All I knew was that I needed to do everything in my power to keep my son safe.

I downloaded a form from the court website and hand wrote my petition and the reasons why I was requesting this relief. It struck me as funny to request “relief” when I was feeling anything but that for the past 12 hours. When I got to the courthouse, I filed the form with the clerk and she told me to wait on another floor for my case to be called by the judge. Because it was an emergency petition, I had to wait my turn until the regularly scheduled matters were handled.

The Covid restrictions, limited staff and already backed up court system meant I had to wait for a very long time.

In a mask, in an uncomfortable outfit and heels, sitting on a rock hard wood bench seat with no food access and no water.

For 9 hours.

I was terrified to leave in case they called my name.

I was terrified after all this waiting the judge wouldn’t hear me out or grant me the custody I desperately needed to legally keep my ex away from his son.

But nothing would make me leave that spot, nothing was more important than this.

At some point the air conditioning stopped working and I almost felt faint from the lack of nourishment and heat. At 8 pm I started to lose hope that I would ever get to see a judge. I was one of two people left in the waiting area. I kept digging my fingernails into the palms of my hands to keep from crying, to distract myself from the negative thoughts and hopelessness I was beginning to feel.

Then my name was called.

I’ve never been to court for any reason in my life other than to file my divorce papers. I had never even gotten a parking ticket. I felt nervous and out of my element, even though I had done nothing wrong.

My hands were shaking when I got in front of the judge and I clasped them together tightly, hoping that he wouldn’t notice. To my surprise, my voice was clear and calm. I explained the situation in a concise and heartfelt way and expressed my concern for my son’s safety and well-being.

It was almost like an out of body experience, I don’t remember a word of what I said to this day. But he must have sensed my sincerity because what I do remember is him agreeing to grant my petition.

Now I understand why they call it relief. I thanked everyone in the courtroom politely and let the bailiff lead me out to the exit. I made it all the way to my car before I finally broke down and sobbed.

My baby was safe. I had a piece of paper in my hands that said nobody could take him from me.

My son was already in bed by the time I got home and after I ate a bowl of cereal for dinner, I stood next to his bed and watched him sleep for a while. I thanked God and Buddha and any other deity that would listen for protecting him, for giving me peace of mind even if it was only for a little while.

Everything snowballed from there. My ex was furious and threatening and texting me in a drunken rage the next day when I refused to let him pick him up. If I wasn’t sure before, I knew I had made the right decision then. I got on top of investigating as soon as I woke up the next day. I called legal aid to get some advice and help finding a lawyer, then I called my mother-in-law and father-in-law and tried to put the pieces together from what Cathy had told me. They all knew things I didn’t, but never told me.

They said they didn’t realize he was getting that bad. I started second guessing myself, how did I not know? I’m his mother, I should have known something was wrong. But he never said anything. I was married to this man for years, how did I not recognize the signs? But our communication at that point was limited to waves from the doorway and vague text messages. He had stopped giving me such a hard time about things, but I welcomed the reprieve, telling myself he must have finally moved on.

One thing is important to know about my ex: he’s a master manipulator. I’ve seen him do it to friends and family, and unfortunately allowed him to do it to me for several years. He hid his problem so well that even his own family didn’t know how far he had fallen.

I got a call from CPS to schedule a home visit, which is something I never thought would happen to me. It may sound harsh, but I just didn’t think I was the kind of person that would ever be on their radar. I always thought that was for people who did drugs or abused their spouses or children. I obsessively cleaned and made sure everything looked perfect before the social worker showed up, even though I wasn’t the parent being investigated. But they had to do an interview with my son and he was with me.

The social worker told me that my son informed her his father’s favorite drink was vodka and cranberry and that he likes to take a lot of naps. He asked her if he could live with me for a while but wouldn’t tell her why either.

The stress and anxiety of those first couple of weeks was only the beginning. I called the school to find out about virtual therapy sessions and was informed my ex had been showing up for pickups and dropoffs with alcohol on his breath. I was flabbergasted that I never got a call or that it wasn’t reported, but apparently since my husband walked him to school and my son didn’t show signs of abuse or neglect, there was nothing they could do.

During this time my ex was sleeping in his car at some point, squatting in Cathy’s garage with a bottle of vodka as she threatened to call the police on him, then moved back in with his mother when she officially kicked him out of the house. His mother convinced him to go to rehab, where he spent 2 days and then against medical advice, signed himself out.

He was so angry at me the barrage of messages and angry calls were a daily occurrence. All the while I’m trying to get my son into therapy and work and teach him remotely and hold myself together the best I can. Being so young, he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just visit Daddy sometimes.

Children love their parents and are loyal to them, no matter what they do. I arranged for him to have brief supervised visitations for the sake of my son, even though it made me physically ill to do it.

My ex claimed he had a bad reaction to some medication. The medication he was prescribed by his doctor to help him stop drinking 6 months prior. The same medication he thought would be good to mix with vodka.

Every day I lived in fear that he would do something stupid like come to my home and get physical with me when he was drunk, or grab my son during visitation and drive away with him.

Every day I made myself sicker and sicker with the stress of the situation. Months passed, quarantine continued, he refused to get help and I had to carry the weight of it all on my shoulders. Throughout this time, I found out more details of what my son went through those months before I found out what was going on. I got him a therapist in school and outside of it but he still wet the bed and had emotional outbursts about the tiniest things.

The sweet, caring, happy little boy I had once known had been replaced by an angry, defensive, defiant child that I didn’t recognize.

He started struggling in school and saying bad words and disagreeing with everything I said just because he could.

I became livid with his father for doing this to him, beyond understanding how a parent could ever put their child in this situation. I internalized it all so my son would never know and I made sure to never disparage his father in front of him, even though it took everything in me.

My ex finally started to understand that he had to play the game if he wanted any chance of getting his son back. He found a new girlfriend to fund a better lawyer for him and started battling me in court. He finally got into a program at the request of the judge and submitted to random alcohol tests. But he realized if he couldn’t hurt me in court, he could hurt me another way. He could seek his revenge in the cruelest way possible.

He started whispering lies into my son’s ear about how I am the reason all of this happened and it wasn’t his fault he had some bad medicine. Little did I know he had been doing this for quite a while. I realized then that the drinking was a symptom of a much deeper problem. That he was angry and had issues that he needed to work out or he might never truly stop.

Almost a year into the pandemic and 10 months of fighting tooth and nail to protect my son and I’m at the end of my rope. He’s so little, he doesn’t understand complex adult situations or why he got taken away from his Dad. He only knows the negativity my ex has been feeding him and no matter what my son’s lawyer or mine does to prevent it, he keeps perpetuating the idea that I am the reason all of this has happened.

The court won't take a child away from a parent for being manipulative or mean, only if they are in physical danger. So no matter how hard I try, I can't stop the confusion or hurt my son is feeling. I can't stop my ex from lying to him or painting me in a bad light. Those things are wrong, but they're not illegal.

In my son’s eyes, I’m the bad guy. The pandemic and all the ramifications that came with it coincided with this major life change, so in his mind, I’m responsible for all the loss he has experienced in the past year.

I have my son in therapy to deal with his feelings and I tell him I love him every day. I try to make him understand in some small way that although he may not understand my decisions right now, they have always been made in an effort to give him the best life I can.

I’ve somehow become the villain in his story when the reality is that I’ve given my savings, my life and my sanity to keep him safe.

So I think I’ve earned the right to say: nobody told me it would be THIS hard.