I said I'd explain how I lost him. I want to do that, to have it documented here, though it's hard to recount because that is the time I lost him. I will try to write what I can.
It was right around his fifth birthday. I was renting a tiny apartment and my son had his own room. It was done up beautifully-- he really loved Spiderman and all kinds of Spiderman things, wall decals, etc. His bed was this big blue race-car. I was very happy when we got the apartment because I wanted him to have the experience of having a really nice room, something I did not have growing up. I wanted him to have his own place. Somewhere that was his. He really loved his room, and was very happy.
But then I got sick. I had sinusitis and was working towards getting pneumonia. One day I laid down on the couch to take a nap and try to clear up. I woke an hour or so later and went to check on my son, who was being very oddly quiet.
But his room was empty.
He had gone through the bathroom in his room, climbed the toilet, sink, and up to the window ledge, unlocked and opened the window and peeled the screen off. He climbed out and took off.
I had slept through it.
I panicked. Searched for him, had the neighbors and police searching. Someone down the road found him, but because he had gotten out the police would not give him back right away. They said that CPS had to talk to me first, to make sure things were alright at home.
My son was sent away to another state to stay with a grandfather he had never met. CPS told me that he had told them they asked if I ever hit him and he said yes.
I never abused my child. Never. I was, in fact, a parent very against using violence. I was against spankings.
They said I could get him back if I complete a series of requirements.
A week passed and I had a nervous break down. I was in the hospital for two weeks and just... gone. I couldn't handle being without my child. That is my son. I am his mother. How could you take a child from his mother?
But my caseworker was, originally, very kind. I would visit him and one time when he fell asleep in my arms she said, "In twenty two years of my work, you're one of the best parents I've seen. You can see he trusts you and loves you very clearly."
It gave me hope when she said that. But then she was replaced with another woman who was vile and a liar. She was manipulative and twisted things. At one point I had told her that my son had made an accident on himself as a toddler, and she asked what I did. I told her, "I put him in the shower and hosed him down."
You know. With the shower nozzle. I imagine this isn't an abnormal reaction.
But she told the court I had told her I took him out back and put a garden hose to him.
Revolting. I was horrified that she would lie, horrified she was made such a disgusting claim. But this was only one of many.
I went through parenting classes and various other things, even a psychological evaluation, and passed all. I did many things, even had to move into a different apartment and get a different job and all these things. A year passed of this. Battling to do whatever I was ordered to do and barely able to see my son once a month.
The final court date came.
The grandfather was there. He told them my son didn't know me.
He told them my son was "afraid" of me.
CPS made lies.
I passed every exam. I finished every requirement, all with flying colors.
But the end judgment remained that I would never seen him again.
They took my Sunshine from me.
They destroyed my life.
I think about what I've lost. Christmas was hard, as it always is. It's just not christmas without my little boy. Two and a half years have gone since I've seen him, yet still I remember that night at the airport, when he clung to my legs, crying, asking me to stay with him.
I would have given anything.
This blog will be a journal of sorts, in which I will document the days apart from my child.
You can call me Silent. I'm a recently turned twenty-six year old mother of a little boy who I will from here on be referring to by his middle-name, Riane. Please note that many names will likely be changed through the progression of this blog, so as to provide absolute privacy to anyone involved. My son is eight years old; he was born when I was seventeen and has been, and will always be, the very sun in my sky.
I was seventeen and knew nothing of children. I never expected to have any, and it was a difficult thing to be a teenager and single parent who worked a full-time job and desperately tried to produce a good life for my baby. After struggling and nearly becoming homeless after his first year, I made a life changing move; I joined the military. I wanted to give my son a good life. I had not gone to high school and while I had applied for every form of state aid possible, living on 336 dollars a month and attempting to pay rent, day care, and all other needs (such as diapers and food, so on) was just not working. Where I live, it costs roughly 550 dollars to rent a small room.
So I went through training. Six months of it, without my baby boy. When I came home he was bigger (my mother had been taking care of him) and I broke down the moment I was able to hold him again. Even then, to be without him, the light of my life, was intolerable. I promised never again.
A promise I broke and will never, ever forgive myself for.
Please understand that this blog is from my heart, each and every word, for I cannot contain the sorrow I feel any longer. It will be emotional and often hectic, I imagine, but I will do my best to keep it as organized as I can.
In my next post I will describe the details of how CPS came into my life.
Thank you for reading.