From 20 days to 10 months ... He disappeared

From the day that DP left, at 20 days old, until the day Ellie was about 10 months old, I didn’t hear anything from him.  I was in off and on contact with his dad and his sister who lived in Florida.  I had never met them, but I sought them out to try to figure out what to do with his belongings.  I wanted them out of my house and I wanted to close this chapter in my life. 

I went from many feelings of sorrow to just feeling pissed.  How dare he do this to me? To us? I was left with about 2 months to find day care for Ellie.  To go from being a “family” (how quickly those definitions changed in my head) to being a single mom (now … present time – more of a family than ever … but, going through it… it was hard).  It took me about a week to tell anyone that he had left. 

Then it was even harder because no one could find him.  His friends had no idea, his family didn’t hear from him, he literally fell off the face of the Earth.  After about 3 months, I started to pack his things.  I found powered substances and, because he was a chef, thought they just might be baking powder or soda.  However, it was not.  It was cocaine.  Then came the pile of weed I found.  I was blind-sided that he had been doing drugs under my roof.  That he had left the drugs there.  Completely baffled still that I had no clue.  Was I seriously that stupid? His phone was turned off and there was no sign of him anywhere in the city. 

I figured he was dead. 

Soon, I felt nothing. 

Ellie and I would be fine on our own.  Certainly not the way I had it planned, but this was our new life and it would have to work.  We were not given a choice. 

I got a call from his father one night (not a warm, fuzzy man) and he asked if I had heard from DP.  No, I said.  Well, he had decided that he was going to call the local police and do a missing persons report.  The call had come late at night and I asked that they not get me involved.  #1. I had nothing to contribute.  #2. The baby was asleep and I was headed that way and I frankly didn’t want police coming to visit my house.  I believed that people in my neighborhood were talking enough already. 

Shortly thereafter, there was a knock on my door.  The police.  Great.  I didn’t tell them much. Only that I hadn’t hear from him in several months and I wasn’t interested in what they found. 

I learned the next day that they found him.  He was with someone named LH.  She was the mother of his ex-girlfriend.  My emotions got even more on the side of not caring as now that I knew he was alive and didn’t care about his daughter, my patience was zero. 

****

I remember it being a beautiful day out and Ellie and I going for a walk to Walgreens.  She loved to be outside and we were enjoying the weather.  My phone was ringing off the hook with a number that I didn’t recognize.  I hadn’t been answering those numbers because I was worried that something big was about to happen.  I figured if someone needed to talk to me, they could leave a message and I’d get back to them. 

Finally a message. 

It was DP’s sister.  She had come to town from Florida and she was going to stop by my house with DP. 

My heart had never beat THAT fast as it did when I heard those words.  I didn’t want to see him, I didn’t want to see her.  I had no interest in any of it.  What makes her think that she could just do that? I was horrified.  I got Ellie inside from our walk and tried to think things through.  My world was starting to turn again. 

I would just call her back, hope to get her voice mail, and tell her no.  If she came anyway, I would just not answer the door.  All of that seemed easy. 

I did just that.  I got the voice mail.  I said, I didn’t want them coming by, it wasn’t right.  And then I hung up and went about our night.  When it came to about 9pm, I thought she had listened.  I felt good about it all.  Ellie was in bed, I was finishing up some work and then there was a knock on the door.  Who shows up at 9 on a “school night?” Especially when you have been asked not to?

I was furious.  The doorbell just kept ringing.  They obviously knew I was there.  If that continued, the baby would wake up.  I opened the door and a ghost of the person I knew was there.  It wasn’t DP.  This person was 30 pounds plus lighter.  And he didn’t weigh that much to begin with.  You could see every vein in his neck.  His face was hallow. I had to look away because it was disgusting to look at.  His sister, probably 6 inches taller than both of us stood “over” us both. 

“Ellie is asleep and I asked you not to come.” I said, not even letting there be an exchange of pleasantries. 

She introduced herself.  I did the same back.  And  then she asked if DP could just see Ellie. 

I said no. 

She asked why and I reinforced the fact that it was late, Ellie was on a schedule.  I then went on to say that if he really wanted to see her, he would have done something in the last 10 months.  I took over a bit by going on a diatribe of questions: where had he been for 10 months, what had he been doing, how could someone do that, etc…

His sister jumped in and said, “that is not what tonight is about.  Tonight is about him seeing his daughter.  It will help him heal.”  What the Fuck? Heal? And since when did it become about him?

No.  They would need to leave. 

Well, couldn’t he just sneak in her room and see her?

No.

I was fearing now that I would have to call the police; the same ones who were just here a couple nights prior. 

DP still had not said a word. No eye contact had been made.  The entire interaction was surreal.  Was he so messed up that he couldn’t speak? My head was literally spinning.  I was praying that Ellie would not wake up.  I just wanted them off my property. 

I finally said that I was going to shut the door. 

His sister said, so you are keeping him from his daughter?

I believe you could see my heart pounding.

I politely said, “she is our daughter.” And yes.

She said, “then I guess we will see you in court.”

****

The good news is that I had already hired a lawyer.

I was going to get full custody of Ellie when he was missing, but had only done the leg work of finding an attorney and retaining her. 

At this point, with his sister saying, we will see you in court, I still figured, I would leave it up to them to do the initiating.  Sadly, though, that night did change the way I lived.  I now looked behind me and in front of me every single time I left my house.  I checked around my house as I pulled in.  I was highly alert of everything I did and everywhere I went.  The happy-go-lucky life we had went out the window.  He was back … and he wanted Ellie.

Pregnancy... No Glow, Just a Long 9 Months

I called one of DP’s friend’s to come over and help me sort things out while I actually went to the hospital to have the baby checked.  My worry was that I had been through so much and my stress level was so high, I had done something to the little one inside me. 

His friend CM came over and tried to have a chat with DP, but DP wasn’t talking. I had low electrolytes at the hospital and stayed on some IVs for a couple hours.  I figured it was a nice place to be at the time.

When I got home, things were cleaned up and I had a speech practiced in my head about what I was going to say to DP.  I was ready.  There he lay in my bed. 

“So, I heard about your job. I saw the bullets. Are you thinking about killing yourself?”

“Yes”

“Why?”

“What use am I to you or to the baby?”

At this point, I wished that I had stayed at the hospital, my knees were weak, I could feel all the blood rushing out of my body and I needed to sit. I had no desire to sit on the bed though, I was so furious with this man, I didn’t want to be close to him.  I still loved him, but how on Earth could he do this to me? To us?

“Look,” I said, “it’s a job. You will find another one. But, drinking yourself to death or shooting yourself isn’t the answer. And it certainly isn’t going to happen here.”

“Then, I’ll do it somewhere else” he said.

But he didn’t move. 

I could tell he was not messing around.  He was suicidal. I was worried and my mind quickly was reminded of the night I told DP about being pregnant.  That night, the officer had committed suicide.  I kept thinking about his wife and how she must feel.  What about their 3 year old son? And all I could think about was how would I feel if DP killed himself and how would I explain it to our baby someday. 

I found a suicidal hotline and I called it. They didn’t want to talk to me, but instead wanted to talk to DP.  I held the phone to his ear.  He listened and occasionally grunted.  I took the phone back and they suggested I get him to a hospital ASAP.  Of course, he didn’t want to go. We called another hotline. Same deal.  He wasn’t budging.  I finally got him to promise that if the next day was no better, he would go to the hospital. 

The following day we headed to St Vincent’s and he was admitted to the psychiatric ward.  The relief that I felt was immeasurable.  I wanted him to stay forever.  I just wanted him to get better and come back being the old DP that I knew.  I went home and slept. 

Sadly, 3 short days later, they let him out and then I felt like he was “under my care.”

And yet, I had a full time job (our only income), a baby in my belly and me to talk care of. This is not how I pictured the lovely 9 months of pregnancy.  I was certainly not glowing.

This is about when I learned that the saying “it can’t get any worse” is one of the most asinine sayings in the world… at least in my life.

Shit just fell apart.

I was about 23 weeks pregnant at this point and my routine became the following:

DP stayed at my house and drank – generally crown royal (still can’t stand the smell of that stuff) - from the time he got up until the time he passed out. Because I was super sensitive to the smell and his mood, I packed a bag and stayed nearby at my aunt’s.  In the morning, I’d come home, he’d be passed out, I would check to see if he was breathing. I would shower, change clothes and head to work. 

It was a lovely “nesting” time for me.  And I so looked forward to our life ahead together … oy!

At about week 28 I had had it.  I was done.  I had a very strong desire to nest.  To sleep in MY bed.  To get the nursery ready.  To be in my house.  And my time of letting him do what he was doing was over. I staged an intervention.  I gathered a couple of his friends and I asked for their help and I told them this was either him deciding to get help, or I was ready to do it all on my own (it wasn’t like we had a life together) and get him out of the house. 

It was probably one of the more intense days I can remember.  I actually sat in back of his car so he couldn’t leave (I’m somewhat surprised he didn’t run me over).  After I would say a good 4 hours, he broke down and finally agreed to go back to the hospital.  At this point, I left him in the hospital room (we were back at St V’s) by himself and begged the doctors to take him to the psychiatric ward.  I cried and said, I don’t want him to come home with me. The state took custody of him that night and kept him for a week.  He had no say in the matter, but was mighty pissed at me. 

Home at last, able to nest, I felt good and was wrapping my head around the fact that this was not going to be a fairy tale-esque story (I’m pretty quick on the up-take). 

The fear of doing it all on my own was very real. What would people say (funny thing is now, I don’t give that a thought.  Have the times changed? Or have I?), how would I manage everything I needed to, and how the heck would I know what to do with her hair?! (J)

DP came out claiming to be a new man.  I bought it hook, line and sinker.  He had changed, he wanted to be part of this family and he was going to stop drinking and find a job.  My hormones believed every word he said in the shiny glow of happiness.  It was the pregnancy miracle I had been looking for. 

Too bad he never went to look for jobs… maybe that part was coming soon…

At week 32, I came down with double pneumonia and was put into the hospital.  (I know, at this point you would be changing the channels on your remote, because you just can’t buy it all right?!)… DP decided not to stay with me in the hospital so he could get some sleep. 

“Hey,” I asked, “can you at least call my mom so she knows where I am? Maybe she will come and stay.”

“Of course” he said.

That night, no sleep, due to hacking up golf-sized pieces of phlegm with a big baby on my belly, I kept hoping to see my mom walk in.  She would know what to do to make me feel better.  IF SHE KNEW I WAS THERE…

The following day, I called her collect.  He hadn’t called her. But, an hour later, she was in my hospital room.  I was in for 3 days and then let go.

So happy to be home, as I sat slowly onto the bed, I had a coughing attack. CRACK. I cracked my rib while coughing.  Luckily DP was right there, unable to speak, I just cried and wrote “hospital” on a piece of paper. 

He took me immediately back and they admitted me and put me on an IV drip of morphine.  It was literally the best I had felt all of my pregnancy. THEN, I remembered to ask, “this doesn’t hurt the baby, does it?”

Ellie was due the week of one of the worst snow/ice storms in Portland history. The city was shut down, the airport was shut down for several days.  My dad was stuck in California unable to fly back.  My mom never would have made it up from McMinnville had Ellie been on time.  Luckily she held out until the roads were a little clearer.  She showed up 2 days late.  Labor was a grueling 36 hours and then we had a c-section.  Stubborn right from the get-go. 

I think this catches us up to going into the court systems.  Don’t turn the channel just yet… 

Why Did I Pick Forrest Gump?

My guess is that those who know me would describe me as fairly intelligent.  Perhaps even a little above average.  I have a good job with the same company for the last 14 plus years, I can maintain well (I mean good … gotcha) conversations with people and sound like, may even know what I am talking about.  I read and can honestly say I am not stupid.  Which bodes the question.

How did I end up with this guy?

This man who, among other things has been called Forest Gump-like (that one has to be my favorite).

It’s a great question and one I have been asked more than a dozen times.

I’d like to set the record straight.  DP wasn’t always like this.  Now, I will say this – I don’t think we were meant for each other.  I really don’t.  We had a great time together.  He was fun to be around and in the time that we spent together we were great friends and laughed hard.   It was nice to have someone around and he was that person.  He was fun and spontaneous and I guess that is what I wanted at that point in my life.   

Hands down, he was one of the best chefs in Portland. Throw in charisma and I would say that he would make the top 3 in Portland.  He was always asked to be on the stage at The Bite in Portland or at Bones and Brew.  He was well known in the circle of chefs and did his job well. 

We dated for 4 years.  So, I knew him well (or so I was led to believe) and he wasn’t the man I know today.  Far from it.  You could pretty much set your clock by my period, so, when it didn’t come, I knew something was off.  Pregnant.   I remember the night that I told him.  We were watching TV later in the evening and one of his friends, a cop who often visited his restaurant had committed suicide.  DP was beside himself.  He left 

my side and went out drinking.  This would soon become the norm. 

My pregnancy was not an easy one.  I was sick every day and not just in the mornings.  Day, night, mid-night, mid-mornings, noon… If there was a time, I was nauseous.  I found foods that tasted just as good going down as they did coming back up (oh, there is a science involved!).  I worked downtown at the time and often took conference calls on the floor of my office, waste bucket next to me.  My colleagues were thrilled with the joy of my pregnancy.  I remained sick right through my 2^nd   trimester.

Most days DP was nowhere to be found.  He still had an apartment and I was plugging away on my own at my house.   We’d talk occasionally.  He was disconnected from the baby and me.  I was sad, embarrassed, worried.  Growing up in a home where my parents are still together, I had never thought of being a single mom, and I wanted this to magically work somehow.  In my mind, at the time, there was no other way.  We would find a way to get along and would be a family.  When I think about this, I can’t believe how strongly I believed this.  What’s odd is that I was/am a strong woman.  I know I can get through things.  I don’t know if my desire to make things work came from the hormones that were flowing through my body, the small, picturesque town I grew up in, or my childhood dreams being smashed into pieces, but I really thought it would all come together just fine. 

Not that I didn’t have a great support system, but this was pre-facebook, a time when the people you talk to are harder to reach out to than turning on a computer.  My friends were all happily married, most with kids.  Of course that is how it would turn out.  Me, DP and the baby that was growing inside me. 

The day before my birthday, I was 16 weeks. I had to fly to Chicago for a meeting.  I was surprised that on my actual birthday I didn’t hear from DP at all.  Late night Chicago time, finally a call came in from the number at his restaurant.  It was his best friend.  He asked if I had heard from DP. 

“No,” I answered, and knew quickly that something wasn’t right.

“He was let go this morning,” his friend said, “and he left in a very bad way.” 

I realize that losing a job is traumatic.  I can’t imagine it. I have been blessed to make it through many cutbacks at work.  I count my lucky stars each time I make it.  I think that to women and men the aftermath of losing a job might be different even (I’m guessing here).  I suspect men , as a whole, might take it a little harder.  And then to Chefs, they take it even harder.  Chefs don’t cook; they ARE chefs.  DP was his job.  My gut ached when I heard he lost his job.  I asked why. 

“Sexual Harassment” said the voice on the phone.

We talked a bit longer and I asked him to check DP’s apartment again and then to check my house.  The conference was set for 2 more days in Chicago, but I knew I had to go home.  I knew something wasn’t right and my boss agreed.  He got me on the red-eye home and away I flew. 

When I landed, I drove by his apartment, no car.  I drove home and his car was in my garage.  It was the middle of the night and I walked in.  The smell of alcohol engulfed me.   Upstairs every bit of counter space was filled by an empty bottle of some kind.  I didn’t know how one person, especially his size could have consumed all of that and still be alive.  I walked into the bedroom and there he was sprawled out and still breathing. 

I figured I’d let him sleep it off and we would talk in the morning. 

I was exhausted.  I walked way upstairs and knew there was a couch calling my name.  I’d sleep the night away there.  Without turning the light on I walked in the room.  Something was on the ground and felt funny under my feet.  It wasn’t soft or giving like carpet usually is.  I turned on the light to find my bonus room’s floor covered with bullets.  No spaces.  Covered.  I could see no gun, but honestly, didn’t search.  I was too taken aback by what I saw.  I had to sit down.  There I was, 4 months pregnant, bullets surrounding me and a drunken man below me who was just let go for sexual harassment. 

I had no idea what the next day would bring, I only knew it would be long and scary.  It was too much for me; too much for one person to handle.  I had to get back up as soon as it was a reasonable hour.  And that would be soon.  For now, I needed to shut my eyes, my body was tired, I needed rest.  

To publish or not to publish… that is the question

Writing is such a cathartic act. But, I think to myself, who would really want to read what I write? I guess the answer came to me that if it would help one person, it would be worth it. Erin Merryn, has devoted her life to helping children after being a survivor of sexual abuse.  I, in some way, have decided to do the same thing and I guess it has to start somehow and sometime.  Though not the victim myself, I live each day of my life changed because of what has happened to my daughter.  I write this knowing the Ellie would speak freely about her experience.  I write this knowing that she would have no issues sharing things.  She, like I, wants to spread the word.  It happens.  And, it needs to be talked about.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Ellie was born on January 11, 2004.  She was perfect in every way.  I had to stay in the hospital 6 nights because of small error in the C-section and actually happy to do so.  It gave me more time with the nurses and time to work on her feeding. 

The day we were to come home, DP was late getting us.  I wasn’t surprised.  He said he had been shopping and putting the chair together.  I figured he probably had been sleeping.  Upon arrival at home, I knew I was right – or at least he had been doing something else.  Though there was food, it was all still in bags.  The chair, Ellie’s rocking chair, was still in the same place it had been since Christmas and not put together and not in her room. 

Ellie and I settled in my bed and I was just excited to be home with my baby.  I couldn’t believe it.  We rested and took naps. Ate, etc.  Tried to find a rhythm of some sort.  DP was in and out, I had no idea doing what.  He wasn’t working at the time.  I honestly didn’t care where he was.  I was too enthralled with my Ellie.  The second night that we were home, DP didn’t come home.  All night.  I was recovering from major surgery and Ellie was 8 days old.  And DP… nowhere to be found.  Though I would have liked to have been shocked by this – I really wasn’t … Disappointed is probably a good word.

When he finally came home the next morning around 7, I told him flat out , this wasn’t going to work.  He apologized, put on some work clothes and said he was going to go and find a job.  He didn’t even sleep. Didn’t stay to find out how I was, how the baby was.  I was bewildered by all of this and was thinking… where are you going to find a job at 7?

He got home again around 3, smelling of cigarette smoke.   A despicable habit he had picked up several months prior, took a shower and headed toward the garage.  I went down and asked what he was doing and if I could get a little help and he said he was helping by cleaning the garage.  At this point, I finally clued in that something was going on.  I know… super quick on the up-take.  I’d like to pass it off as hormones or exhaustion or something … but I have to say… I just really was clueless. 

He worked on that darn garage the entire night through and in the morning came in and said, “you have to come and see what I have done! I have totally organized the garage.”

Now, I get giddy about organization.  So, I was pretty excited… I walked, baby in tow to the garage and saw literally NOTHING changed.  It was by far one of the strangest things ever.  He was raving about it and I stood opened mouth dumbfounded. 

A few minutes later he left.  He went to Walgreens and came back.  He bought about $200 worth of odds and ends.  Pins, safety pins, rulers, notebooks, papers, scissors, etc.  It was as if someone gave a 10 year old $200 dollars and said, no toys, but just go crazy.  Mind you, it was nothing we needed.  But, boy was he proud of himself.  Hooks, like the little hooks that a plant might be hung from the ceiling on in 1982.  What was going on? I was so tired and couldn’t put enough energy into caring to start a conversation with him to try to figure it out.

We were 2 people not even really under the same roof.  He rarely, if ever held Ellie and I just went about my business, somehow thinking it would all be better. 

The end came 20 days in to Ellie’s life.  He told me he was going out for milk at 10pm and came home at 6am drunk off his ass.  I stopped him at the door and told him to go.  I was done.  I couldn’t take it.  He didn’t fight the decision, but did fight me.  He got very aggressive and threw me on the bed.  He had me by all fours and threw my cell phone so I couldn’t call 911. Then he ripped the cord from the wall so I couldn’t use the land line either.  The scariest part was when he grabbed Ellie from her bassinet.  I was terrified and tried to grab her back.  He locked me in the bathroom.  I was doing all I could to get out and I was so scared that he was going to take her.  Instead, he filmed her, and took the film. Placed her back in the bassinet.  Ransacked the house.  Took one bag of clothes and left.  Not one word to me. 

I cried so hard when he left, not because he was leaving but because Ellie was safe. 

I called my friend JC to come and help me put things back together and all but the phone was back in place in a short while.  Now my fear came about him coming back.  I called another friend to come and change the locks.

I undid the garage door, got the locks changed and since I wasn’t sleeping much anyway, hunkered down for the night.  Little did I know, this was just the beginning.