Supervised Visitations

Court is a surreal thing.  You are there, either with representation, or without.  1 or 2 people sitting on either side of the room; and the Judge in front.  “The Bar” separates those people and the rest who are there for either the case in front of the Judge at that time or another that might be being heard after.  There are generally 2 other people in front of the bar; the person keeping the notes, and another -  an assistant to the Judge. 

All of this continues day in and day out.  The idea that one man or one lady… the Judge here, has the final ruling on what happens is what baffles me.  Sure, you want to believe in our system, you want to hope that this Judge is going to know all that has taken place and have the person’s best interest at heart that they should (the child in family court), but do they? Do they spend enough time with each case to understand the idiosyncrasies of each case, or is it that each case is somewhat like a cookie cutter case and while some of the insides change just a little bit, the Judge wants the outside to look the same and will do whatever it is to make that happen?

I am a true believer that our system, the one we have in this glorious, rich, beautiful country of ours, is broken.  And it hurts those that it should protect, the children.

DP sat on the stand, sworn in and admitted to leaving.  He admitted to using cocaine, he admitted to using meth, marijuana and alcohol.  And then he said, that he was clean now.  He further explained that he came back because he wanted to have a life with his child and he was a different man then most.  Most men, especially black men, he went on, would just stay away, but, he, oh, he, wanted to be in his child’s life and was ready to do so. 

While I heard these words I knew we would be okay.  Surely, after admitting that he was a drug user, he would have to go through some kind of testing or counseling before anything else happened.  Ellie would certainly be safe from this man, a mystery man at this point in her life. 

My lawyer went on to question him.  She asked about the times he was in the psychiatric ward.  She asked if he took the medicine prescribed to him.  Or course he didn’t, I thought, and I was thrilled as I was sitting taller in my seat.  We are going to walk out of here and this is going to OVER.

When it came my time for questions, I was able to talk about the time that DP left.  The time that he was on all 4’s over me.  How scared I had become, the restraining order I had just gotten.  I talked about living at my aunts, I talked about my fear of him and how I felt that he added nothing to Ellie’s life as he was right now, but perhaps if he got help, we could revisit it later. 

As I sat down, the judge already had his ruling, he explained that he thought DP was right, not many men would come back.  It was good that he wanted to be involved and this was the first step.  He would have supervised visitation.

As the words came out of the Judge’s mouth, I saw my small daughter in my eyes and my heart fell to the floor.  I was in shock.  Had he not heard that he was going to make our lives’ a living hell? Had he not heard that he was a drug user? And who was he to believe he had stopped? Was he looking at the same man that I was?

Before I could make sense of anything, as the tears were rolling down my face the Judge said, that we would have to pick a supervisor.  I had always known of supervised visitations to be done by the state and for the parent doing the visiting to have to pay for them.  My lawyer suggested just that and the Judge, again, in my opinion, pro-DP, said that since “dad” didn’t have any money and didn’t have a job there would be no way for him to pay. So, let’s be fair and figure out another way. 

I’m sorry what?

Huh?

Did I just hear all that correctly?

So, because he is a worthless bastard who is living off the state, let’s give him pity and have WHO supervise my precious daughter and him???

As the Judge looked at me and said, “Mom, do you know anyone who would be willing to do the supervising?” I nearly became unglued.  Well, I did come unglued.  I started to explain how wrong I thought this all was and that nothing here seemed right and that he should be tested for drugs and he should be in counseling and that someone for the state should supervise.  It fell on deaf ears. 

The Judge repeated, “mom, any suggestions?”

I didn’t have any.  No one I knew would want to be around him.  I was stunned.  It was all moving so fast.  I shook my head no. 

“Dad, any suggestions?”

“Yes.”

Again, my mouth fell to the floor.  What on Earth was this man going to suggest?

“I’d like to suggest JH.”

Well, JH happens to be his ex-girlfriend.  Was he serious? As I said before, she was there.  The judge asked if she was willing to do it.  Of course she was.  Then he turned to me:

“Mom, and objections?”

“Yes, too many to know where to start.”

“Well,” said the Judge, “if you don’t have another person, this is who we are going to go with.  I will give you 3 minutes”

In the end, I had no one else to go with.  It would end up being JH, DP’s ex-girlfriend.  She and her husband lived in an apartment not far from Ellie and me.  Visitations would be once on every weekend for 2 hours and once during the week for 2 hours.  I would take Ellie there, meet JH in the parking lot and pick her up after.  The only people who were supposed to be in the apartment were DP, JH and Ellie.  But, who is to know if that is so or not.  Just one month shy of her 1 year birthday, I was taking Ellie to a woman she didn’t know, in a parking lot, handing her over, for her to take up to a man that she didn’t know.   And so, supervised-visitations began. 

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.