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. 

60 Minutes is Not Nearly Enough

I would bet you have all seen Law and Order or maybe even Perry Mason, back in the day.  Not only do they find the person who did it, put them through the trial, hand them a verdict… but it is all done in 60 minutes and that is including commercials. 

I would like to go on record as saying that is bullshit. 

I had the guy.  I had step one checked off.  It should have been easy.  We now enter the phase of court.  And it is long and grueling.

In Washington County in Oregon State in family court, you are given one Judge and that Judge stays with you through your entire, shall we say, career, in the courts.  Our Judge comes with the following:

“Who do you have?” “I have Judge R.” “Ooooohhhh…”

The “Ooooohhhh”  is not a happy sound. It is a sound of pity.  He has a reputation of being sporadic.  He is very pro-both parents being involved no matter what the case is.  (as is Oregon in general – I have heard possible second only to one other state).  He has a background I have learned (yes, I have done my research) that when he was younger his parents divorced and his younger brother committed suicide.  In the suicide note was written that he did so in part because of his parent’s splitting up.  Through the years of getting to know him, I have learned that he will have his mind made up prior to the people involved in the case even entering the building.  Meaning, testimony doesn’t matter.  He comes with, in my humble opinion, a lot of baggage and I wonder at least weekly where we would be had we gotten another Judge. 

But, he was and is ours. 

Before meeting him, I’d have to get a lawyer.  I have had 3 now.  Changed for different reasons along the way.  Keep in mind while reading this, I am currently 8 years into this battle.  It just got more serious as the things DP did got more serious. 

So, we will start at the beginning. 

I hired a lawyer named CV (as you have seen no names just yet, hoping after this is settled and the final gavel is hit I can use them).  She was just out of law school, affordable and I figured I wouldn’t need much; just a plan to get him out of my life.  She actually only appeared in trial with me once; but she did help with a couple of other great things.

******

It was October 14.  I remember because it was his birthday.  It had been about 4 days since he and his sister had come by.  I had gotten several blank text messages from which I assumed was his new number.  A few calls with no messages.  I was trying to be okay with life; but knew hell was about to come. 

There was a knock on the door and I immediately knew it was him.  Ellie and I live in a house where there is a gigantic picture window on the second story.  We can see down below and I saw no car.  Ellie, who was walking already started off and I was chasing her, she was oblivious to the danger lurking outside our house.  The knocking persisted, only louder.  I sat Ellie in the kitchen on the floor and tried to quiet her.  I grabbed the phone ready to call 911.  Now came the yelling. 

“I just want to talk to you; I know you are in there.”  Knock, knock, knock. 

The knocking kept going.

I took Ellie to her room. 

I had the phone in my hand and I answered the door, foot at the base as to only be able to open it a little bit (oh, how much I have learned … don’t answer the door, people).  The door came swinging open, knocking me over and he walked past me to Ellie’s room. 

In a panic I rushed after him and started the call, he took the phone out of my hand and threw it, taking Ellie at the same time.  I was in hysterics. 

He picked Ellie up.  She was now in hysterics.  She didn’t know this stranger and he didn’t know how to hold her.  He tried to cradle her as he had done when she was first born.  I finally got her from him. 

“I am going to make your life a living hell; it is about to get very ugly” He said as he left. 

The only saving grace of that night is that I could get a restraining order.  It was granted to me the following day in a matter of seconds.  He, of course, tried to fight it, but there was no fighting that one. 

The other thing the CV helped me with is that some of DP’s stuff was still at my house.  He had left with only one suitcase of clothes the night he left.   I had packed the rest in boxes and he wanted it and that was fine with me.  The funny part is that he had sent a list of other items he thought he should have as well.  I am not making this list up.  Let me stop for a moment and say that his living arrangements at that time were that he was living with his ex-girlfriend and her new husband (yeah, I know).  So, as I share this list, please remember that he did not have a house of his own, nor had he bought any of the things he was asking for. But, here is his list (I won’t share them all… just the ones I find most amusing):

1 King Size Bed

Dresser

Refrigerator

Washing Machine

Dishwasher

Cordless Telephone

Lawn Mower

So, just to get this straight, you would like to take the Fridge that keeps the food cold for your daughter, that you have not spent a penny on, food or fridge, and put it where?

Needless to say, when I got the list, I was beyond… well, I don’t even know.  I’m looking at the list now, which is actually 3 pages, pretty big font, but 3 pages, and just in awe of it all. 

****

The final thing that CV helped with is going to court the first time.

I was terrified.  I had heard some of the things already about Judge R.  I had no idea what to expect.  I didn’t know if DP would have representation or really what he would be asking for.  So many unknowns the first time you go in. 

My hope, of course, was that he would not be allowed to see Ellie.  He had just threatened us.  He was obviously having issues with drugs and/or alcohol.  This list of items he wanted from my house would have to be ironed out. 

I have always attended court with just my lawyer.  I believe that this is a case between DP and me.  I don’t think that it needs to be a circus with many people watching.  He, on the other hand, brings his ex-girlfriend, her husband, her sister and her mom.  I still have yet to understand it.  I was surprised to see them there the first time.  And still am surprised today. 

He was representing himself.  The Judge thought that was admirable. 

Once those words came out, I knew we were in for a long day. 

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… 

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.