I decided on the topic for this blog at the encouragement of a friend of mine. We were discussing my relationship with my ex husband and my children from my first marriage. I have five children, as you all know. My oldest three, Tyler, Colton, and Paige, are products of my first marriage, although a lot of people do not know that. My current husband came into our lives when Paige was almost two years old, so he has been around most of their lives. Mike and I have two children together, Michael and Victoria. When someone refers to them as Tyler, Colton and Paige's "half" siblings, it takes me a moment to register that thought. To me, they are brothers and sisters and there is no "half" involved. They have lived together all their lives and Mike has been a good father to all of my children for almost 14 years now.
My ex husband, David, and I, have a good relationship now. Colton recently had his "senior night" at his final home basketball game. David and I walked out on the court with Colton as his parents. During the game, Michael and I sat with David, his wife, and her mother to watch the game. While watching the game, it occurred to me that this may seem like a weird arrangement. I was talking to David's wife like old friends, discussing work stressors and the grandson. We were passing the grandson, Ayden, among us at his whim, and he enjoyed every minute of it.
David and I have not always had that relationship. We were together for a little less than ten years. I was 15 when we met. We were just kids, both of us the products of major dysfunction and looking for ways to anger our parents. David was a drug addict. I had never been around drugs, ever. I didn't know what pot looked like. I had no idea what was out there. I remember going to parties as teenagers and people calling David off to the side to "talk" to him. Everyone knew I was against drugs and wouldn't stand to be with an addict, so they had well-choreographed routine to keep me from knowing what was going on during these "talks" outside my presence. Drugs were not the only dysfunction in our relationship.
I came from a family with a little bit of money. We were not wealthy by any means, but my father had served 25 years in the USAF and had retired and subsequently died with a service related injury. I benefited financially from this arrangement, and had my own money to spend on whatever I needed and wanted. I had my own phone line, my own car, and money to do what I wanted. In the days before cell phones, having your own phone line in your room was a big deal. I also had built my own large bedroom in our basement and had the perfect set up for a teenager craving independence. I remember coming home from school and immediately calling David. Not because I wanted to, however, but because he had threatened me that if I didn't, he would commit suicide. If I was so much as five minutes late with the phone call, I knew I would have to settle in for an entire night of emotional blackmail, accusations of "cheating" on him, and hours of begging him not to kill himself. I was 15, and I absolutely believed he would kill himself if I didn't act the way I was "supposed" to. At a young age, I made the decision that I would rather be unhappy with him alive than unhappy with the weight of his suicide on my shoulders. Looking back, I realize I was in this crazy cycle of abuse and did not know I could step out of it at any point. My mother remembers hearing me cry into my phone from my bedroom until the wee hours of the morning, begging David to forgive me for whatever imagined infraction I had committed, like talking to a male friend, or having homework that was more important than talking to him on the phone. As an introduction to committed relationships, that really sucked.
Time went on and David and I graduated high school and moved into an apartment together. I went on to college. I forfeited a full-ride scholarship for my vocal skills because being in a relationship with David would not allow me to put adequate time into being in the award-winning college vocal program. I thought I was in love, and that was more important than college. I ended up pregnant with Tyler and gave birth at 19, then dropped out of college because I didn't think I could handle a baby and school. Looking back, I give myself a mental "face-palm" at that decision, since I got a bachelor's and master's degree having three young children at home. David could not hold a job. The record for the time we were together, was six months of employment. He would quit, get fired, stop showing up, whatever, with every job he had. We had no solid income and I lost my dad's money because I quit going to school. We had our own house, and my mother did foot the very small house payment, and utilities.
The abuse was not only emotional, but eventually worked into physical abuse. Both of us were very quick to lash out physically at one another. If he hit me, I hit back harder. I got pregnant with Colton when Tyler was 8 months old. I remember the despair I felt when I watched that home pregnancy test turn positive. I felt as though my life was ending, as I was then officially stuck in this position. We finally got married when Colton was a year old. A year later, along came Paige. At this point, I was working at a local book distributor and making a little bit of money. David was home with the children and I rationalized that he was a stay at home father and that was ok. At three years old, Tyler taught my mother how to roll a joint. I was still in denial of what was going on. I heard that David was taking the kids to the drug house around the corner, but I ignored it. At some point, I decided it was best for the kids if they stayed with my mother while I worked. I still was not ready to give up on my marriage. I got married thinking it was the one thing that would "save" David. I was wrong.
We finally split. We saw a marriage mediator and she put the situation in words I could understand..."emotional blackmail." She used the term "abusive relationship" and I was shocked. I wasn't constantly in fear for my life, no black eyes, no running screaming from the house. I didn't understand how I got there and if this was really happening. David and I agreed to meet to discuss things, in a public place. The mediator stressed to me that I needed to drive myself to and from the meeting. I was naïve and allowed David to pick me up for the meeting. Instead of driving me to the fast food place, for our public meeting, he drove north on a winding, dangerous country road. We were in his father's pickup and he was taking corners at 80 mph. He said that if he couldn't have me, nobody could. I begged him to stop. I told him I loved him and we would work things out. He eventually drove me back to work. I kissed him then ran inside. I told my supervisor what had happened and she just shook her head and said, "you guys are going to end up killing each other." I called my mother and she took me to see a counselor that day. The counselor didn't have time to see me for an appointment, but Mom explained the situation and he sat me down long enough to convince me to get a restraining order and stay out of that situation. I finally did what I knew I had to do.
From there, things were pretty tough with David. We had a messy separation and messy, drawn-out divorce. During that time, I met Mike and fell in love. There was no abuse there. I could talk to whomever I wanted, he had a job, the possibilities were endless for me. I quit my job, filed for divorce and enrolled in school during the same week in May 2000. David ended up moving out of state and we had no contact for a couple of years. Tyler was old enough to remember his dad and I had a rough time with him. Thankfully, David's parents were still involved with the kids. David eventually started coming around occasionally. He was only given supervised visitation with the kids, and my mother supervised. As years went on, David began to grow up. He eventually moved back to my hometown with his parents. I trusted his parents, so I allowed them to supervise the visitation with the kids. He was still irresponsible and childish, but he was beginning to form a good relationship with the kids.
Our discussions became more civil and eventually, we were able to talk. He apologized for the hell that was our relationship, or at least part of it. He never has fully taken responsibility for everything he did, but, I probably haven't either. Tyler was diagnosed with bipolar disorder at the age of nine. After that came numerous hospitalizations and David and I began to talk more and more about Tyler and doing what was best for our children. They were developing a good relationship with him. David finally met his current wife. She was much younger than he was and came from a rough home life. I was not fond of the idea at first, as she was so young, but eventually, I saw how she treated my children. She loved them. I also saw that she was good for David. He was growing up. He didn't hit her or abuse her. He was in and out of prison a couple of times for an old charge he had, but for the most part, he was getting his life turned around. David's wife's sister used to stay at our house on occasion, to be with the kids. We talked about what was going on with her and David's wife and I became something akin to friends.
As time progressed, we were able to do more things together for our children. Mike and David's wife were very understanding and always supported whatever was best for the children. Paige had to have major surgery once and David, his wife, Mike and I all rode together to take Paige for surgery. We took turns going into the recovery room. I knew at that point that things would be ok.
We have still have our disagreements at times and I will in no way insist that our relationship is all roses. There is still a lot of hurt there. I have PTSD from some of the things that happened with David and that is nothing to take lightly. However, I saw the way he began to change, and become a father to his children. I vowed never to keep the kids from him as long as they were safe, and I never have. There have been times when Michael and Victoria wanted to go with the older kids when they visited their dad, and they have. David and his wife have been very kind to Michael and Victoria.
I wish I could tell you at what point, exactly, David and I were able to make peace with one another. I wish I could give you some magical formula for coming together as parents for your children. Unfortunately, those things do not exist. I also wish I could tell you that I never have the urge to punch him in the throat. Unfortunately, that urge still bubbles to the surface on occasion. The only thing that has seemed to work for us is the unselfish, complete, unconditional love and acceptance of our children and supportive spouses who feel the same way. My children deserved to have loving parents who wanted the best for them. They now have four parents who work together to make sure they are loved and taken care of. If I could bottle this up and sell it to divorced parents, I would. I think that my children sometimes have no idea how lucky they are to have this in their lives.
I know that there will always be tough times, but I pray that we can continue working toward doing the best thing for our children. I hope that my story helps other parents struggling with divorce and the products of divorce. I will say that I know without a doubt, beside my children, the best thing to ever happen in my relationship with David came from being divorced.
Monday, March 3, 2014
Monday, February 24, 2014
Telling the Story (Part 2)
For the background story related to this blog entry, please see "Telling the Story (part 1)." I am going to pick up where that entry led off, with the legal aspects of Paige and Daisy's case. I also want to offer a list of points of advice for other parents who, unfortunately, may find themselves in my position one day.
After Paige spoke to the juvenile officer regarding her assault and gave the details, we gave a sigh of relief. I believe we were still in shock, disbelief, and feeling numb. Paige woke up at night screaming. She started sleeping in her brother's room on her mattress on the floor so she didn't have to be alone. I had to return to work. I vaguely remember just going through the motions of each day, trying to keep my head above water.
Not long after speaking to the juvenile officer regarding the assault, we got notice from the juvenile office that Paige had to speak to the juvenile officer for our county due to her "out of control behavior." Since she had sneaked out of the house and drank, she had been referred to the juvenile office for punishment. No matter that she was assaulted and traumatized beyond comprehension, she had to answer for her behavior. I was livid. I spent a week preparing for how I would handle this. Paige cried and begged not to have to go.
The day of the meeting with the juvenile officer, we sat outside her office waiting. I remember Paige shaking and being scared and upset. I was shaking too, but it was from pure, seething anger. We went into the juvenile officer's office. This particular JO had a reputation for being very tough and non-sympathetic. I remember thinking maybe we would be better off with a man. Once we sat down in her office, she showed us a large stack of papers lying face-down on her desk. She picked up the stack and told Paige, "This is what was sent to me regarding your case." I took a long, deep breath, trying to gear up for the fight ahead. The JO then said, "I have not read it. And I do not intend to." With tears filling her eyes, the JO said, essentially, that it would be a violation of Paige's privacy for her to read the report and that she believed Paige had suffered a much worse punishment than anything she could do. With tears actively flowing, she told Paige that although she could not discuss personal issues, she wanted to assure Paige that she had an idea of what Paige was going through. She wanted to assure Paige that things get better and that she would not be defined by this incident. We left the office relieved and in tears. This was the first and only one of two times that we felt that anyone in authority understood what we were living through. We briefly had hope.
Paige was later summoned to appear in juvenile court for the hearing of the juvenile who assaulted her. We had a rape advocate from the YWCA in a neighboring town who had been talking with us. She tried her best to help, but she was in over her head. She had never had to deal with the nonsense we were experiencing. At every turn, she was shaking her head in disbelief, as we all were. The day of the hearing, Paige, myself, my husband, and my son, Colton, went to Nodaway County to the courthouse. The rape advocate was waiting for us and informed Paige that she did not have to go to the courtroom unless they asked for her. Paige waited in the car with the advocate while the other three of us went to court. The juvenile boy pled guilty. I can remember seeing him sitting with his attorney and parents in court. His parents looked angry and upset. He looked scared. My son was fighting back tears and the urge to throw punches.
The judge allowed me to make a victim impact statement on behalf of my daughter. With all the courage I could muster, I stepped up and spoke directly to the judge, not looking at the boy who had assaulted Paige. I recounted how Paige was suffering. I told how she was crying at night, waking up screaming, sleeping in her brother's room. I informed the judge of the psychiatric hospitalization my daughter had required, the medicine and psychiatrist appointments vital to her survival. I discussed my time off work, the financial and emotional struggle of the rest of the family. When I was finished, I managed to walk back to my seat, shaking uncontrollably with anger, fear and devastation. I remember the judge asking the boy if he agreed that he was guilty to his charges. The boy said "yes." The judge said, and I quote to the best of my memory, "So, you are telling me that you are guilty of having sex with an intoxicated young girl against her will? You knew she was intoxicated and she said No and you still had sex with her? Is THAT what you are telling me?" The boy looked down at the table and mumbled, "yes." The judge asked the juvenile officer present for his recommendation for sentence for the boy. The JO, to whom Paige had recounted the entire, awful night, stated that he wanted probation for the boy. I will never forget the sound of shock and contempt in the judge's voice when he looked at the boy and stated, "I can't in good conscience give you probation for this offense. I am remanding you to the custody of Division of Youth Services until the age of 18 or until they determine you are finished with treatment." I then remember seeing the boy's mother taking the boy by the hand and leading him angrily out of the courtroom. I remember feeling a small pang of sorrow for the boy as I knew he was probably the product of something going on in his home. That was the first and last time I laid eyes on my daughter's perpetrator.
We knew we had a long road ahead as Paige was the main witness for Daisy's case. Prior to the hearing for Paige's attacker, we had received notice that the felony charges had been dropped in Daisy's case. Melinda and I kept in touch about the harassment she was enduring and the legal issues with Daisy's case. We received a summons to appear in the misdemeanor case of "Endangering the Welfare of a Minor." We talked with our rape advocate and she stated that it was probably not in the girls' best interest to proceed with testifying for the misdemeanor charge, as the girls were suffering and the legal system was doing such a poor job of protecting them. We informed the prosecuting attorney, Robert Rice, that we were going to invoke our fifth amendment right regarding the misdemeanor charges. To be clear, there was NEVER a deposition for the felony case. This was the one and only time we invoked our 5th amendment right. After we went on record at his office, invoking our 5th amendment rights, Robert Rice walked Paige and I out of his office to the hallway where Melinda and Daisy were waiting their turn. Rice shook my hand and stated, "Of everyone involved in this case, I feel the worst for Paige. I feel awful that she was dragged out to this party and this happened to her." I can't image the expression on my face at that point. I was in complete disbelief that he had said that, especially in front of Melinda and Daisy. I had no idea this was only a precursor to what they would later endure.
At some point in the next few weeks, Melinda and I discussed our decision and decided to go ahead and testify. We spoke to Rice and revoked our 5th amendment right and stated we wanted to be deposed. The day before our deposition, Melinda and Daisy went for their deposition. I was at the hospital with Paige and received a call from Melinda. She told me that the deposition did not go well, that she felt as though Rice was putting her and Daisy on trial. She stated that Rice had asked a lot of questions about why Paige did this and that, and tried to blame Paige for several things. I decided the deposition was not the right thing to do, so I called Rice's office from the hospital, to inform him that we were going to refuse to participate in the deposition. His receptionist answered and stated that our deposition planned for the next day had been cancelled, the charges dropped. She stated, "I think you need to know, Daisy and Melinda tried to throw Paige under the bus." I was dumbfounded. I told her that I already knew what had happened and that I didn't believe her. She wanted to know exactly what Melinda had told me and I told her it was none of her business and hung up the phone. At that point, I believe the gravity of what was unfolding had actually struck me. Hard. I knew at that point, there would possibly never be any justice for our girls. The rest is history.
Paige's rapist was detained in a juvenile facility for approximately seven to ten days. He was monitored by the juvenile justice system for a whopping seven months total. To this date, there are no further consequences for him. I do not believe that is what the judge had in mind when he sentenced the boy. Seven months. Seven months for changing our lives forever.
Looking back at the way things unfolded for us, there are many things I should have done differently. Hindsight is 20/20. Hopefully my words will inform parents should they ever, God forbid, be in this situation. The following is a list of things I would have done differently, and recommend for parents to keep in mind.
1. Obtain an attorney immediately if you or your child are the victim of such a crime. I never imagined as victims, we would need counsel. Had we been aware of that, things may have turned out differently for all of us. After the politics of the case came into play, not many local attorneys wanted anything to do with the case.
2. Do not expect law enforcement to do the right thing. Keep copies of every single piece of paper, evidence, transcript, anything you have related to the case. Put everything in writing. Document phone calls, conversations, dates, times, anything related to what happened. Record conversations. Get records of police reports, hospital reports, anything anyone says. Do not depend on law enforcement to keep these copies or provide them to anyone.
3. Get everything in writing. If someone says they are going to do something, such as a prosecutor, get it written with a signature. No behind the doors talks, no off the record discussions.
4. Seek your own medical treatment and always get a second opinion. I believe Paige would have had a more thorough exam at a children's hospital where there were no local connections and there were staff specifically trained in examining children.
5. INSIST that any questioning of your child be done in the presence of your attorney, an advocate, or at a children's advocacy center with people trained in this area of practice. Do not allow your child to be questioned alone.
6. Begin a written timeline of events as soon as you know a crime was committed. It will prove invaluable later.
7. NEVER GIVE UP. NEVER GIVE UP. Do not take NO for an answer from authorities.
8. Trust your gut. If you feel something is not on the up and up, it probably isn't.
9. NEVER blame your child for their part in the situation. Keep an open line of communication with your child and let them know you are on their side no matter what.
10. Be prepared to be an advocate for your child. You are responsible for his/her well-being. Do not trust others to have their best interests in mind. You know your child better than anyone else and they depend on you to do the right thing for them. You may be the only one standing up for them.
I pray to God that no other parent ever has to endure what Melinda and I have endured. I know realistically, that too many parents and children will have to live this experience. I hope that they are informed and ready to fight. Not all situations end up like ours. Not all law enforcement are on the side of the perpetrators. Not all perpetrators have political connections. However, it is always good to be overly cautious. I cannot go back and do this over again, thank goodness. The best thing that can come out of our situation is that every parent becomes educated about their rights and the rights of their child. Do not let our suffering be in vain. This is why I am telling the story.
After Paige spoke to the juvenile officer regarding her assault and gave the details, we gave a sigh of relief. I believe we were still in shock, disbelief, and feeling numb. Paige woke up at night screaming. She started sleeping in her brother's room on her mattress on the floor so she didn't have to be alone. I had to return to work. I vaguely remember just going through the motions of each day, trying to keep my head above water.
Not long after speaking to the juvenile officer regarding the assault, we got notice from the juvenile office that Paige had to speak to the juvenile officer for our county due to her "out of control behavior." Since she had sneaked out of the house and drank, she had been referred to the juvenile office for punishment. No matter that she was assaulted and traumatized beyond comprehension, she had to answer for her behavior. I was livid. I spent a week preparing for how I would handle this. Paige cried and begged not to have to go.
The day of the meeting with the juvenile officer, we sat outside her office waiting. I remember Paige shaking and being scared and upset. I was shaking too, but it was from pure, seething anger. We went into the juvenile officer's office. This particular JO had a reputation for being very tough and non-sympathetic. I remember thinking maybe we would be better off with a man. Once we sat down in her office, she showed us a large stack of papers lying face-down on her desk. She picked up the stack and told Paige, "This is what was sent to me regarding your case." I took a long, deep breath, trying to gear up for the fight ahead. The JO then said, "I have not read it. And I do not intend to." With tears filling her eyes, the JO said, essentially, that it would be a violation of Paige's privacy for her to read the report and that she believed Paige had suffered a much worse punishment than anything she could do. With tears actively flowing, she told Paige that although she could not discuss personal issues, she wanted to assure Paige that she had an idea of what Paige was going through. She wanted to assure Paige that things get better and that she would not be defined by this incident. We left the office relieved and in tears. This was the first and only one of two times that we felt that anyone in authority understood what we were living through. We briefly had hope.
Paige was later summoned to appear in juvenile court for the hearing of the juvenile who assaulted her. We had a rape advocate from the YWCA in a neighboring town who had been talking with us. She tried her best to help, but she was in over her head. She had never had to deal with the nonsense we were experiencing. At every turn, she was shaking her head in disbelief, as we all were. The day of the hearing, Paige, myself, my husband, and my son, Colton, went to Nodaway County to the courthouse. The rape advocate was waiting for us and informed Paige that she did not have to go to the courtroom unless they asked for her. Paige waited in the car with the advocate while the other three of us went to court. The juvenile boy pled guilty. I can remember seeing him sitting with his attorney and parents in court. His parents looked angry and upset. He looked scared. My son was fighting back tears and the urge to throw punches.
The judge allowed me to make a victim impact statement on behalf of my daughter. With all the courage I could muster, I stepped up and spoke directly to the judge, not looking at the boy who had assaulted Paige. I recounted how Paige was suffering. I told how she was crying at night, waking up screaming, sleeping in her brother's room. I informed the judge of the psychiatric hospitalization my daughter had required, the medicine and psychiatrist appointments vital to her survival. I discussed my time off work, the financial and emotional struggle of the rest of the family. When I was finished, I managed to walk back to my seat, shaking uncontrollably with anger, fear and devastation. I remember the judge asking the boy if he agreed that he was guilty to his charges. The boy said "yes." The judge said, and I quote to the best of my memory, "So, you are telling me that you are guilty of having sex with an intoxicated young girl against her will? You knew she was intoxicated and she said No and you still had sex with her? Is THAT what you are telling me?" The boy looked down at the table and mumbled, "yes." The judge asked the juvenile officer present for his recommendation for sentence for the boy. The JO, to whom Paige had recounted the entire, awful night, stated that he wanted probation for the boy. I will never forget the sound of shock and contempt in the judge's voice when he looked at the boy and stated, "I can't in good conscience give you probation for this offense. I am remanding you to the custody of Division of Youth Services until the age of 18 or until they determine you are finished with treatment." I then remember seeing the boy's mother taking the boy by the hand and leading him angrily out of the courtroom. I remember feeling a small pang of sorrow for the boy as I knew he was probably the product of something going on in his home. That was the first and last time I laid eyes on my daughter's perpetrator.
We knew we had a long road ahead as Paige was the main witness for Daisy's case. Prior to the hearing for Paige's attacker, we had received notice that the felony charges had been dropped in Daisy's case. Melinda and I kept in touch about the harassment she was enduring and the legal issues with Daisy's case. We received a summons to appear in the misdemeanor case of "Endangering the Welfare of a Minor." We talked with our rape advocate and she stated that it was probably not in the girls' best interest to proceed with testifying for the misdemeanor charge, as the girls were suffering and the legal system was doing such a poor job of protecting them. We informed the prosecuting attorney, Robert Rice, that we were going to invoke our fifth amendment right regarding the misdemeanor charges. To be clear, there was NEVER a deposition for the felony case. This was the one and only time we invoked our 5th amendment right. After we went on record at his office, invoking our 5th amendment rights, Robert Rice walked Paige and I out of his office to the hallway where Melinda and Daisy were waiting their turn. Rice shook my hand and stated, "Of everyone involved in this case, I feel the worst for Paige. I feel awful that she was dragged out to this party and this happened to her." I can't image the expression on my face at that point. I was in complete disbelief that he had said that, especially in front of Melinda and Daisy. I had no idea this was only a precursor to what they would later endure.
At some point in the next few weeks, Melinda and I discussed our decision and decided to go ahead and testify. We spoke to Rice and revoked our 5th amendment right and stated we wanted to be deposed. The day before our deposition, Melinda and Daisy went for their deposition. I was at the hospital with Paige and received a call from Melinda. She told me that the deposition did not go well, that she felt as though Rice was putting her and Daisy on trial. She stated that Rice had asked a lot of questions about why Paige did this and that, and tried to blame Paige for several things. I decided the deposition was not the right thing to do, so I called Rice's office from the hospital, to inform him that we were going to refuse to participate in the deposition. His receptionist answered and stated that our deposition planned for the next day had been cancelled, the charges dropped. She stated, "I think you need to know, Daisy and Melinda tried to throw Paige under the bus." I was dumbfounded. I told her that I already knew what had happened and that I didn't believe her. She wanted to know exactly what Melinda had told me and I told her it was none of her business and hung up the phone. At that point, I believe the gravity of what was unfolding had actually struck me. Hard. I knew at that point, there would possibly never be any justice for our girls. The rest is history.
Paige's rapist was detained in a juvenile facility for approximately seven to ten days. He was monitored by the juvenile justice system for a whopping seven months total. To this date, there are no further consequences for him. I do not believe that is what the judge had in mind when he sentenced the boy. Seven months. Seven months for changing our lives forever.
Looking back at the way things unfolded for us, there are many things I should have done differently. Hindsight is 20/20. Hopefully my words will inform parents should they ever, God forbid, be in this situation. The following is a list of things I would have done differently, and recommend for parents to keep in mind.
1. Obtain an attorney immediately if you or your child are the victim of such a crime. I never imagined as victims, we would need counsel. Had we been aware of that, things may have turned out differently for all of us. After the politics of the case came into play, not many local attorneys wanted anything to do with the case.
2. Do not expect law enforcement to do the right thing. Keep copies of every single piece of paper, evidence, transcript, anything you have related to the case. Put everything in writing. Document phone calls, conversations, dates, times, anything related to what happened. Record conversations. Get records of police reports, hospital reports, anything anyone says. Do not depend on law enforcement to keep these copies or provide them to anyone.
3. Get everything in writing. If someone says they are going to do something, such as a prosecutor, get it written with a signature. No behind the doors talks, no off the record discussions.
4. Seek your own medical treatment and always get a second opinion. I believe Paige would have had a more thorough exam at a children's hospital where there were no local connections and there were staff specifically trained in examining children.
5. INSIST that any questioning of your child be done in the presence of your attorney, an advocate, or at a children's advocacy center with people trained in this area of practice. Do not allow your child to be questioned alone.
6. Begin a written timeline of events as soon as you know a crime was committed. It will prove invaluable later.
7. NEVER GIVE UP. NEVER GIVE UP. Do not take NO for an answer from authorities.
8. Trust your gut. If you feel something is not on the up and up, it probably isn't.
9. NEVER blame your child for their part in the situation. Keep an open line of communication with your child and let them know you are on their side no matter what.
10. Be prepared to be an advocate for your child. You are responsible for his/her well-being. Do not trust others to have their best interests in mind. You know your child better than anyone else and they depend on you to do the right thing for them. You may be the only one standing up for them.
I pray to God that no other parent ever has to endure what Melinda and I have endured. I know realistically, that too many parents and children will have to live this experience. I hope that they are informed and ready to fight. Not all situations end up like ours. Not all law enforcement are on the side of the perpetrators. Not all perpetrators have political connections. However, it is always good to be overly cautious. I cannot go back and do this over again, thank goodness. The best thing that can come out of our situation is that every parent becomes educated about their rights and the rights of their child. Do not let our suffering be in vain. This is why I am telling the story.
Friday, February 14, 2014
Telling the Story (Part 1)
So, I took a week off blogging because inspiration had not hit me yet. I realized that I haven't had contact with many people over the age of 18 lately, so I didn't have any thought-provoking revelations last week.
As I was thinking about writer's block, an idea came to me in the place where most people do their best thinking...the shower. I decided it is time for me to tell the details of my experience with Paige and Daisy's assaults. My experience as a mother. I have touched on it some in a couple of other posts, but this time I want to lay out the details. The media, for the most part, have been fantastic at covering the story, however; they missed or confused some of the details. Important details, at that. I don't blame them. There was a lot of material to cover and the story became so convoluted with different media outlets reporting different aspects of what happened. I decided to write about my experience with Paige's assault.
As a mother, I feel discussing this is important. I feel that not only could this discussion inform other parents, it also honors what happened to Paige by getting the truth out there to the world. If you are reading this as a parent, be warned it is not for the faint of heart. I will assure you that Paige and our family have bounced back from this and are more resilient than we ever imagined. The pain lessens by the day, although we will never forget what happened.
My memory of the day of the rape is blurry. I had no idea at the time I would be expected to remember details of times, places, etc. Because of the unexpectedness and the trauma of the situation, not everything is clear in terms of details, but the emotions and thoughts I had at the time are still vivid.
Paige had gone to spend the night with her friend, Daisy. Paige and Daisy had been friends for years, as our families were connected through three of our children who are around the same ages and play sports together. Daisy's dad was also our family doctor. Daisy and Paige were good kids. As parents, Melinda and I didn't worry a whole lot about them making poor decisions beyond what normal teenagers make. I still believe the choices they made that night in January were within the "normal" range for girls their age at the time.
I was asleep in my chair in my living room when I received a call from Paige in the early morning hours. I don't remember the time, but I know it was still dark outside. Paige was hysterical, crying, and said that she wanted me to come and get her. She said everyone was yelling and she didn't know why. Of course I thought that was strange, but really thought maybe one of the kids was in trouble for something, or maybe Paige had misbehaved. I assumed that I would get the details from Melinda later in the day. I was too sleepy to drive, so I sent my son, Colton, to pick Paige up and fell back asleep. Paige and Colton got home and Paige went directly to her room. Still groggy, I again thought that I would wait until later in the day to find out the details of what happened. I had just gotten up for the day when my phone rang. It was Charlie, Daisy's oldest brother. He said, "We need Paige to come back to Maryville. Daisy was raped and the police need to talk to her."
The best word to describe what I felt at that time was shock. The word "rape" really didn't fully register with me. I had no idea why Paige would be involved. I went to Paige's room to wake her up and she was curled up in the corner of her bed, still wearing her clothes, and crying. I told her what Charlie said and she sobbed even harder. We left the house and stopped for gas. I had Colton go with me again because I had no idea what was going on and thought I could use some help. I went into a convenience store to pay for the gas, and when I came out, Paige and Colton were crying. Paige just kept sobbing, "He raped her, Mom, he raped Daisy." Still not understanding what was happening, I was very confused. I asked her who and she said, "Matt. He raped Daisy." I did not know Matt so I had no idea what she was talking about. Since she was so shaken, I decided not to press for details. A little way down the road, a thought popped into my head. Call it denial or self-preservation, but I tried to shake this thought. No. I was being silly. Finally I asked Paige, "Did anyone hurt YOU?" Still sobbing, she squeaked out the word, "yes."
What did I think? What did I feel? I really was too shocked to feel. I went completely numb, emotionally and physically. This couldn't have happened. No way. Not Paige, not Daisy. I must be misunderstanding what she is saying. The professional in me kicked in and I decided not to ask Paige any more details because I wanted her to tell the details to the police. She was so inconsolable at that point, I couldn't stand to probe any further. Colton was vacillating between tears and clenched-jaw anger. His face was bright red. His fists were clinched. I was afraid for him as well.
I decided to take Paige to the hospital in Maryville, rather than going to the police station. Here is where I made my first mistake. When we got to the hospital in Maryville, Paige was taken to a room and given a physical exam by a SANE nurse. They had her undress and took her clothing and put it in a bag. One of the details I remember vividly was watching the nurse bagging Paige's clothes and marking them "EVIDENCE." Could this seriously be happening? Those are my daughter's clothes. Those are OURS. They then proceeded to do her pelvic exam. At 13, this was her first exam. For adult women, this exam is uncomfortable and annoying at best. For a 13 year old, traumatized girl, I could not imagine how she felt. I cried. That was my daughter and she was too young for that. They were violating her.
After the exam, Paige and I were separated and she was taken to a room to be questioned by a deputy. I asked to go with her and was told that I could not. Another deputy took me to a table in the hospital. He had a list of names on a piece of paper. He asked me if I knew any of the names. I did not recognize any of them. I still had no idea what had happened and why they were doing this to us. All I could think about was Paige in the other room talking to a strange man, alone and frightened. Again, being violated.
The sheriff took me to another room and told me what they knew at this point. The girls had sneaked out of the house, drank, and were assaulted at a boy's house. I don't remember exactly what he said, my brain was in a fog. I couldn't comprehend anything he was saying. We were finally allowed to see Daisy and Melinda. Daisy was still somewhat intoxicated. The girls hugged each other and cried. Melinda and I hugged and cried. There were no words at that point. I remember nothing else from there.
At some point in the next couple of days, we received notice that Paige had to speak to the juvenile officer in Maryville and give him details of what happened. The boy who assaulted Paige was a juvenile, so we had to talk to the juvenile authorities. Paige and I went into the juvenile office early one morning to meet with the officer. I remember seeing pictures on his wall that his children had drawn for him. I saw pictures on his desk of his family. I wondered what exactly his role was in all of this, how he would treat Paige. He began asking questions. This is the point where I heard details of the assault for the first time. Paige recounted every painful disgusting detail of what had happened to her that night. I remember feeling nauseated and panicked. I kept looking at the door and fighting the urge to grab Paige and run out that door, go home, lock the house up, and never come out.
We rode home in silence that morning. What do you say to a broken 13 year old who just had to tell a strange, grown man, details about a very personal experience? I don't remember her crying. I remember thinking to myself that she was still in shock. I thought at that point, the worst was probably behind us. I had no idea how wrong I was.
My next blog entry will recount the details of our dealings with the legal system with Paige's assault. I also intend to give some advice to parents about what to do if this happens to them, advice I wish I'd been given.
Hug your daughters.
As I was thinking about writer's block, an idea came to me in the place where most people do their best thinking...the shower. I decided it is time for me to tell the details of my experience with Paige and Daisy's assaults. My experience as a mother. I have touched on it some in a couple of other posts, but this time I want to lay out the details. The media, for the most part, have been fantastic at covering the story, however; they missed or confused some of the details. Important details, at that. I don't blame them. There was a lot of material to cover and the story became so convoluted with different media outlets reporting different aspects of what happened. I decided to write about my experience with Paige's assault.
As a mother, I feel discussing this is important. I feel that not only could this discussion inform other parents, it also honors what happened to Paige by getting the truth out there to the world. If you are reading this as a parent, be warned it is not for the faint of heart. I will assure you that Paige and our family have bounced back from this and are more resilient than we ever imagined. The pain lessens by the day, although we will never forget what happened.
My memory of the day of the rape is blurry. I had no idea at the time I would be expected to remember details of times, places, etc. Because of the unexpectedness and the trauma of the situation, not everything is clear in terms of details, but the emotions and thoughts I had at the time are still vivid.
Paige had gone to spend the night with her friend, Daisy. Paige and Daisy had been friends for years, as our families were connected through three of our children who are around the same ages and play sports together. Daisy's dad was also our family doctor. Daisy and Paige were good kids. As parents, Melinda and I didn't worry a whole lot about them making poor decisions beyond what normal teenagers make. I still believe the choices they made that night in January were within the "normal" range for girls their age at the time.
I was asleep in my chair in my living room when I received a call from Paige in the early morning hours. I don't remember the time, but I know it was still dark outside. Paige was hysterical, crying, and said that she wanted me to come and get her. She said everyone was yelling and she didn't know why. Of course I thought that was strange, but really thought maybe one of the kids was in trouble for something, or maybe Paige had misbehaved. I assumed that I would get the details from Melinda later in the day. I was too sleepy to drive, so I sent my son, Colton, to pick Paige up and fell back asleep. Paige and Colton got home and Paige went directly to her room. Still groggy, I again thought that I would wait until later in the day to find out the details of what happened. I had just gotten up for the day when my phone rang. It was Charlie, Daisy's oldest brother. He said, "We need Paige to come back to Maryville. Daisy was raped and the police need to talk to her."
The best word to describe what I felt at that time was shock. The word "rape" really didn't fully register with me. I had no idea why Paige would be involved. I went to Paige's room to wake her up and she was curled up in the corner of her bed, still wearing her clothes, and crying. I told her what Charlie said and she sobbed even harder. We left the house and stopped for gas. I had Colton go with me again because I had no idea what was going on and thought I could use some help. I went into a convenience store to pay for the gas, and when I came out, Paige and Colton were crying. Paige just kept sobbing, "He raped her, Mom, he raped Daisy." Still not understanding what was happening, I was very confused. I asked her who and she said, "Matt. He raped Daisy." I did not know Matt so I had no idea what she was talking about. Since she was so shaken, I decided not to press for details. A little way down the road, a thought popped into my head. Call it denial or self-preservation, but I tried to shake this thought. No. I was being silly. Finally I asked Paige, "Did anyone hurt YOU?" Still sobbing, she squeaked out the word, "yes."
What did I think? What did I feel? I really was too shocked to feel. I went completely numb, emotionally and physically. This couldn't have happened. No way. Not Paige, not Daisy. I must be misunderstanding what she is saying. The professional in me kicked in and I decided not to ask Paige any more details because I wanted her to tell the details to the police. She was so inconsolable at that point, I couldn't stand to probe any further. Colton was vacillating between tears and clenched-jaw anger. His face was bright red. His fists were clinched. I was afraid for him as well.
I decided to take Paige to the hospital in Maryville, rather than going to the police station. Here is where I made my first mistake. When we got to the hospital in Maryville, Paige was taken to a room and given a physical exam by a SANE nurse. They had her undress and took her clothing and put it in a bag. One of the details I remember vividly was watching the nurse bagging Paige's clothes and marking them "EVIDENCE." Could this seriously be happening? Those are my daughter's clothes. Those are OURS. They then proceeded to do her pelvic exam. At 13, this was her first exam. For adult women, this exam is uncomfortable and annoying at best. For a 13 year old, traumatized girl, I could not imagine how she felt. I cried. That was my daughter and she was too young for that. They were violating her.
After the exam, Paige and I were separated and she was taken to a room to be questioned by a deputy. I asked to go with her and was told that I could not. Another deputy took me to a table in the hospital. He had a list of names on a piece of paper. He asked me if I knew any of the names. I did not recognize any of them. I still had no idea what had happened and why they were doing this to us. All I could think about was Paige in the other room talking to a strange man, alone and frightened. Again, being violated.
The sheriff took me to another room and told me what they knew at this point. The girls had sneaked out of the house, drank, and were assaulted at a boy's house. I don't remember exactly what he said, my brain was in a fog. I couldn't comprehend anything he was saying. We were finally allowed to see Daisy and Melinda. Daisy was still somewhat intoxicated. The girls hugged each other and cried. Melinda and I hugged and cried. There were no words at that point. I remember nothing else from there.
At some point in the next couple of days, we received notice that Paige had to speak to the juvenile officer in Maryville and give him details of what happened. The boy who assaulted Paige was a juvenile, so we had to talk to the juvenile authorities. Paige and I went into the juvenile office early one morning to meet with the officer. I remember seeing pictures on his wall that his children had drawn for him. I saw pictures on his desk of his family. I wondered what exactly his role was in all of this, how he would treat Paige. He began asking questions. This is the point where I heard details of the assault for the first time. Paige recounted every painful disgusting detail of what had happened to her that night. I remember feeling nauseated and panicked. I kept looking at the door and fighting the urge to grab Paige and run out that door, go home, lock the house up, and never come out.
We rode home in silence that morning. What do you say to a broken 13 year old who just had to tell a strange, grown man, details about a very personal experience? I don't remember her crying. I remember thinking to myself that she was still in shock. I thought at that point, the worst was probably behind us. I had no idea how wrong I was.
My next blog entry will recount the details of our dealings with the legal system with Paige's assault. I also intend to give some advice to parents about what to do if this happens to them, advice I wish I'd been given.
Hug your daughters.
Monday, February 3, 2014
Becoming Domesticated
Another week gone by. I must say that this blog entry finds me in a better state of mind than last one. Unfortunately, I am sitting in the hospital with my youngest daughter, Victoria, who has a bad infection of some sort. I am watching her sleep right now and feeling grateful that I have been blessed with my children.
I decided to write this week about becoming "domesticated." Before I start to take you down that road, I want to say that I am in no way intending for this installment to seem judgmental. We each have our own path in life and I am going to tell you about this particular leg of MY journey.
I have almost always been a working mom. All moms work, but I worked outside the home. I make that distinction because I didn't work much INSIDE my home. I went to college and got a bachelor's degree, then a master's degree, while having three young children. From the time Colton, who is now 18, was eight months old, I have worked or been in school continuously until now. I am proud of my education and professional accomplishments. I worked hard and sacrificed a great deal to get to where I was professionally. I never dreamed I would be out of work and looking at never returning to my profession. However, that is where I am.
I have never been a great Mom. When I started college, I did so with my family and future in mind. I had great intentions. I wanted to support my family financially and save the world while doing so. For ten years now I have worked in the field of mental health/addictions. It is truly exhausting work. It is impossible to describe how exhausting it is mentally, physically, and emotionally. Being a trauma therapist was especially tiring. I like to think that I helped people along the way. My problem was not with the profession itself, it was with the balance of work and personal life. My friends were my co-workers. I ate, slept, and breathed therapy. I can remember when my kids were young, I would come home after working all day dealing with everyone's problems, and the first thing as soon as I walked through the door at home, I had five children, a husband, and a couple of dogs standing in line waiting to talk to me. I once told my son, "Mommy's listening ears shut off at 5:30." I had nothing left to give at the end of the day.
When I lost my job, I thought my world had ended. I am finding out I was wrong. I had a whole different world right in front of me, that had been patiently waiting for me to notice. I looked around this past week at where my life is, and where it is going. My oldest two kids are now adults, Paige is a sophomore in high school and my little ones are in school. I am a grandma. A grandma!! Where did these years go and what was I doing? I now realize I was killing myself to afford a life I didn't have time to enjoy. My days used to consist of hearing countless strangers tell me their problems, expecting me to have some magic answer to solve them. I never had those answers, nor should I. Now I spend my days listening to my children play and fight. I do dishes and laundry. I figured out how to use the oven, bread machine and vacuum! I know that isn't nearly as exciting as being in a maximum security prison dealing with suicidal inmates or seeing a fight break out on the yard. However, I am much happier with the stress of breaking up fights between kids over their computer time. At least they dont know how to make a deadly weapon out of gum, a toothbrush and belly button lint. Yet.
Some moms and dads can do what I could not. They can balance work and family and do a great job at both. I cannot. I am learning to accept that and embrace the hand I have been dealt. Now I can sit at the hospital ER with a sick girl and not worry about getting called in to work at any moment. I don't have to watch the clock and count the number of hours of sleep I'm not getting and wonder how I will survive the next day. I see what is truly my mission in life lying in front of me with her stuffed giraffe and an iv in her arm. And all she wants is her mommy. This is the most trying, frustrating, exhausting, rewarding job I will ever have. I am surprised to say that I am thankful for becoming donesticated.
I decided to write this week about becoming "domesticated." Before I start to take you down that road, I want to say that I am in no way intending for this installment to seem judgmental. We each have our own path in life and I am going to tell you about this particular leg of MY journey.
I have almost always been a working mom. All moms work, but I worked outside the home. I make that distinction because I didn't work much INSIDE my home. I went to college and got a bachelor's degree, then a master's degree, while having three young children. From the time Colton, who is now 18, was eight months old, I have worked or been in school continuously until now. I am proud of my education and professional accomplishments. I worked hard and sacrificed a great deal to get to where I was professionally. I never dreamed I would be out of work and looking at never returning to my profession. However, that is where I am.
I have never been a great Mom. When I started college, I did so with my family and future in mind. I had great intentions. I wanted to support my family financially and save the world while doing so. For ten years now I have worked in the field of mental health/addictions. It is truly exhausting work. It is impossible to describe how exhausting it is mentally, physically, and emotionally. Being a trauma therapist was especially tiring. I like to think that I helped people along the way. My problem was not with the profession itself, it was with the balance of work and personal life. My friends were my co-workers. I ate, slept, and breathed therapy. I can remember when my kids were young, I would come home after working all day dealing with everyone's problems, and the first thing as soon as I walked through the door at home, I had five children, a husband, and a couple of dogs standing in line waiting to talk to me. I once told my son, "Mommy's listening ears shut off at 5:30." I had nothing left to give at the end of the day.
When I lost my job, I thought my world had ended. I am finding out I was wrong. I had a whole different world right in front of me, that had been patiently waiting for me to notice. I looked around this past week at where my life is, and where it is going. My oldest two kids are now adults, Paige is a sophomore in high school and my little ones are in school. I am a grandma. A grandma!! Where did these years go and what was I doing? I now realize I was killing myself to afford a life I didn't have time to enjoy. My days used to consist of hearing countless strangers tell me their problems, expecting me to have some magic answer to solve them. I never had those answers, nor should I. Now I spend my days listening to my children play and fight. I do dishes and laundry. I figured out how to use the oven, bread machine and vacuum! I know that isn't nearly as exciting as being in a maximum security prison dealing with suicidal inmates or seeing a fight break out on the yard. However, I am much happier with the stress of breaking up fights between kids over their computer time. At least they dont know how to make a deadly weapon out of gum, a toothbrush and belly button lint. Yet.
Some moms and dads can do what I could not. They can balance work and family and do a great job at both. I cannot. I am learning to accept that and embrace the hand I have been dealt. Now I can sit at the hospital ER with a sick girl and not worry about getting called in to work at any moment. I don't have to watch the clock and count the number of hours of sleep I'm not getting and wonder how I will survive the next day. I see what is truly my mission in life lying in front of me with her stuffed giraffe and an iv in her arm. And all she wants is her mommy. This is the most trying, frustrating, exhausting, rewarding job I will ever have. I am surprised to say that I am thankful for becoming donesticated.
Monday, January 27, 2014
Being Depressed
I realized today that it has been a week since I have written anything. Part of my promise to myself when I started blogging, was that I would keep it up, no matter what. I have learned that with certain things in life, follow through is most important when it is least enjoyable. For example; in my years as a substance abuse counselor, one piece of advice I fervently offered to those in recovery was "Those times when you don't feel like going to a meeting is when you really need to get there." As a member of Al-Anon, I have found that premise to be true there as well (fodder for a story some other time). So today of all days is not the time I want to write, but probably exactly when I NEED to do so.
You all know about my daughter, Paige. She is child #3 of 5 in our family. She and her two older brothers are products of my first marriage. When Paige was approximately 18 months old, I made the leap to leave an abusive marriage and start over with my kids, aged 4, 3 and 18 mos at the time. I quit my job, filed for divorce and enrolled in college all in the same month. Looking back, I'm not sure if I was really brave or really crazy.
Flash ahead about six years and you will find me remarried, with a master's degree, living in a nice house which my husband and I owned, two more children, and the happiest life anyone could ever imagine. Seriously. All we lacked was a picket fence. Having five children at home was a daily challenge, especially since my husband and I both worked outside the home. Challenges back then included things like a flat tire, siblings fighting, finding something for supper, a sick baby, etc. Perfection in every way.
Which brings me to today. Big house: gone. Foreclosure. Nice vehicles: gone. Repossession. Credit: destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt, living at my mom's, falling apart. How does one go from there to here in a matter if about six years? Well, turns out it wasn't too difficult.
In January, 2008, my healthy, fit husband had a heart attack. What a blow. It rocked our family to the core. He was no longer invincible and no longer himself. I don't intend to take his inventory for him here, so I will stick to my facts as I remember them. After the initial heart attack, there came more and more health issues and he eventually lost his job. My husband never missed a day of work. That job was a large part of his identity, and it was gone. Having our income cut in half, other things had to go also. Cars, leisure activities, peace of mind, ability to financially and physically balance life, we lost all of it. My house that I loved was gone soon as well. With the house went my front porch swing where I napped, my flowers, garden and the tree I planted when I got my Master's degree.
Bruised and bloodied, we moved into a rental house to try to pick up the pieces. My oldest son went to live with my mother because we were out of room and out of patience with one another. Sparing the gory details, we continued to lose so much mote. Our marriage was barely hanging by a thread, the kids were struggling, we were financial disasters, and work was difficult for me to balance with all of the stress at home. I had just started a new, better job when the infamous night in January came into being. Add to the balance now an emotional train wreck. I would call it a perfect storm. I had nobody to make sure I was taking care of myself or shoulder the majority of the burdens.
Now would be a good time to tell you that everything worked out. But that would be a lie.
I'm writing today on my phone which is due for shut off, while sitting st my mom's. My oldest two children are adults and on their own mostly. I am unemployed due mostly to my inability to care for myself emotionally while holding everyone else together. I lost my job the day Paige and I returned from New York for the 20/20 interview.
I'm a mental health "professional. " I violated the cardinal rule of my profession: take care of yourself so you can take care of others. I have been in this field of work for ten years. I specialized, ironically, in trauma therapy. I have heard stories that would make a normal person lock themselves in a closet and never come out. Day after day after day. I had no idea the toll it was taking on me and it ultimately cost me my job and my professional integrity. I spent a few days in the mental health unit where I used to work, under the care of a psychiatrist who was also a colleague. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and PTSD. My family is in shambles and I am not quite sure where to start the process of recovery. I know it must start with me.
I have a tattoo on my arm with a picture of a weeping fairy. It has a paraphrase from Dante's Inferno around the picture. It reads, "True sorrow is recalling in misery a time when you were happy." More true words were never spoken.
You all know about my daughter, Paige. She is child #3 of 5 in our family. She and her two older brothers are products of my first marriage. When Paige was approximately 18 months old, I made the leap to leave an abusive marriage and start over with my kids, aged 4, 3 and 18 mos at the time. I quit my job, filed for divorce and enrolled in college all in the same month. Looking back, I'm not sure if I was really brave or really crazy.
Flash ahead about six years and you will find me remarried, with a master's degree, living in a nice house which my husband and I owned, two more children, and the happiest life anyone could ever imagine. Seriously. All we lacked was a picket fence. Having five children at home was a daily challenge, especially since my husband and I both worked outside the home. Challenges back then included things like a flat tire, siblings fighting, finding something for supper, a sick baby, etc. Perfection in every way.
Which brings me to today. Big house: gone. Foreclosure. Nice vehicles: gone. Repossession. Credit: destroyed. Hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical debt, living at my mom's, falling apart. How does one go from there to here in a matter if about six years? Well, turns out it wasn't too difficult.
In January, 2008, my healthy, fit husband had a heart attack. What a blow. It rocked our family to the core. He was no longer invincible and no longer himself. I don't intend to take his inventory for him here, so I will stick to my facts as I remember them. After the initial heart attack, there came more and more health issues and he eventually lost his job. My husband never missed a day of work. That job was a large part of his identity, and it was gone. Having our income cut in half, other things had to go also. Cars, leisure activities, peace of mind, ability to financially and physically balance life, we lost all of it. My house that I loved was gone soon as well. With the house went my front porch swing where I napped, my flowers, garden and the tree I planted when I got my Master's degree.
Bruised and bloodied, we moved into a rental house to try to pick up the pieces. My oldest son went to live with my mother because we were out of room and out of patience with one another. Sparing the gory details, we continued to lose so much mote. Our marriage was barely hanging by a thread, the kids were struggling, we were financial disasters, and work was difficult for me to balance with all of the stress at home. I had just started a new, better job when the infamous night in January came into being. Add to the balance now an emotional train wreck. I would call it a perfect storm. I had nobody to make sure I was taking care of myself or shoulder the majority of the burdens.
Now would be a good time to tell you that everything worked out. But that would be a lie.
I'm writing today on my phone which is due for shut off, while sitting st my mom's. My oldest two children are adults and on their own mostly. I am unemployed due mostly to my inability to care for myself emotionally while holding everyone else together. I lost my job the day Paige and I returned from New York for the 20/20 interview.
I'm a mental health "professional. " I violated the cardinal rule of my profession: take care of yourself so you can take care of others. I have been in this field of work for ten years. I specialized, ironically, in trauma therapy. I have heard stories that would make a normal person lock themselves in a closet and never come out. Day after day after day. I had no idea the toll it was taking on me and it ultimately cost me my job and my professional integrity. I spent a few days in the mental health unit where I used to work, under the care of a psychiatrist who was also a colleague. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and PTSD. My family is in shambles and I am not quite sure where to start the process of recovery. I know it must start with me.
I have a tattoo on my arm with a picture of a weeping fairy. It has a paraphrase from Dante's Inferno around the picture. It reads, "True sorrow is recalling in misery a time when you were happy." More true words were never spoken.
Monday, January 20, 2014
Remembering Paige
I stated in my first blog entry that I was not going to focus solely on my daughter, Paige, and I intend to move on at some point. Today, however, I feel the need to get some things out of my head, in the hopes of helping other parents who, God forbid, have or will be in my situation.
I have said a thousand times, nobody writes a manual about dealing with the sexual assault of one of your children. As a mom, I'm kinda winging it here. Never during the first 13 years of my daughter's life, did I ever imagine the phone call in the wee hours of the morning that would signal the ending of a chapter in our lives, and the beginning of another. I have another daughter, Victoria, who is 7. I refuse to even entertain the idea that she would have to face the realities which have so viciously torn at Paige in the past two years.
I want to relate a couple of explanations prior to indulging myself in the cathartic process of recounting my experience. Firstly, I wish to never say or do anything which would be disrespectful of Paige, her experience, or her feelings. The thoughts, memories, and reactions related here are my own. Secondly, I want to be sure to let those reading this or following the publicity circus to know that I made the decision to allow Paige to come out in public about what happened to her, with much thought and concern. I have taken some heat from people who believe that allowing my daughter to come out in the media with her story is harmful to her and a bad decision. Maybe those people are correct. However, I was always taught that decisions made when parenting should be made with your child's maturity level, personality and needs as guides. And that is what I did. And I don't regret it.
I decided to Google my daughter's name today. I was shocked by what I found. Her pictures all over the internet, most of them related to the word "rape." The reality of that drove a nail through my heart. Let me tell you about Paige, or Princess, as she is known at our house. Paige is my third child. She has two older brothers and two younger siblings. She was the baby in our family for seven years. She is tiny. She has always been tiny. She walked at the age of 7 months and looked like a two month old baby walking around. Paige sings. All the time. She used to sing the alphabet in her best opera-inspired voice during class in kindergarten. Paige's first word was "no" and then she skipped immediately into speaking in full sentences. She has always had one of the most powerful personalities I have ever seen. The woman who helped raise my mother used to call my mom to hear "Paige stories," as there was a new one almost daily. She played in the dirt while wearing dresses, socialized during tee-ball games, and made pets out of earthworms. She called them her "lovelies." Those are the things you will never read about when you Google her name. And that is sad.
Out of respect for Paige, and any legal loose ends, I will not go into specifics about that early morning in January, 2012. You wouldn't want to hear them anyway. Once something is heard, it cannot be unheard. I don't say that for the dramatic effect. It truly was horrific. After that day, Paige used to drag her mattress off her bed, into her brother's room so she could have him there while she slept. She screamed in her sleep. She panicked in public. School was no longer an option. No more cheerleading. Instead her days became filled with darkness, depression, suicidal thoughts and eventually hospitalization. That is not where the story ends, however.
As difficult as it was, as a mother, to see Paige struggle with something I could only marginally understand, I also witnessed her growth on a phenomenal scale. When things were darkest, she always brought me hope. Once while having familial turmoil, paige said, "Mom, if you want to give the babies (her youngest siblings) something you couldn't give us (my oldest three children), give them a happy mom." Heavy words for a barely teenage girl. I have seen her absolutely metamorphosize under the media scrutiny. She has come out of her shell, has gotten angry, cried, and laughed, like she hadn't for two years. I witnessed her answering questions about what happened to her that night, over and over again. I told her that when she was finished with the media, we would stop talking to reporters. On the plane ride home from doing 20/20 in New York, she quietly said, "Mom, this is my last interview." I said, "Ok."
She is now back in school and doing well. She has a boyfriend who has been extraordinarily supportive. She has her cats, four of them. She is a fantastic aunt to my grandson. We call her Aunt Meanie. I suppose the point of this story is that I am in awe of Paige. As a mother,I have made so many mistakes. I look at her now and know that somewhere, something went right. I hope that mothers or fathers who struggle through these trials with their children can come to this point as well. I hope they know that our kids are resilient and capable far beyond what we realize. A tragic event like this does not mean a life of darkness. It simply means you have to stand together with your child and lead one another toward the light.
I have said a thousand times, nobody writes a manual about dealing with the sexual assault of one of your children. As a mom, I'm kinda winging it here. Never during the first 13 years of my daughter's life, did I ever imagine the phone call in the wee hours of the morning that would signal the ending of a chapter in our lives, and the beginning of another. I have another daughter, Victoria, who is 7. I refuse to even entertain the idea that she would have to face the realities which have so viciously torn at Paige in the past two years.
I want to relate a couple of explanations prior to indulging myself in the cathartic process of recounting my experience. Firstly, I wish to never say or do anything which would be disrespectful of Paige, her experience, or her feelings. The thoughts, memories, and reactions related here are my own. Secondly, I want to be sure to let those reading this or following the publicity circus to know that I made the decision to allow Paige to come out in public about what happened to her, with much thought and concern. I have taken some heat from people who believe that allowing my daughter to come out in the media with her story is harmful to her and a bad decision. Maybe those people are correct. However, I was always taught that decisions made when parenting should be made with your child's maturity level, personality and needs as guides. And that is what I did. And I don't regret it.
I decided to Google my daughter's name today. I was shocked by what I found. Her pictures all over the internet, most of them related to the word "rape." The reality of that drove a nail through my heart. Let me tell you about Paige, or Princess, as she is known at our house. Paige is my third child. She has two older brothers and two younger siblings. She was the baby in our family for seven years. She is tiny. She has always been tiny. She walked at the age of 7 months and looked like a two month old baby walking around. Paige sings. All the time. She used to sing the alphabet in her best opera-inspired voice during class in kindergarten. Paige's first word was "no" and then she skipped immediately into speaking in full sentences. She has always had one of the most powerful personalities I have ever seen. The woman who helped raise my mother used to call my mom to hear "Paige stories," as there was a new one almost daily. She played in the dirt while wearing dresses, socialized during tee-ball games, and made pets out of earthworms. She called them her "lovelies." Those are the things you will never read about when you Google her name. And that is sad.
Out of respect for Paige, and any legal loose ends, I will not go into specifics about that early morning in January, 2012. You wouldn't want to hear them anyway. Once something is heard, it cannot be unheard. I don't say that for the dramatic effect. It truly was horrific. After that day, Paige used to drag her mattress off her bed, into her brother's room so she could have him there while she slept. She screamed in her sleep. She panicked in public. School was no longer an option. No more cheerleading. Instead her days became filled with darkness, depression, suicidal thoughts and eventually hospitalization. That is not where the story ends, however.
As difficult as it was, as a mother, to see Paige struggle with something I could only marginally understand, I also witnessed her growth on a phenomenal scale. When things were darkest, she always brought me hope. Once while having familial turmoil, paige said, "Mom, if you want to give the babies (her youngest siblings) something you couldn't give us (my oldest three children), give them a happy mom." Heavy words for a barely teenage girl. I have seen her absolutely metamorphosize under the media scrutiny. She has come out of her shell, has gotten angry, cried, and laughed, like she hadn't for two years. I witnessed her answering questions about what happened to her that night, over and over again. I told her that when she was finished with the media, we would stop talking to reporters. On the plane ride home from doing 20/20 in New York, she quietly said, "Mom, this is my last interview." I said, "Ok."
She is now back in school and doing well. She has a boyfriend who has been extraordinarily supportive. She has her cats, four of them. She is a fantastic aunt to my grandson. We call her Aunt Meanie. I suppose the point of this story is that I am in awe of Paige. As a mother,I have made so many mistakes. I look at her now and know that somewhere, something went right. I hope that mothers or fathers who struggle through these trials with their children can come to this point as well. I hope they know that our kids are resilient and capable far beyond what we realize. A tragic event like this does not mean a life of darkness. It simply means you have to stand together with your child and lead one another toward the light.
Wednesday, January 15, 2014
Being Paige's Mom
This is my first blog, but. A lifetime in the making. I started out wanting to name this blog "Being Paige's Mom," but decided that I am, and will be, more than that. But for today, I'm writing as Paige's Mom.
Most strangers know my daughter, Paige, as the "other girl" in the Daisy Coleman rape case which is getting national attention. Paige was sexually assaulted at a party with her best friend, Daisy, January 8, 2012. The case has been highly publicized due to the politics involved in the case. Few people know the story of what happened that night. The only people who really know for sure are the girls.
I am not writing this to capitalize on the events of that night. I want to write, for now, about being the mother of a young woman who was sexually assaulted.
I was thinking today as I spoke with a friend of mine, about the reality of the world in which we live. A world where two young women, girls at the time, could leave a house with boys they considered friends, to be assaulted in the basement of the home of one of the boys then dumped in the cold like trash. The world which subsequently turned on the girls, blaming them for doing nothing but being teenage girls. Now their every action is subject to critique and judgment. The way they dress, talk, and act is under public scrutiny as people try to place blame on the girls for what happened.
Having once, long ago, been a teenage girl myself, I remember having put myself in the same position the girls were in that night: drunk, at a party, looking for the attention of boys. The difference between myself and the girls is this: I was with teenage boys who had respect for me and themselves. If the difference between the situations lies in the character of the boys present, how can we place blame on the girls?
Here's how. If this horrible thing happened to these intelligent, independent, beautiful young women, it could happen to anyone. To anyone's daughter or sister. That is a scary prospect for anyone to understand. Especially me. Paige knew the dangers of drinking, strangers, dark alleys and unfamiliar territory. She was not prepared to deal with an attack by a friend. By young, small-town, all-american boys. This is why it is so easy to blame the girls. We don't want to address the fact that the "bad guy" isn't always a stranger. He isn't always ugly or mean. Sometimes he looks just like your brother's trusted friends. How can we prepare to defend our children against that? How do you warn your child about the dangers that you, yourself, do not wish to confront? Until we accept that rape is caused by rapists and not clothing, and accept the fact that rapists live in our own neighborhoods or homes, we solve nothing.
I have racked my brain today, thinking of why my boys would be different than those boys who raped the girls. Honestly, I can't come up with any tangible answer. I hope I have raised my sons to have respect for women. Hopefully their senses of right and wrong are well developed. Hopefully they don't feel entitled to treat people as non-human. I think that is where intervention should lie. Instead of blaming the victim and teaching our daughters to grow up and be afraid, we need to teach our sons as well.
Most strangers know my daughter, Paige, as the "other girl" in the Daisy Coleman rape case which is getting national attention. Paige was sexually assaulted at a party with her best friend, Daisy, January 8, 2012. The case has been highly publicized due to the politics involved in the case. Few people know the story of what happened that night. The only people who really know for sure are the girls.
I am not writing this to capitalize on the events of that night. I want to write, for now, about being the mother of a young woman who was sexually assaulted.
I was thinking today as I spoke with a friend of mine, about the reality of the world in which we live. A world where two young women, girls at the time, could leave a house with boys they considered friends, to be assaulted in the basement of the home of one of the boys then dumped in the cold like trash. The world which subsequently turned on the girls, blaming them for doing nothing but being teenage girls. Now their every action is subject to critique and judgment. The way they dress, talk, and act is under public scrutiny as people try to place blame on the girls for what happened.
Having once, long ago, been a teenage girl myself, I remember having put myself in the same position the girls were in that night: drunk, at a party, looking for the attention of boys. The difference between myself and the girls is this: I was with teenage boys who had respect for me and themselves. If the difference between the situations lies in the character of the boys present, how can we place blame on the girls?
Here's how. If this horrible thing happened to these intelligent, independent, beautiful young women, it could happen to anyone. To anyone's daughter or sister. That is a scary prospect for anyone to understand. Especially me. Paige knew the dangers of drinking, strangers, dark alleys and unfamiliar territory. She was not prepared to deal with an attack by a friend. By young, small-town, all-american boys. This is why it is so easy to blame the girls. We don't want to address the fact that the "bad guy" isn't always a stranger. He isn't always ugly or mean. Sometimes he looks just like your brother's trusted friends. How can we prepare to defend our children against that? How do you warn your child about the dangers that you, yourself, do not wish to confront? Until we accept that rape is caused by rapists and not clothing, and accept the fact that rapists live in our own neighborhoods or homes, we solve nothing.
I have racked my brain today, thinking of why my boys would be different than those boys who raped the girls. Honestly, I can't come up with any tangible answer. I hope I have raised my sons to have respect for women. Hopefully their senses of right and wrong are well developed. Hopefully they don't feel entitled to treat people as non-human. I think that is where intervention should lie. Instead of blaming the victim and teaching our daughters to grow up and be afraid, we need to teach our sons as well.
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