A 15. Flashback # 4 Watchful and sensitive.

Flashback # 4
Watchful and Sensitive

Chapter 15

I wrote Your Name In The sand but The waves Washed It Away, Then I wrote It In The sky but the Wind Blew It Away, So I wrote It In My Heart and That's where It Will stay.

I loved my daughter - She was my source of happiness and as a young child she seemed so caring and sensitive to others. But as she grew there were other signs, other behaviors that I overlooked. - Perhaps I shouldn’t have.

My daughter was bright and extremely vocal. As a baby and toddler, she hit all her milestones early. She was walking more than proficiently at 9 months, completely bypassing the crawling stage. The first day I placed her on the toilet, strapped into a baby pottie insert, she was toilet trained.

She spoke early and chattered incessantly. When we went for walks, I was amazed how she filled our steps with words, words and more words! It was like she didn’t need me. I was a body there to absorb the chatter but not meant to interact.

She seemed an affectionate and caring child. Every morning, the first thing we did was hug and kiss each other and I would tell her I loved her. Because my parents were not tactile and had not verbally expressed love this way, and because I believed it was important for the security and emotional well-being of a child to do so, I bent over backwards to make sure my child had a rich and constant supply of this emotional expression: she was hugged and kissed and told she was loved several times a day.

I recall when she was a toddler, only 2, taking her for one of her shots. She was in my arms and I was amazed as I saw her matter-of-factly watch the needle go into her arm - not a flinch, not a tear. Then, when the toddler behind her got the needle and began crying, she stretched out her arms to be allowed to comfort this child. I brought her close and she wrapped her arms around this child to comfort her.

As a young child, she had an unusual compulsion to feel and stroke people. This could be embarrassing at times. When friends would visit, she would plop herself beside them and proceed to rub and stroke their arms. She would do the same with me, telling me how soft my skin was. She would even attempt to rub my legs in church !

She, herself, was physically sensitive. From the time she could sit up, she was in the habit of taking her finger and meticulously opening her toes, and running her fingers between them. I thought this strange because she was bathed daily and was always clean. When she was older, she told me she was sensitive to the tiniest piece of dust that might get between her toes - that it bothered her.

Later, when she suffered from allergies she would tell me that she would get itchy inside of her ears, where she could not scratch, and on the roof of her mouth. I had allergies as well, but my itching would be contained to my eyes. I could not even fathom getting itchy inside ones ears and on the roof of the mouth!

At home, as a young child, in the house, she was comfortable walking around in her “birthday suit” and I even recall, one time, her removing her clothes in a friends yard and running around the house. I don’t recall her pulling on her clothes or complaining about them or showing any other signs of being sensitive to clothing. As a toddler, I often let her go shoeless - but this was my doing, having read articles that it was best for proper foot development to let children go shoeless as much as possible - But when she wore shoes, she had the best I could find, properly measured and fitted at the “Kiddie Kobler”.

When she was older and into playing musical instrument, first flute, then clarinet, and then piano, I was to discover that she had a very sensitive ears, hearing sounds in the instruments her music teacher’s were not aware of until she brought it to their attention. Her music teacher’s always commented positively on this “gift”.

This ear also displayed itself in other ways. She told me that from the inside of our apartment building, in the living room, the room farthest from the main road that crossed our street, she could hear when busses passed and she could tell which direction they were traveling. I could not even begin to even hear the buses in the apartment. We were located at the back of our building and the main road the buses ran on were some distance from the us.

As a teen, my daughter always had the curtain in her room closed. At the time, I remember I thought she was just lazy and I used to get after her for this - but the curtains always remained drawn. Now, when I think about this, and I wonder if she was sensitive to the light. I don’t remember any other situations of light sensitivity, that I noticed, but, if she was so sensitive to sound, perhaps she was also sensitive to light.

As a teen, I also remember her telling me about her fascination with watching people. For me this was different. Growing up I had always been shy and I did not watch people very much. At my worst, when I was very young, I had my head down to strangers and even hid behind my mother’s skirt. I have since learned the importance of watching people, especially when you are discussing important issues. But at that time, as a young mother I still did not do much watching.
One day my daughter told me about her activities when she went with a bunch of her friends to an amusement park that had various enjoyments including water slides. She informed me she would rather park herself along a pathway where numerous people passed by and just watch them instead of engaging with her friends. At the time, I recall I thought this rather strange for a young person out with her friends, but I recall thinking about the value of such a trait. For example authors: I good writer would have to be a excellent observer of people to be able to incorporate various characters into their books.

This was not me, and was certainly not my idea of a good time, but I supposed this was a harmless, and perhaps even a positive, pastime for my daughter.

A 14. Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Demetri Manos - if you see this - I would like you to contact me please - leave a comment - I will get it - BUT I will not post it

Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Chapter 14

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Psalm 23: 4-5 (King James Version - Bible)


Like a lamb to the slaughter, I began my walk through the valley of the shadow of darkness. I sensed the smell of death but I had been pacified by the naive words of my uncle and the deceitful words of my lawyer.

"Have no fear, the assessment must be professional and unbiased", I was told by these two men who eagerly guided me forward.

"Bu . . . bu . . but, I bleated who are these people? I haven't chosen them, Children's Services has chosen them. It doesn't make sense that the very people who are working against me should be able to dictate who I must submit to in an assessment and I have no say?"

But my words fell on deaf ears. Though this caution made so much sense to me , it did not seem to make the slightest sense to these two men who were suppose to be helping me. It was almost as if my very questioning of such an illustrious system, reflected poorly on myself.

The words were pounded into my head, "These are professionals. Of course they will perform their task professionally. They are not allowed to be biased, and the sooner you submit to this assessment, the soon you will have your grandson back. It will only be a matter of weeks and he will be back with you" These were the enticing tender morsels that were strewn along the dark and rocky pathway leading to the slaughter, and I ruminated on them as I slowly treaded forward.

I forgive my uncle. How could he, a business man from western Canada, have any notion of the corruption so notoriously imbedded in Nova Scotia. At this point, I wasn't even aware that such corruption existed in my province. But my lawyer, he should have known better - And I was later to realize that he did know better. He was a family court lawyer. He knew the system.

He would have been well aware of the notorious abuses of the assessments anyone who challenges Children’s Services are forced into. At the very least, as my lawyer, if he had been doing his job watching out for my best interests, he should have advised me before proceeding, but he did nothing to prepare me for the process.

In the meantime, I was having other concerns about this lawyer: he seemed to have consistent problems with his memory. In one of my communications to my uncle I remember expressing that 98% of my stress came from having to deal with the ineptness of this lawyer.

Still naive about Children's Services, I questioned the case worker about my lawyer, and then, without saying anything about my specific concerns, she informed me that seeing him in court, he seemed to be a good enough lawyer, but that it appeared to her that he had a poor memory.

With this confirmation, I decided that I did not want to continue with this lawyer and I immediately began searching for a new one. But, much later, after this court case had concluded, I stumbled across documentation that would reveal not a poor memory but an extreme conflict of interest ! (I will speak on this later) This document was proof that this man had no right being on my case. His bumbling, his incompetence, and his apparent lack of memory, I was to finally realize were all meant to mess up my case.

But, at this point in time, I was still naïve about the lawyers, the justices, the whole justices system. I assumed I had the misfortune to stumble on a solitary inept lawyer and I assumed my next lawyer would be better.

Ridding myself of lawyer number one and taking on lawyer number two, took place just as I was beginning the assessment process, and for a time I was not represented by legal counsel. During my first interview, the assessor stuck a number of consent papers under my nose pressing me to put my signature to them, immediately. This, in itself, was inappropriate, but I also did not want the assessors to know that I was in a vulnerable position - without a lawyer. I wanted to delayed signing of these papers until I was able to consult someone I trusted.

But unbeknownst to me, my slaughter had been swiftly planned and I was meant to be swiftly executed with this wicked, corrupt assessment. I was working a full-time job, eagerly soaking up the preciously few allotments of supervised visitation thrice weekly with my grandson, as well as attending a number of meetings with a variety of lawyers as I searched for a legal replacement, whilst still juggling my current lawyer.

When I did finally hire a new lawyer, I required additional time acquainting her with my case. How disappointed and perplexed I was to find out that my second lawyer was as blasé about the assessments as my first.

For weeks, I was compelled to surrender every spare moment to this assessment process, consisting of hours of intense verbal interrogation, culminating in what I refer to as a final 5 hour marathon. I remembered this day well. I had taken a bus from work, making a pit stop at a restaurant next to the assessment services for lunch. The restaurant was busy and the service was slow. I had ordered a shrimp pasta but the shrimp was inadequately cooked, and, not having time to reorder, I ate the pasta and left the shrimp on my plate, giving the waitress only a swift explanation as I quickly paid the bill and dashed out the door.

The first part of this marathon began with the usual interrogation with a Social worker, Linda McEachron, but near the end an older woman, Dr Ruth Carter came into the room. Then this second person participated in this final interview/interrogation. When this interview was finally completed I was escorted by the doctor to another room where I was to be administered three different written tests. After a brief explanation, as to how I was to fill out the forms for these tests, I was left alone in the room to complete them. These tests consisted of a number of multiple choice and true/ false questions, with a few complete the sentence statements at the end.

I recall being concerned that a number of the statements on the form were very ambiguous. Every once in a while, the doctor would come in and ask how things were going and if I had any questions. When I raised my concerns and we conversed as to the meaning of a number of the statements, I remember, my saying to this doctor that from my training as a teacher, specifically the training that I received in forming clear questions or statements for examination purposes, I found many of these statements severely lacking. As she clarified to me her understanding of the statements, I indicated to her that I would write these clarification on the forms so that there would not be any misunderstanding as to my meaning when the forms were interpreted.

As I worked on the last page, I was physically exhausted, so much so that when the doctor poked her head in for the last time, my exhaustion was so obvious to her that she set down at the table and verbally asked me the last two or three “complete the sentence'“ statements filling them in in her own handwriting. Feeling totally wiped-out and exhausted, she led me to the front foyer. It was then that I realized that the entire building was deserted. It was past office hours and everyone had already gone home. My head felt light and spacey and I was totally zonked. As a university student I was used to 3 hour exams but this ordeal had been way beyond anything I had ever experienced before.

But the assessment was now completed, I had answered all questions honestly and as completely as possible. I left that building spent and exhausted but I left believing that it would now only be a matter of time before any concerns about me would be dispelled and my grandson would be allowed to come home.

And the tired lamb lay down to rest dreaming of those promised morsels . . . but while she slept, worn and weary, unbeknownst to her, the darkness thickened like an incoming fog as it wrapped its cold and gloomy fingers around her.

If you're going through hell, keep going.- Winston Churchill

A 13 The Wind Blew and My Heart Broke

The Wind Blew and My Heart Broke

Chapter 13

He who forms the mountains, creates the wind, and reveals his thoughts to man, he who turns dawn to darkness, and treads the high places of the earth— the LORD God Almighty is his name. - Amos 4:13, The Bible

Was it only a chance breeze that blew this paper of yesterdays memories against the bottom concrete stairs of my apartment building? Was it an unexplainable fluke that I stopped to bend over to pick up and examine this nondescript paper? It had never been my habit to do so, but as I returned home from work on this late sunny afternoon I did stop to scan this fateful paper at my feet.

To my surprise I noted that it was a paper my daughter had received for participating in a folk dance as a primary student. I remembered that day well. She was cute as a button in a sky blue dress with a trim of pink and yellow along the bodice and hem. I remembered her shining face and her broad smile as she deftly careened across the floor with her partner. Those were happier days and with cherished warmth I remembered that particular memory.

How strange that this paper should be outside in front of me now. Was it possible that it had been in the storage room and some other tenant removing items from their storage area had somehow gotten this caught up with their belongings. But this didn’t seem likely because all my belongings were locked in a cubby hole of a storage area and I didn’t recall anything being loose or hanging out of this compartment.

Puzzled I took the paper into my apartment and set it down on the coffee table.

Busy with changing out of my work clothes and getting supper, I didn’t think about this paper again until several hours later. While sitting on my couch, contemplating this mystery, I decided to take the garbage out to the large industrial dumpster utilized by my apartment building. Then, while I was still in my apartment, it suddenly and strangely came to my mind that I should look into the dumpster when I took the garbage out. This thought had come from somewhere outside me and I thought it extremely strange in its compulsion.

Well, I thought, it won’t hurt to take a peek when I’m out there. So off I went down the hall, out the door and down those steps into the dark night air with my make-do garbage bags, small white grocery bags filled to the brim and knotted by the handles. I remember walking across the street lifting up the heavy top of the container and peering into the blackness, as the pungent odor of garbage enter my nostrils. There perched on the top were 2 wooden containers that I recognized right away as belonging to my daughter. They were long thin boxes, about 2 feet long, just wide enough to hold CDs. I had them made especially for her with sunflowers, a favorite motif of hers, painted along the side.

My heart sank. What was this? These didn’t belong in the garbage! As I continued to search, finding other items belonging to my daughter, my heart sank even farther. Many months previous, during the two week period when my daughter had taken my grandson, she had been living with a male friend in the next apartment building. I could only suspect that she had left all this stuff behind and that he had now thrown it out. But this person knew I was here in the next apartment building. We had always been on speaking terms. After my daughter had left his apartment, I had even given him a much-loved dining room table of mine that I had switched for a smaller model. Why didn’t he phoned me to tell me about these items before throwing them out the way he did?

Dragging in some of my finds, I went into the apartment building and knocked on my friend’s door. The wind had been knocked out of my emotional sails and I needed support. I told her about the things I was finding in the garbage. I remember being surprised that she wasn’t able to help me, she was waiting for company, but she did offer me a flashlight and some large garbage bags. Devastated I returned, alone to my quest, flashlight in tow.

Some of the items I found were loose, others were in bags. Wanting to be sure that nothing had been missed, I jumped into the dumpster, lifting the smelly bags one at a time, poking holes in any that hinted at secreting away items other than the regular garbage. Suddenly out of the darkness, my friend’s friends arrived to help, three of them, a man, his wife and his daughter. I really didn’t know them then and I was a bit startled to see them. Not able to discern my daughter’s belongings from the rest of the garbage, they could not do much more than hold the flashlight for me, as I rummaged around in the smelly darkness, or take items, as I handed them out, but I appreciated their presence for its emotional support.

I took out everything from the dumpster that seemed to be connected to my daughter. Amongst the treasures I found were baby photos of my first grandson who had been adopted out, his wrist band from the hospital, and letters from the adoptive parents reporting his progress, as well as photo of my second grandson. I remember finding some of these photos at the very bottom of the dumpster, lifting them out dripping with garbage juice. I was devastated that such sentimentally important items had just been thrown in the garbage. And I was shocked to realize that if I had not found that piece of paper blown up against the steps earlier in the day, and if I had not been mysteriously drawn to look into the dumpster when I had, all these precious memories would have been buried forever in some garbage dump.

After I managed to drag everything I found into my apartment, I was emotionally spent, but I had to tend to as much as I could right away. First, I quickly washed the smelly garbage juice off of whatever I could, running tap water over the effected photos, and laying them out to dry. I sorted through everything, making sure that all the sentimental treasures remained in my apartment. The rest, I bagged or boxed, and I went down to my friend, who was the superintendent to get the keys to put this into the storage room.

I was emotionally exhausted, feeling empty - totally empty - and I remember just staring ahead as I told my friend all the items that I had found and my shock at finding them in the garbage. Then my friend helped me get the bags and boxes into the elevator and as we descended into the basement I pressed against the back of the elevator, and slowly sank to the floor, telling her that I wouldn’t wish this terrible experience on anyone.

The next day, I phoned my daughter’s ex-roommate asking for an explanation. In answer, he told me that my daughter had left all these items behind when she moved out, that, at one point, he had been able to contact, and she had told him she would come and get everything - but then, she never showed up. After that, he left several messages on her phone - but she never responded.

As it turned out, he was moving out that very week-end and he felt he now had no alternative, but to throw everything out. At this response, I did chastise him for not phoning me first, but what was done was done and it was now water under the bridge.

I was shocked that my daughter would have left such precious things behind. Was this evidence of her serious mental state? Did she remember the importance of the items she had left behind or was her mental state so bad that she didn’t remember or didn’t care? I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever know.

Some weeks later, I went with a friend to the local Salvation Army that was located close to my apartment. This was something we seldom did, in fact I have never been back since, and that would be 3 ½ years now. But we decided to go for a lark, for something to do. Imagine my shock when I went into the store and saw a number of my grandson’s baby clothes and even some of her clothes as well.

Amongst the items I found dispersed throughout the racks of the store were a turquoise hand-knit sweater that I had sewn new heart shaped buttons onto and a brand-name long sleeve forest-green t-shirt belonging to my daughter. It was difficult not to feel compelled to go through the store and retrieve and buy all these items. It felt as if parts of my family had been put up for sale in this very public place. But of course it would have made no sense buying these baby clothes because my grandson would have long since outgrown them. How had these items gotten here? Did my daughter’s roommate bring them here when he was clearing out his apartment? I suppose I will never know this either.

But I am grateful for that wind that blew that paper across my path that day. Without it I would never have found or been able to retrieve those precious memories from that dumpster that night. It was an emotionally hard and difficult night, but the salvation of those treasures were worth every ach of my heart.

We enjoy warmth because we have been cold. We appreciate light because we have been in darkness. By the same token, we can experience joy because we have known sadness. - David Weatherford

A 12. Fashback #3 - Innocence Shattered

Do not miss the NEW SISTER LINK !- Scroll down to the left

I AM, The Word, and The Comforter

Fashback #3
Innocence Shattered
Chapter 12

Me for Me.
I crash into everything that once was
Earth-shattering memories overwhelm
my already wrought soul.
Immersed amongst my painful past,
I crumble beneath all that I have denied.
I have avoided the reality of what I have been through,
for so long,
That I’m not sure that I will be able to function and cope-
all at once.
The demons from my past creep upon me
when I least expect it,
When I’m feeling most vulnerable,
I get swallowed into chest heaving tears.
I’m invisibly shaken, hiding all of the hollowness
That my soul possesses
Within my “everything is okay” smile.
I have locked away so much.
Its buried somewhere beneath my heart.
Everything seems safer there.

My life is a twisted sort of lost.

Facing my childhood,
Attempting to regain some
Sort of control..
Has stripped me of who I am,
And forced me to look at
Myself in the mirror

And learn to love me for me.

- Cassandra - a person who was abused as a young girl http://overcomingandconquering.blogspot.com/2006_11_01_archive.html

My daughter, my one and only child who developed beneath my heart. I conceived you with your father with the intension of raising you at home, but when your father left us on our own, I was proud and I felt I needed to be independent - I needed to go to work as soon a possible. But I had the good fortune to have contact with a social worker who understood the value of a mother raising her own children. When she heard my initial steely determination to go to work as soon as possible, she arranged for me to meet another single mother who had made this decision - her son was then 4 years old.

What I saw frightened me: I saw a mother who had not bonded with her son, whose days were busy with comings and goings, who had very little time to spend with her child. I saw neither a happy child nor a happy mother. With this shock therapy, I immediately realized that I did not want this for you, and, in my heart I knew I did not want this for me.

As a child, I remember seeing pictures in the LIFE magazines of tiny little tots, barely able to walk, lined up like little soldiers in daycares and nurseries in China and Russia. I remember being shocked by these pictures. In those days, day-cares were a foreign concept only implemented in communist countries, where the state controlled their people from cradle to grave.

This was NOT a North American aspiration ! Family was seen as the basis of our society, and the raising of children within the family unit was a sacred concept. This is the Canada I grew up in - I know things are different now and the young mothers of today do not even remember when there was no day-care and most women stayed home to raise their children.

When I had my daughter, times were a-changing. Daycares were now thriving in Canada and the society of women were split, between us and them: the women who went out to work and the few who still chose to remain at home to raise their children. There was a rally cry from the vocal woman libbers of the day pressing all women, everywhere, to get a job. If you didn’t, there was something wrong with you - you were somehow the enemy of the rest of the women who were fighting to open this “brave new world”. It did not matter how young your children or how many, you were to leave your babes-in-arms just as soon as you could and go out and work. And the rest of us were despised and looked down upon - And this hurt. It hurt that we, as women, were devalued by other women because we made a choice to personally raise our families.

For the first time, neighborhoods that once throbbed with the life of laughing, calling, chattering children, hard at the work of play, were silent and empty. When I grew up, we ran the yards, the fields, the streets with our play. The roads, then, were safe havens for hopscotch, skipping, “war”, dodge ball, bike riding, roller skating etc, because during the day the men had taken all the cars to work and in the evenings they were all parked in the driveways. We were not the consumer society we are today - always shopping.

And I remember the playgrounds, then - bursting to capacity. Go to a public playground today - Most are deserted .

We have stopped having children and the few we have are locked away for most of the day within the four walls of some daycare or hidden behind the gates and fences of these institutions we pay to raise our youngest children. And the older children have forgotten how to play. They have forgotten how to play spontaneously and the traditional games and skipping songs that were once handed down from child to child have vanished. Even the traditional rhymes and stories that were handed down from generation to generation have all but disappeared. Now our children learn the games and songs and stories the adults in the daycares and schools teach them. And all of these stem from a commercial source that makes its money selling new songs, new games, new story books etc .

But I chose to be an outcast to raise you. A social outcaste, because I was a single mother, and an outcaste amongst women because I chose to be a stay-at-home mother for you. I did not want a stranger raising you, imparting their values to you. I wanted to raise you with mine.

--------------------------------------------

And then you were three, cute as a button and only three. Up until then, I had only left you with the family of the man I was going out with, a family I had come to know well over the years. Two of the younger sisters, high school students, looked after you when we went out in the evenings. And occasionally his mother looked after you during the daytime. Otherwise, you were always with me.

It was around this time that I began going to a mid-week prayer meeting, an informal gather of believers who gathered to talk and share scripture and songs, at a church in Halifax. Another woman who lived in my apartment building went with me while her 14 year old son looked after my daughter. Her son was neat and well kempt, quiet and polite and every week my boyfriend drove us to the church and later picked us up.

Meanwhile my boyfriend, a licensed mechanic, began befriending this young man, left fatherless when his parents divorced when he was youngster. A love for tinkering with cars drew these two together.

I cannot recall now how long I went to these prayer meetings when one night, when my daughter was asleep in the bedroom, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door I was surprised to see my neighbor with a police officer. As they walked in, it was apparent my neighbor was upset - she was trembling and obviously distraught. The officer informed me that another officer was presently with her son. Earlier they had taken a statement from him and now, because my neighbor was illiterate and could not read this for herself, they wanted someone, not a police officer, to read the statement for her. Puzzled and perplexed, I agreed to do so.

As I began to read, and the narrative unfolded, my friend, cried and I attempted to comfort her as I labored to the end of the statement, juggling between reading, comforting and contenting with my own shock. Her son was confessing to sexually abusing a little girl he had been babysitting just down the hall from me. This woman’s grief was maxed and my compassion was focused on this poor woman who was grieved to the bottom of her soul.

After I finished, the police officer began to tell us what they were doing concerning charges against this young 14 year old youth. We were told he would be sent into treatment, and with the permission of the mother of the child who was abused, the charges would be held over him, but not laid, as long as he continued in treatment. However, if he stopped treatment before the specialists had finished, the charges would be laid against him.

At a certain point, the police officer went, leaving us both his card, and now I was left alone to comfort this broken woman. I cannot remember how long the evening was, but I do recall that all my energy had been directed towards this woman, attempting to comfort and console her.
When finally she stood to leave, I walked her to the door. It was that very moment, as the door was closing behind her, when I was finally able to break from the emotional turmoil of what had just transpired, that my mind, finally released from the choas of the evening that had enveloped me, instantaneously and abruptly made the connection - O my God, this person had babysat my daughter as well.

One might think this would have been the first thing, I should have thought of when I read this young man’s statement. I can only understand that I was in shock, reading the statement for the police office while at the same time trying to contend with and comfort the grief-stricken mother.

Immediately, I woke my daughter. And then being careful not to lead her thoughts, she told me, in some detail, how he had attempted to penetrate her, how it had hurt and how she had pleaded with him to stop.

Now I was the grief-stricken mother. And I remember hugging my precious daughter, kissing her and telling her I loved her, as I always did, several times every day. I lay in bed with her nestled in my arms until she went to sleep. Then I slipped out, and phoned the officer who had left his card.

I don’t remember how long we spoke, but I was told they would arrange for a doctor at the hospital to examine my daughter and speak with her the next day. They would send a police car to drive us to this appointment.

I can only tell you, I was devastated, but, at the same time, I was also aware of a peace and a comfort that I knew come from this new-found God of mine. When I went to the hospital with my daughter, a nurse commented on my composure during this trying time, and I remember telling her from whence this calm came from.

I did not hate this young man. And I also agreed to allow the charges to be held over him to force treatment. I felt this was best for everyone: the boy and any future children he might be in contact with.

I continued to comfort the mother as her son went through months of treatment. Oftentimes, I recall, she would come to my apartment in tears after a particularly strenuous session. But I was her friend and I did what I could to comforted her.

In the end, I broke up with my boyfriend over this. My primary focus was my daughter. I had no objection to my boyfriend continuing to mentor this young man, but I asked him to tell this boy not to run up to him in the parking lot when he came or left if my daughter was with him. But my boyfriend just didn’t get it. He refused to set the boundaries for this young man. I remember we had a HUGE argument over this and, as a result, I abruptly ended the relationship. My daughter and her well being came first!

I remember his family, particularly his mother, were disappointed - they had expected us to marry. But there had been other things - he was a loving, giving man BUT he just was never able to get his priorities straight.

To this day, I remember the exact words of the doctor who saw my daughter “ If she was any older, I would put her in therapy, but because she is so young she will forget this.”

They didn’t know any better then. At that time, the public was not being educated on child abuse. The research on the long terms affects of abuse were not known, and they obviously were ignorant on how this could effect even a very young child. And, most importantly, they didn’t know my daughter. Even at 3, she had a phenomenal memory. I knew she would not forget.

It was approximately 1 year later that the first public education advertisements concerning child abuse began on TV. It was the NO-GO-TELL campaign educating children to say “NO” then to run away and tell someone.

My heart breaks, and I still feel the sting of tears welling up in my eyes when I remember the image of my 4 year old daughter standing right in front of the television screen watching this advertisement. With the back of her head to me, her eyes mesmerized on the screen, she said “ They didn’t have this when it happened to me.”

My precious innocent baby, what I wouldn’t do to be able to go back in time and take this experience away from you - to rescue you, to keep you safe ! But I cannot do this and my pain is more than I can bare.

The doctor did tell me that my daughter might suddenly bubble up details from her experience - And she did - many, many years later - You see, she never forgot.

never ending battle.
anger envelopes my wretched soul

my body shuddering in incessant fear

Im losing all control.

I cringe at the thought of

hearing my voice-for its been taken. stolen. lost for too long.

Ive been stripped of my vocal cords,

torn of my baby-like innocence..left with nothing but a hollow shell

of who I was supposed to be.

I struggle through the minutes,

the hours and the days,

I fight this never ending battle,

in the hopes that one day

I will feel whole again.

Tattered and broken, I stand alone

Unsure of which way Im to go,

I feel trapped within my past,

within the memories, within my old house,

with my _____ on top of me.

I can’t catch my breath, I’m choking

on my five year old screaming voice,

the one that no one heard.

the one that was smashed as a little girl.

the voice,

that Im fighting to find again.

- Cassandra - a person who was abused as a young girl http://overcomingandconquering.blogspot.com/2006_11_01_archive.html

A 11. Swallowed into the System: the Nightmare Continues

Swallowed into the System: the Nightmare Continues

Chapter # 11

At the end of this two week period, Children Services moved in, their jaws opened wide and we all tumbled into our nightmare. Instead of returning my grandson to my home where he was loved and well looked after, he was taken into “care” and placed in a foster home. This, despite the fact that, within the first weeks of my grandson's “kidnapping”, as one woman I know phrases it, Children Services recognized in their own records that I was legally "parent" under the law according to the Adoption Act, because of the time he was in my sole care, and despite the claim of the Children and Family Services Act that all attempts to place children with family are suppose to be explored before placing children in foster homes with strangers.

This action of placing my grandson in a foster home instead of returning him to me was sharply criticized by Dr Carol Pye, the psychologist who reviewed the assessment that I was later forced to submitted to. And no attempt was ever made to contact any relatives so that my grandson could be with family instead of strangers.

Once my grandson was taken into custody, I was denied any access to him until the first court appearance - 6 weeks later! I was later to learn that the first court appearance, once a child is apprehended, according to the Children and Family Services Act is suppose to take place in five days - This did not happen with my grandson. It was six long weeks of worry and concern before I was able to go to court to request being added as a "Third Party" and request immediate access to my grandson.

No legal action was ever taken against me - I was added as Third Party by request. The only thing I did was to dare to raise my hand to request custody of my grandson when it was apparent that Children Services was determined to swallow him into the system.

The legal action that brought this matter to court was against my daughter and the father for physical and emotional neglect over this two week period. This in itself, I was to find out later, was improper because removing a child from a family is only suppose to be done if the concern is ongoing and only after services are offered to help the family. Two weeks does not cut it, and I had already requested help for my daughter and Children Services had done nothing for her!

Incredibly, Children Services took over the court time scheduled for MY custody and maintenance application for their own proceedings. Meanwhile, my uncle from out of province came to assist me. He was not a lawyer but in his line of work, as a consultant, he had acquired a good amount of practical court experience.

Despite the fact that this court action was against both my daughter and the father, the father did not come to the first court appearance and my daughter appeared without council. This would be the only court appearance my daughter would attended for over a year! My question is: how is it possible to have a court action against you go on for a year and no one in the system compels you to appear?

My daughter had now decided to give my grandson up for adoption and she did not want either me or the father to have custody. Though the father had informed Children Services that he would not give his formal permission to have ______adopted out, he still had not decided on any particular action and thus had not come to this first court appearance. As a recognized legal “parent I was also contacted to give my permission to have my grandson adopted out . Of course, my answer was no. My daughter may not have bonded with this child, but I had! I loved him and he was family.

On that first day in court, I was without legal counsel but the justice (the correct term for the judge in the Supreme Court - Family Division of Nova Scotia) allowed my uncle to speak on my behalf. In my uncle's presentation, he informed the court that I had already implemented a court action for custody and maintenance and that I was seeking the amalgamation of these two court actions. He also stated that I was seeking immediate access to my grandson as well as recognition as “Third Party”. This “Third Party” status was significant because having this status granted meant I could actively participate in the court proceedings and that I was privy to all documents involving this case.

This is no small feat when one is dealing with Children Services cases because though the public can access the court documentation of any other court cases in Nova Scotia, they are barred from accessing the records of Children Services court cases - unless they are a party to the proceedings.

This denial of access to Children Services records, I have come to know, is not for the protection of the child, as they would have you believe. Rather, it is to protect the system that habitually works outside the law.

The justice immediately responded in the affirmative to both requests, I would be permitted to apply for “Third Party” status and I was granted immediate access to my grandson. However, the justice explained my original court action would be temporarily placed aside so that I would be able to pick up my action, depending on the outcome of this Children Services case. This option would later prove to be very significant to me.

In response, my daughter, determined to block my access to my grandson, popped up and persistently argued with the justice against my access. The justice was exceedingly patient with my daughter as she persistently repeated her argument stating that she did not want this, that she had an agreement with Children's Services concerning this, and that he, the judge, did not have the power to permit this. In a calm voice, the justice repeatedly responded that he did have this power while my daughter persisted in stating that he did not.

As a watched this spectacle unfold, I was shocked at my daughters total disregard for this justice’s authority, but at the same time I realized that this action, exposed aspects of my daughter character to the court and I believed, in the long run, this might prove advantageous to me. I was naive to the fact that showing disrespect for the court has little to do with the outcome if Children Services is using you to get what they want.

As my uncle and I discussed my options after this first court appearance, we decided to explore the possibility of getting support from Sher and Terry in my effort to get my grandson out of foster care and back home, in my custody, where he belonged. As a result, we arranged to meet this couple at their apartment on March 26, 2000.

But this meeting turned out to be a bizarre and strange encounter. Sprinkled throughout this apartment, were numerous photos of my grandson. Some were individual photos of my grandson, but most were photos with Terry and _____, or Sher and _____, or her son and ______ or all of them together with ______!

This, I noted was a definite change from when they lived in the apartment across the hallway from me. In that apartment, I recalled only one photo of my grandson on display. Here was what my uncle described amounted to a shrine. In an affidavit filed almost five months later my uncle would state , “that with Terry and Sher's apartment full of _______'s pictures and his other memorabilia, it appeared that ______ was already considered a family member. I considered this obsession with ______ to be dangerous and unrealistic for a common law couple to have placed so much attention on _______."

But the worst was yet to come. Before we even broached the subject of supporting me, troubling words tumbled from their lips. First of all, they wanted to make it adamantly clear that they never considered themselves friends of Natasha. This was stated in such venomous tones by Terry and affirmed so vigorously by Sher, I was shocked and the sense of an evil cold knife ripped into the depth of my soul.

Such a statement, and expressed so emphatically, totally took me off guard. Everything that I had seen and knew of their relationship with my daughter, spoke to me of friendship. Yet here they were disowning my daughter with utter disdain and contempt! A chill run down my spine, and I had to ask myself, “If this was not friendship on their part, then what was it?” And the only answer I could fathom was that that this couple had been fawning friendship with my daughter to get close to my grandson. And the realization of this sent a chill, even colder than the last, through me.

My uncle and I did not respond but allowed this couple to continue to babble on, and as they babbled they spoke of their desire to adopt my grandson. It was apparent that they assumed my approval as they glibly chatted on that they would allow me to continue to see my grandson if they were successful.

A 10. Flashback # 2 - My Comforter

Flashback # 2
My Comforter

Chapter 10

For I know the plans I have for you," declares the LORD, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. - The Bible - Jeremiah 29: 11-13

My sweet, beautiful daughter. My source of total happiness. How I loved you! I breathed in - and there was joy! And I breathed out - and there was happiness! Never crying, always happy, always smiling and aware - so aware - so awake - so observant ! You breathed in the world while I breathed in joy. And I thanked a God I did not know for such a blessing.

For the first 6 months of her life, her only nourishment came from me, and when solids were slowly introduced, I wanted to let her decide when she wanted to wean. I had no problems or hang-ups with breastfeeding. I believed it was a normal, natural and loving experience to share with a baby and the breastfeeding books promised a reward of even closer bonding for doing what was natural and right. What did I have to lose? - Besides my heart - And this precious little-one already had that.

She never cried for hunger, I always anticipated and the milk was always warm and ready to go. She nestled in my arms as she suckled and I loved her.

I remember when I went out visiting, she was always with me. When she would fall asleep, contented and happy in my arms, people often would say, “you can lay her down here or here” But this made not sense to me - It was obvious that she was content in my arms and I was content to hear her gentle dozing breaths while I gazed into the her angelic content and innocent face.

“Thank-you no,” I would say, “We are both happy right where we are.”

I did not understand. Why would I want to put her down? It reminded me of the many mothers in the hospital when I gave birth. They would have the babies in their cots at the end of their beds - untouched and unheld - most of the day. I did not understand this either. Isn’t there suppose to be a instantaneous bonding between mother and child? Isn’t it suppose to be instinctive? I was instinctively drawn to love and hold my daughter. Wasn’t this normal? And if this was normal then why was I not seeing the same reflected in others? I did not understand .

***************

We had baby walkers then, a tray with wheels! Unfortunately because some parents did not use these wisely, resulting in children falling down staircases and having terrible accidents, these walkers are no longer allowed to be legally sold in this country. This is a shame, because, wisely used, these were a wonderful mobility aid for very young children.

So my daughter’s curiosity would not be stifled and to allow her maximum mobility, I baby-proofed my whole living area within arms reach of the baby walker. Because of this she had free-rein to scuttle around on her feet wherever she wanted to go. So, before she was even able to walk, she had a freedom most young children never experience - And she loved it!

Now one might think, early mobility in such a walker might delay her walking skills - But this was NOT the case. I remember the day she learned to pull herself up to stand in the crib - She beamed with such pride at this accomplishment! And then, when I would put her down to crawl, she would immediately head for anything she could use to pull herself up with. Once standing, she would make insistent gruntings accompanied by a persistent waving of her hand until I placed another item beside the first so that she could remain standing but move on a little farther. And so she would repeat herself until she had managed to have me construct a circle of items that allowed her to make the full circuit of the room and then she would continue - round and round or back and forth, stopping every once in a while to proudly survey “her” circular construction until she decided to stop to play with a toy on the floor. But essentially, she refused to crawl, preferring an upward position for mobility.

By 9 months, my daughter was walking on her own and when she began to talk she could really chatter. I remember walking with her outdoors. She was just ahead of me, incessantly chatting away, oblivious to whether I was really listening to her or not and just happy to be engaged in this one-sided verbal discourse.

*********************

For more than two years after your birth, I remained emotionally attached to your father and despite the overwhelming love and joy I had raising you, the pain of the rejection I could not understand began to draw a shadow over my life and my feeling.

Your father, originally from New Brunswick, from a potato farming family, came down from Alberta to see us for 2 days shortly after you were born. I could not understand how he could just leave us - leave you! A baby grows and changes so quickly. He was going to miss all those important milestones. I could not understand.
And then he would write - very short notes and sometimes he would phone. At one point, he said he wanted me to come out West. He was going to marry me off the plane and we would honeymoon in Hawaii. This was coming from a man who had done nothing to help me - or his child. Well, I might be emotionally attached but I wasn’t stupid! So I agreed, at his expense, to go out and see him for a visit. My mother lived in the same city, Calgary, and I would stay with her.

Oh the plans he had. He was going to take me to this exotic garden on some urban rooftop and he was going to take me on a trip to the Rockies. But, as it turned out, this was all talk. It was as if the moment he saw me, he got cold feet again (he never did marry). He refused to take me to any of the places he promised .

You were only 7 months old and he seemed to be very much attached to you. He would rock you and hold you and walk with you in his arms. He would help you take steps as he held your arms. We didn’t fight, he just did not want to commit. I could not understand.

So once again I was rebuked and I went back home.

But I remained emotionally attached to your father. I had a child with him - a beautiful child - YOU ! I just could not understand how a man could turn his back on such love and such a wonderful child. I was sad and dejected and powerless to free myself from the emotional chains that bound me to him. Chains that I knew were now attempting to drag me down into the darkness.

You were 2 when I began a serious search for God - I did not even know if He even existed but I was sincere in this quest, reading my Bible daily and praying “If you really exist . . . ” And when I finished reading I asked “ If this is true, give me the faith I need to believe”.

Then I remember one day, standing in the middle of my living room, being particularly burdened by my emotional chain and I cried out to God to remove it, to take it from me, telling Him that I was giving it to Him, that I didn’t want it any more.

All I can do is tell you what happened: This emotional tie that was causing me such pain was GONE ! - LIFTED ! - IMMEDIATELY ! - never to bother me again ! The very moment I asked it was gone, and I knew it was gone and at that very moment I knew that I knew that I knew - God was real!

Later, as I continued to read the Bible, I got to the Gospel of John. As I read, I was surprised to learn things I had never been told in all my many years going to Sunday School. I knew there was suppose to be God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost/Spirit: the Trinity. But no one ever told me anything about this Holy Spirit. But now I was reading in my Bible (a Bible I obtained when it was left unspoken-for in my place of employment 3 years out of high school) that Jesus, Himself, claimed this Holy Spirit, also referred to as The Comforter, was very important.

From what I was reading, it was obvious that Jesus wanted us to know about the Holy Spirit and how to have this part of the Trinity working directly in our lives. Why did no one ever tell me about this? How could I have gone to Sunday School for years with perfect attendance and have no one tell me this? I did not understand.

But God had lifted this shackle from me and I now knew HE WAS REAL, and here was Jesus saying all I had to do was ask for this Holy Spirit - "Just ask" He said (Luke 11:9-13) - So I did. And once again my request was answered IMMEDIATELY - and, this time, DRAMATICALLY as well ! The details of this, I will not relate because everyone’s first encounter with the Holy Spirit is different and I don’t believe we should be running after an experience. Run after God, seek Him with your whole heart and then He will give you your own personal, glorious experience!

This continuing encounter with my God has changed me and made me a different person. I can love when previously there could be no love. I have empathy for those who abuse me and my family. I do not hate - I pray, from the heart, for those who wrong me. God has also given me the ability and the emotional strength to fight for social justice, though at times it can be very frustrating .

But please understand, I do not boast in myself. I am human. I am a work in progress - There is nothing within myself to boast of. Instead I boast of God who is continually at work within me and I thank Him for the changes He has wrought in my mind and in my thinking. In doing so, He has released my burdens and broken my chains many times over.

Do not fret because of evil men or be envious of those who do wrong; for like the grass they will soon wither, like green plants they will soon die away.
Trust in the LORD and do good; dwell in the land and enjoy safe pasture.
Delight yourself in the LORD and he will give you the desires of your heart.
Commit your way to the LORD; trust in him and he will do this:
He will make your righteousness shine like the dawn, the justice of your cause like the noonday sun.
Be still before the LORD and wait patiently for him; do not fret when men succeed in their ways, when they carry out their wicked schemes.
Refrain from anger and turn from wrath; do not fret—it leads only to evil.
For evil men will be cut off, but those who hope in the LORD will inherit the land.
A little while, and the wicked will be no more; though you look for them, they will not be found.
But the meek will inherit the land and enjoy great peace.
The wicked plot against the righteous and gnash their teeth at them; but the Lord laughs at the wicked, for he knows their day is coming.
The wicked draw the sword and bend the bow to bring down the poor and needy, to slay those whose ways are upright.
But their swords will pierce their own hearts, and their bows will be broken.
Better the little that the righteous have than the wealth of many wicked; for the power of the wicked will be broken, but the LORD upholds the righteous.
The days of the blameless are known to the LORD, and their inheritance will endure forever.
In times of disaster they will not wither; in days of famine they will enjoy plenty.
But the wicked will perish: The LORD's enemies will be like the beauty of the fields, they will vanish—vanish like smoke. -The Bible - Psalm 37:1- 20

9. Sher and Terry

Sher and Terry
Chapter
9

I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word in reality. This is why right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant.- Martin Luther King

Two unmarried identical twin teens, Sher and Shauna, pregnant at the same time. I cannot begin to imagine the thoughts and feelings that must have been going through the mind of their mother during such trying circumstances. But the impact from the actions of this mother would stretch its destructive tentacles across time, space, and families into my home more than 19 years later.

What I know of this woman’s story was collected from conversational fragments with my daughter who had befriended one of the twins, Sher, who lived across the hallway in my apartment building with her common law husband Terry and her 13 year old son from her previous marriage. Sher was a quiet, soft-spoken, petit woman, red-haired and freckly. Terry was a large,“ teddy bear” type of man, well groomed, with graying hair, and soft-spoken as well.

From my daughter’s conversations with this woman, she gleaned a story of deepest tragedy, a story that deserve a publication of its own. According to this woman, her first child, a newborn son, was fraudulently stolen from her when the Children’s Aid Society conspired with her mother to trick her into signing away her child for adoption.

Only recently, did another piece of the puzzle come together when I was informed that this grandmother used to be a case worker for Children’s Aid. Needless to say, this event caused a permanent rift between her and her mother and it also rent apart the usual close relationship between twins because, unlike her, the other twin, Shauna, was allowed to keep her child.

Just before my grandson was born, Sher had attempted to contact her, now grown, son. However, her attempts had been blocked by the hostility of the adoptive parents and her birth son was refusing to speak with her on the phone. To me, this woman's history and her recent unsuccessful attempt at reconciliation with the son she had lost as a newborn, explained this woman's unusual interest and fixation on my newborn grandson.

For the first nine months of my grandson's life, my daughter lived with me in my home. Originally, my daughter was not working and she was suppose to be home looking after _____.

From my daughter’s conversations to me, as well as her numerous visitations to this couple’s apartment when I was home, I believed my daughter was forging a close relationship with this couple who lived across the hall. But they were her friends and, at this point, I had not even conversed with them.

Because my daughter was having problems coping with the responsibility of motherhood, on occasion, I had been forced to bring my grandson to work. I knew she wasn’t bonding with her child and I had attempted, to no avail, to get help from Children’s Services, but I thought that this occasional respite during the week-days, as well as my assistance on the week-ends was enough. When my grandson was home with my daughter, I believed she was looking after him.

It was not until my daughter was removed from my home by the police that I began to piece together a story of a mother who spent very little time with her child. According to the neighbors, as soon as I left for work, my daughter would knock on this couple's door and leave _____ with them, and when she was seen with my grandson, she was detached and uncaring. I was horrified that only now were my neighbors telling me their concerns and only now was I beginning to realize the depth of my daughter’s dysfunction.

In hindsight, I recall memories of my daughter sitting on the front steps of our apartment building smoking while my grandson was left in the stroller between the two glass doors of the front entrance. I remember thinking this strange and speaking to her on this. Her response was that she could still see him and she did not want to be smoking around him. And then, I remember the time my daughter had let this couple have my grandson for an overnight. There had been no need for this on my daughter's part, I had been home, as was my daughter, and either one of us could have been looking after him, but this had been a request from this couple.

I was very uncomfortable about the arrangement and I did confront my daughter about my feelings, but she insisted there was nothing wrong with this.

As it happened, the very week-end my daughter was removed from my house by the police, Sher took her son and left her husband. Even though I had doubts about this couple, I was concerned that my grandson, in one full swoop, had, now, lost two significant people in his life, Sher and his mother, and I did not think it in his best interest to deprive him of his relationship with Terry. So now, with my daughter gone, I, for the first time, began to established a relationship with Terry.

Originally I made short visits to Terry’s apartment with ______ and it was immediately apparent that there was an established bond between him and my grandson. ______ shone in his presence and I could see that already there was established unique routine of behavior and response between them. Feeling that ______ was happy and safe with Terry, we eventually settled into a routine where Terry would have ______ for one hour a day. This was a lot less than Terry was used to, but this was the amount of time that I was comfortable with. During this hour, I was able to get a few chores done and I also prided myself on my ability to get the bus to the mall, with a predetermined errand in mind, and to be back within the hour on the next returning bus. It was good to have this break that I could depend upon but I never extended the visitation time beyond the predetermined hour. I felt comfortable with an hour but nothing more.

Meanwhile Terry was having problems with his health, a rare environmental sensitivity syndrome, that would come and go, occasionally flaring up and slowly disabling him to the point that he would be restricted to a wheelchair. At the time, he was slowly on the downslide and his energy was waning so I think, in the end, especially without Sher not being there, he was content with this limited arrangement as well. When I took my grandson over for his visit, I always supplied his diapers, food, and a bottle, and there was always a change of clothes in the event of some messy spill or spit up. By the end of the second month, this visitation routine was well established and seemed to be working well.

Meanwhile _______ was going to a sitter for three days during the weekday, including one evening while I attended university courses. I brought him to work with me twice a week and then of course I looked after him on the weekends. Every day, except the day of my university class, he had his hourly visit with Terry.

Though the police had put an undertaking against my daughter that was meant to prevent her from contacting me, because I felt that it was important for her to maintain contact with her child, we both mutually disregarded this stipulation, and I allowed her access whenever she wanted. However, during the next three months, my daughter saw her son only 6 times. But during this time, she made arrangements for the father to see my grandson 3 times. My daughter’s visits were usually short, often times in my home, but she did take him out a few times. I distinctly remember her returning him to me while I was at work one day because she was exceedingly rude to me in front of other people and I recall these people being shocked by her manner.

One evening I met my daughter at the entrance to her apartment building so that she could sign over the family allowance cheque to me. Here, she related to me that she had been suspended from her job for a week, and once more I heard a woeful story of victimization that, unfortunately had become a routine since her very first high school job. When these victimization stories began, I believed them. I was her mother and I remember feeling sympathetic, protective, and defensive for her. Of course I believed her. But over the years, she continued to get fired from every one of her jobs and there was always the same victimizations story. Eventually, I realized that I needed to begin questioning her stories. For some reason, she was unable to hold a job for any length of time and because she persisted in wrapped herself in these self-victimization stories, I had no idea what her actual problem was.

Halfway through the third month, Sher began visiting Terry at his apartment. It seemed that reconciliation was in process between this couple. I continued my grandson’s daily hour visits with Terry and, at times, when I took him over, Sher was visiting. This did not disturb me because I knew that my grandson had an established relationship with this woman as well. What did disturb me was that, during these visits, Sher would assertively knock at by door requesting my grandson beyond the agreed upon hour. I never allowed this, but Sher persisted, knocking long and loudly, to the point that I felt harassed. As a result, I eventually ignored her knocks. I was happy that this couple seemed to be working towards reconciliation, but it disturbed me greatly that whenever she visited Terry, she wanted my grandson. It did was not seem appropriate for reconciliation to take place around a child, especially a child that was not even their own, and not even family!

I was to find out that during these reconciliation encounters, this couple were formulating plans for my grandson’s first birthday. When they first informed me about this, they, quite bizarrely, expected me to just hand my grandson over to them for this celebration. I had not been consulted about this plan and neither was I invited. To say the least, this was extremely weird, but I made no comments and asked no questions. Though I had no intention of handing over ______ to these people, I said nothing because I was curious to observe the unfolding of this bizarre behavior.

Then one evening approaching the end of the third month, I returned from my university course to find a small note attached to my apartment door:

[Insert note verbatim here]

Terry had moved out to live with Sher and still making the assumption of having ______ for this birthday party, the note stated that he would call to let me know when he would pick up my grandson. Terry had given me no forewarning of his intension to move, but, now, suddenly, he was gone! I was later to learn from the superintendent of the apartment building that Terry had been in extreme arrears with his rent and that he had sneaked out without the owner’s knowledge.

Well, correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't there seem to be something strange about non-family members planning an unasked for, significant first birthday party, for a child without the primary caregiver? I was having serious concerns about this couple and the warning bells were now ringing loud and clear. These people were strange, and the relationship they perceived they had with my grandson was stranger still!

When this couple lived across the hall, their continued interest with my grandson made some sense, but, as non-family members moving across town, it made no sense that they expected me to freely hand over my infant grandson to them without my being present. If there had been an effort to forge a relationship with me and _______ together, I could have envisioned my going over to their place on occasion for a visit with ______. But their assumptions were deeply disturbing.

By the middle of the third month, after my daughter was showing little interest for ______ and making no attempt to financially contribute towards him, despite the fact that she was then working and despite the fact that she had successfully harassed money from the father towards his expenses, I filed for legal custody. Endeavoring to force these parents to show some kind of habitual responsibility, I also filed for maintenance from both my daughter and the father. In hindsight, perhaps I should not have done this. Earlier, before my daughter had been removed from my home, she had wanted to sign my grandson over to me, but, at that time, she had also made it very clear that she would not relinquish legal custody. In fact, she had stated adamantly and succinctly, "If you ever go after custody, I will fight you on that!"

Within two days of filing the papers for legal custody and maintenance, the consequences of that threat dramatically unfolded and the journey towards Children Services and the destruction of my family sped forward at an alarming rate. The jaws of this destructive agency gaped open. We were all about to tumble in, to be separated, chewed, and pulverized beyond all recognition. On this momentous evening, a knock sounded on my apartment door and I opened it to find my daughter in the hallway with a police officer beside her. The father was not apparent at the beginning, but he did appear later. I remember this police officer standing outside my doorway holding out my daughter's custody documents like he was displaying it to a crowd. "I have these papers. What papers do you have?", he declared. When I tried to explain that I was presently in the process of going after custody through the courts, I was told that since I did not presently have "a paper" giving me custody, that I had to hand my grandson over to my daughter.

I was naive. I have always been a law abiding citizen, and I thought, if a policeman was making such a statement, it must be true, so reluctantly I handed my grandson over to my daughter in the hallway. But since that fateful mistake, I have learned that not only was this information given me untrue but that the police in the Halifax Regional Municipality are well aware of this untruth.

First and foremost, without a warrant or court order, the police officer did not have the right to take my grandson from me, and, if I had stood my ground, they would not have physically taken him away from me. But I, not knowing any better, handed him over. Second, the police officer should have been unaware of the assault charges that the police department themselves had earlier laid against my daughter? But, in the stress of the moment, alone and believing, at the time, that I had no choice in this matter, I did not even think to bring up the matter of these charges. Lastly, when my grandson was taken, no attempt was made to assure that my grandson was being safely transported because it was later determined that he was taken away in a car without a car seat.

During the next two weeks, I made every efforts to determine my grandson's whereabouts. From phone calls to a number of people, I was able to determine that he had been shuffled around to a number of different places and that during this time no one person, including his mother was with him. The Children's Services reports that I would soon become very familiar later verified these findings. However, during this two week period, I was able to see my grandson twice. The first time, I was a able to determine that he had been left with Sher and Terry and I asked to come and see him while he was there.

This visit was short and difficult and was covered in Observations # 19 and 20 in the previous chapter. During this visit, I was told that my grandson had come to them dirty and unkempt. This broke my heart. He had always been clean, and well looked after, and with me, he had always been loved and cherished.

My second visit, at my daughter’s apartment. Covered by observation # 21 in the previous chapter: