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October 4th

By Anonymous

Today is an anniversary of sorts. It's not one I ever wanted, or ever dreamed I would have in my memory bank of important dates, and it's certainly not one I will ever celebrate. But "October 4th" will forever give me pause because this began on that Thursday one year ago. The date has loomed in the back of my mind for a while and I've wondered if I would write about it and what I would say. I thought about it off and on tonight as I chased Landon around a neighborhood park, as we laughed so hard during his bath that he nearly fell under the water, and as I rocked him before bed. Normally I read as he crawls around me too busy to be restrained, but tonight, for the first time in months, he snuggled up on my lap in the rocking chair while I read "Goodnight Moon." And then I read it four more times, holding my toddler who tonight seemed more like a newborn. The words of the book flowed from my mouth without thought, so my mind was free to roam elsewhere. I thought back to that first night in the hospital and how shocked and indignant we were- falling asleep with the absolute certainty that it would all be over soon. I remembered the way people talked to us the next day, like we were guilty and evil and lying, and how we started to get really scared. I remember existing outside of myself- thinking methodically, crying rarely, eating when forced- with every part of me was focused on doing anything and everything possible to get him home. I remember all the people who reached out to us- family, friends, strangers. I remember the people who pulled back. I remember, verbatim, the first blog post I read that said something negative about me- how absolutely stunned I was that someone could doubt me, how naive that now seems, and how much everything I couldn't stop reading still hurts. I remember Landon and how he charmed the nurses and smiled at clocks, and I thank God he never knew the drama surrounding him. I remember it almost as though it happened to someone else.

I just realized I switched to the present tense somewhere in that paragraph. I suppose that's appropriate, it is a lingering part of my present- something about that nightmare pops into my head at least once a day. Usually briefly and sometimes only tangentially, but those memories are always there, just waiting to be recalled by some innocent reminder. The good news is the images are no longer paralyzing. I refuse to dwell on them or get caught back up in the horror, which is why I don't think I'll ever go back and read my archives from that time. Our lives are full and happy- I was thinking today as I got off the plane that this may be the fullest and happiest I have ever been. I love my job, my house, my dogs, my friends, my family, my husband, my adorable, perfect, personality-filled son - I'm blessed beyond what I ever imagined. And I can say that even as a small part of my brain is replaying the scene in the hospital lobby when I handed over my baby to a stranger who was taking him to a shelter.

Sometimes I will let myself wonder why it happened, a futile and anger-inducing exercise. After all, it didn't make me stronger. I was already strong and those months remain the only time in my life I've felt truly weak. It didn't make my marriage stronger, it was already solid. I already knew that I loved my son, that my family loved me, that my friends were not fair-weather. It didn't changed my parenting, at least not for the better. Whenever he trips or falls JP and I check for bruises and reassure each other that anyone would believe the (true) story of how they got there. We both held our breath during his 12-month check-up, secretly afraid the doctor would uncover some injury we couldn't explain. I don't laugh at CPS or child abuse jokes, and I'm uncomfortably aware of how often people make them.

But I think those are the only lingering effects. What a good friend told me several months ago remains true, "You now know (what you knew before) you have friends you can count on, family who will do anything for you, a husband with endless patience and strength, and formidable resources within yourself." I also know that agencies wield a frightening amount of power, that people can be cruel, and that I will never look at an accused the same way again. I've gotten so used to the fact that it happened that every now and then it will hit me just how insane it was- that we were accused of repeatedly and purposefully hurting our son. We truly lived a parent's nightmare, but luckily, it was one from which we were able to wake up and free ourselves. Almost completely.

Full post as published by Lag Liv on October 04, 2008 (boomark / email).