PARENTAL ALIENATION: Just because YOU were a failure as a spouse doesn’t make ME a failure as a parent.

I was a good mother. I cherished my role.  Even from the very beginning my nurturing abilities were instinctive.  I nursed my children instead of giving them formula.  I prepared their first meals with natural ingredients in my food processor.  I took them on daily outings.  As babies and toddlers, they enjoyed weekly playgroups.  Their medical and dental care was always up-to-date.  They were always bathed and dressed in freshly laundered clothing.  There was nothing they lacked, except for paternal interaction. 

Their father frequently proclaimed that because he worked during the day, he should not have to take care of the children.  He considered them “work”, and announced their activities “boring”.  His life centered on his job, getting high with his friends, spending time on his boat, dalliances with other women and his drug dealings.  His choice of lifestyle greatly conflicted on my family values.  I always believed that family came first.  I always anticipated dinners, activities and outings with my family.  Instead, I had solitary meals with my children.  I had no access to money, so our activities were limited to my creativity.  Everything in my life was controlled by my husband’s rules and temper.  I bore the brunt of his anger, but my sons were victim as well.  They wore the marks of his beating, and endured the scars of his harsh threats.  I was too frightened to call the police, as I felt it was my fault for my inability to stop his attack on my sons, and feared he would next turn his anger on my 2 year old daughter, and surely killed her.  I thought I would be punished for his abuse and lose custody of my children.      

Night after night, I would pray for a way to be rescued.  I found my escape in the form of an inheritance from my great uncle.  Having my own money meant freedom, and I eventually used every penny to leave and hire a divorce attorney.  Life without him meant peace.  My heart palpitations stopped, as did my stress.  I viewed my lifestyle changes and going back to work as a small price to pay for being able to breathe again.  I had no anger toward my ex husband; I merely did not want him as a life partner.      

The fact I filed for divorce meant much more to him than the dissolution of a marriage.  Divorce meant he had failed as a husband and a father.  To view it that dramatically was not unusual for a man who met all the components of narcissistic personality disorder and antisocial personality disorder.  It is not uncommon for two personality disorders to merge, but when they do, it makes for an extremely dangerous individual.  The narcissistic sociopath believes the world revolves around him, is concerned with only his needs, feels societal rules do not apply to him, and has no empathy toward others.  Severing a relationship with a narcissistic sociopath, creates a reaction that is severe and retaliation that is cruel.  They are incredulous that someone would leave someone as wonderful as he believes himself to be, and evokes the need to prove to the world that she is actually the crazy person. 

Despite his years of disinterest in the children, he filed for custody.  Serving as his accomplice was a woman chosen solely for her willingness to obey his directions and provide childcare, so he would not have to alter his lifestyle.  Along with his lawyer who had previous sanctions for unethical practices in custody cases, he was prepared to implement his punishment to the mother of his children for ending the marriage.

It seemed impossible that a judge would actually award custody to this man, yet, by using her unscrupulous tactics, his attorney was able to find a judge who changed the custody.  It did not matter that he had a criminal record, was a drug dealer, and batterer.  He denied everything – even the submitted pictures of his fingerprints on my neck after he strangled me; and appallingly he was awarded sole physical and legal custody.  

I was granted liberal visitation, and did not have to pay child support.  Although heartbroken from the unfairness, I continued to parent successfully, becoming extremely resourceful in juggling my meager salary to provide a loving lifestyle for my children.  I rallied and began to experience many positive changes.  But each happy occurrence was like a thorn in the side of my ex husband, causing him to retaliate in some cruel ways, usually to the detriment of the children.  He did not allow them to bring clothing or toys to my home, he stopped their medical and dental care, and he cut off my daughter’s long hair.  Each joyful event in my life was punctuated with another malicious deed, even a physical attack when I was pregnant with my new husband’s baby.     

But anything he did or said could not erase my children’s memories of the loving mother that used to tuck them into bed each night.  So, my ex had to take more drastic steps.  He filed false criminal charges against me, and brought an ex-parte motion into court on my birthday to halt my visits; resulting in the outcome he desired, lasting more than four childless years, based on a lie.  During that time, he would show court documents to my children and tell them, “Your mother did something very bad”, tainting their memories.

After years of fighting the judicial system, I was reunited with three strangers, who had become teenagers during the lost years.  Although parts of their memories were unblemished, their father had created doubts.  Despite the loving thoughts that may have sustained them during those vacant years, reservations were thrown into their young minds creating confusion of what they really remembered. 

As we slowly began to rebuild a relationship, my ex requested we forget the past and start fresh.  Agreeing for the sake of the children, I should have realized that he had not changed.  He still viewed each positive change in my life as a dagger of his own defeat.  The more the children enjoyed time with me and their younger sister became the trigger my ex needed to build upon the chain of maternal negativity he had been creating for years.  And this time it had to be final.

He used every method of negating anything I did for them, as well as taunting them that I only cared about my youngest daughter and spent all my money on her without revealing she received monthly stipends from her late father.  One by one, they broke off communication with me.  They would never reveal why they were doing so.  Any calls, letters or e-mails were ignored.  My final attempt was an e-mail I sent informing them that their only biological grandparent had passed away.  My sons ignored the news, but my older daughter, who had once written a note to me in crayon stating she wanted to live with me every day of the week and not just weekends, sent a cruel message indicating that she did not feel it was important to go to her grandmother’s funeral because the relationship she had with her “wasn’t pleasant”.  Despite my attempt to inform her that attending a funeral was to support the living, her responses were bitter, unbending, and gloating of her “wonderful life” with her father. 

I can only feel pity for three children whose memories have been replaced by bogus horror stories fed to them since childhood.  I can feel sadness that they have been raised by someone seeking vengeance rather than offering love.  My ex has not changed his ways.  His lifestyle still revolves around himself and his desires.  In contrast, my youngest daughter has enjoyed the benefits of being raised with unselfish love.  She attended private school, summer camp and has traveled to Israel.  Her medical and dental care is up-to-date, and she has embraced her religion.  She has grown up with all the traditional support and values celebrated within wholesome family environments. 

In predicting the future of my alienated children, I fear they will be faced with a myriad of problems and obstacles.  From behaviors I have witnessed, I see years of counseling.  Should they choose to seek answers, it will mean looking at themselves and their past, something that many people are too frightened to learn.  Maybe they will then turn to me for answers.  I hope that the truth will bring some clarity to them and dredge up the memories of the mother who cared for them, and the father who was seldom there.  I hope they will come to their own conclusions; for if they chose to alienate their father, it will be of their own decision, and desire to erase the demon of their past.

Pity

As a writer, sometimes, it is a challenge to decide what word best suits the emotion you are trying to express.  My writing often revolves around topics that evoke a variety of sentiments.  I love the thesaurus.  I love finding alternate ways to describe something.  Often, although the meaning is similar, the words bear a slightly different tone.  Recently, I looked up the word pity, and found many synonyms: shame, disappointment, misfortune, sympathy, and compassion.  These words mean the same thing, but each word has a different flavor. 

For example:  A glamorous Hollywood movie star recently underwent a double mastectomy to prohibit the growth of the cancer cells her medical history dictated.  As a high risk woman she opted to take somewhat drastic precautions to avoid the disease. I have compassion and sympathy for a surely difficult decision, but I also have admiration for her bravery.  Pity is not a word I would use in connection with Angelina Jolie, for she is a survivor.

Heinous crimes are always in the forefront of our news.  The most recent one is the Jodi Arias trial who received a Murder One verdict for the heinous murder of her former boyfriend Travis Alexander.  When the jury could not reach a decision regarding the death penalty, Travis’s family broke down in tears.  Watching them, I felt empathy that justice had not been given that day.  My heart ached for them and for their pain.  Pity is not a word I would use in connection with the siblings of Travis Alexander, for they are survivors.

Pity is a word used for situations that appear to be unchangeable.  Pity is used for those in a downward spiral, or stuck in their circumstances, stagnant, and unable to find the strength to question, move or rectify.  I would use the word pity for the starving children of the infomercials, living in horrible conditions.  Pity is induced toward the suffering victims of handicaps or deformities.  Pity is also called to mind for children of hostile aggressive parenting or parental alienation.  This behavior is not visible like the Save The Children infomercials.  This is a secretive occurrence that happens behind closed doors, hiding the atmosphere of revenge, and the methods used to prompt the children to hate.  One can only have pity for them at the unfairness of being estranged from a loving parent, and being betrayed by their other parent, who is selfishly utilizing his own anger to promote revenge.  What a horrible childhood it must be when the one person you trust is lying just because they are angry that their former spouse who wanted a divorce.  My three oldest children have the misfortune to be such victims.  They were exposed to continuous vitriolic verbiage since a very young age.  If they did not hear it from their father, they would hear it from their step-mother, who was equally misguided and cruel.

This was confirmed years ago when the nine-year old seated beside me at the ballet school, questioned my identity after seeing my daughter wave to me from her dance class.  After I told her I was Arielle’s mother, she stated, “Oh.  I’ve heard all about you!”  She was the niece of my daughter’s step-mother.  Why would a 9 year old be privy to any conversation about me?  My ex was constantly spewing evil, and I wondered what was going on in that house that allowed young children to hear, and easy remember his sordid words.  It was happening in a house where the secrets were concealed.                  

To date, my three oldest children (now 21, 22, and 24) are fully alienated by their father’s cruel ways.  Nevertheless, they have been continuously feeding his narcissistic supply, as he is the money giver.  Regardless of what he does, they worship him.  They have no sense of speculation.  They have no questions regarding his gleeful slander.  He has erased any reasoning abilities from their minds.  They are, in a sense, malleable puppets, on this earth to do the bidding of a malicious sociopath.  Pitiable.   

Maybe someday they’ll return to me with questions or regret.  I do not know that answer nor can I be consumed with these young adults whose emotions are impenetrable, hardened and mean.  I can only concentrate on making a wonderful life for my youngest daughter.  Sometimes, I have flashes of thoughts about my oldest children, yet all I feel is intense pity for three individuals whose future relationships will undoubtedly be bleak.  Unless they can start to realize that healthy people do not encourage their children to hate, based on lies, then the cycle of being a pitiful individual will continue.  Personally, I would rather be known for my strength as a survivor, than pitied for remaining a victim.  

Yard Sale

Today I had a yard sale.  Being very analytical, I debated over each detail – when should I hang the signs?  The day before, or the morning of my sale?  And where?  And how large did they need to be?  Tape or nails?  Should I post pictures online of the items I was selling?  Should I run the ad in other publications?  Should I bring a sign to the location of other yard sales in the area – so perhaps they can send their customers to my house once they’re finished.  I know I can make myself a little meshugana worrying about silly points – but I like knowing I put 100% effort in each endeavor.  I was so worried about this yard sale, as it seems like such a new and foreign event to plan…..until, for some reason, I remembered another yard sale I hosted…17 years ago.

I was moving out of the house in Newton.  How naïve I had been in believing that my ex husband was going to buy another house after renting for a year – in an attempt to alleviate his non-payment of taxes for over 10 years.  He had sworn he would never live in Newton – only because he knew that’s where I wanted to live and raise my children.  He had to be the decision maker…as well as coming up with the original idea.  How stupid was it to agree to live in a rental house for 1 year, just prior to going on the market?  But, we all make mistakes….and we all digress…..

 At that time, all yard sales ads were printed in local newspapers.  My ex was living with his mistress in her house and I was planning on moving further North with the children, which was closer to my new job.   He never read the paper, but he relied on his source of information from my (former) best friend.  They had an ongoing affair and she reported everything I was doing or planning.  So, it should have come as no surprise when midday during my yard sale, he pulled up in his Toyota 4-Runner and screamed out the window, “You can’t have this sale!  You’re selling marital assets!” 

Ironically, there was a woman there chatting with my mother, who was helping out.  The woman looked up when she heard the yelling.  “Who is that?....He looks familiar…”  My mother told her who he was, as the woman happened to be a former teacher at Needham High School.  Upon hearing his name, the woman nodded her head.  “Yes, I remember him.  He was extremely problematic.  Your daughter is lucky to be away from him.” 

The event was actually something I later laughed about.  On drives with friends, if we saw a yard sale, we’d yell out the windows, “Get away from those marital assets!” and then burst into laughter.  It never ceases to amaze me that the more I learn and reflect on the characteristics of a scorned narcissistic sociopath, the luckier I feel to be free.

Today, my yard sale was not as successful as I would have liked, but it was a start in unloading some unwanted items.  It was a quiet and peaceful day with no unwarranted interruptions from a crazy man yelling at me from his window.  But, I had already unloaded that unwanted item 17 years ago.  

The Bunny Hop

Within the past few years, there has been an overabundance of rabbit sightings.  Almost everyone I know have told me about the bunches of bunnies they see in their yards.  Everyone seems to love bunnies.  Of course, they are so cute, hopping through the grass, or just sitting with their little noses twitching.  These small mammals seem to be the perfect pet for someone who does not want to walk a dog or change cat litter.  I do not mind the latter, so I never entertained the thought of acquiring a rabbit as a pet.   But the emergence of these cute little animals hopping through the yards reminded of the time my children begged me for a bunny.

“Can we get one mom, please?”  The children were begging me to buy the bunny for sale at a country fair.  I was torn between wanting to please them, and disappointment.  I wondered how my children’s father would feel about having a docile, pet that required little care in comparison to a dog or a cat.  I remembered his reaction years ago when I suggested getting a dog as a pet for the children.  

 “Okay,” he had said; then added, “but I want an aggressive breed – not a stupid terrier like your mother has!”  Wow…there was SO much wrong in his answer.  In suggesting a pet for my children, I had assumed he understood that we would get a breed that would be gentle with children.  I did not have my heart set on a particular breed, but I did wish for certain traits.  Aggression was not one of them.  And with that, our discussion ended.

Now faced with their pleas for a bunny, I wondered how he would react.  I decided to try to call him.  When he did not answer, I left a message and waited for a return call.  It was not unusual for him to ignore my call as he called only if he needed something from me.  Oddly, when picking up the children from a visit, he would greet them with fabricated concern, “I was so worried about you guys!” despite the absence of any check-in calls.  As a worried parent would have called, his comments were strictly to plant a seed of fear with the children.  Cruelly calculated, as he was smug in knowing he only had custody due to his attorney’s unethical behavior and my record was spotless.

“It will be fine with dad!”  The children assured me.  “He said we could have a pet!”  Really?  Well, his wife had an old cat.  So perhaps he was ready to introduce a new pet, prior to the inevitable death of the cat.  And it was only a small rabbit that lived in a cage.  So, against my better judgment, I bought them the bunny and the cage.  I stress it was against my better judgment.  However, when a good mother is victimized by her batterer within court, and loses custody inexplicably, she tends to over compensate to her children’s wishes. 

On the ride home, the children talked excitedly about their new pet.  They debated about what to name her, and talked about the fun they had that day – the music, the hayrides and the food.   As we got closer to Natick, their demeanor began to change.  Their chatter had stopped.  Their voices were no longer enthusiastic.  They sounded strained and nervous.  When we got to the house, they were downright frightened.  Halfheartedly, they took the caged little bunny and closed my car door.  Suddenly, their father ran out of the house.  “Give that back to her!  You can’t have that here!” 

The children started screaming, “You said we could get a bunny!”      

“I’ll get it for you, not HER!” he shouted.  Turning to me, he snarled, “You better take that with you.”

Reasonably, I said, “I left you a message and you never called me back. But if you do not want it, let me know tomorrow and I will find a home for it.”

My ex, a narcissistic sociopath was selfish to a fault, often cruel, and lacking empathy for anyone but himself.  He could not listen or accept reason as he was the one who had to make the decision or have the final say.  But, at the moment, he was stuck.  “YOU can’t just get them a pet without my approval.  I am the one in charge of everything.” He declared pompously, in an attempt to let me know that he relished in being allowed to have some control over me. 

Sweetly I replied, “I will find the bunny a home.  Now, I have to run because I have a date.”  And I drove off.  My last comment was like sticking a knife in his gut.  I could not resist because the thought of me with another man made him livid.  I knew I was risking some sort of retaliation, but for the moment, the look on his face was priceless.

I called the children before I went out that evening.  I wanted to make certain they were safe, and their father did not take his anger out on them.  They gleefully told me that their step sister had a friend who had several pet bunnies and welcomed one more.  Their voices reflected the relief that they would not have to bear the burden of their father’s anger. 

At least for that night.    

Thoughts From The 10th Annual Battered Mother’s Custody Conference

The 10^th Annual Battered Mother’s Custody Conference was held the weekend of May 10^th, 2013.  I was honored to be a presenter among a distinguished, brave and respected group of people.  Upon reviewing the list of workshops, there were several I was interested in attending.  My own experiences as the wife of a batterer, and subsequent victim of him and his unethical attorney in the family courts, led me to select only a few workshops to attend, as I could not bear to endure an overload of listening to tragic cases of abuse, unjust custody and brainwashed children.  Too many stories or ones with similar themes still bring back flashbacks of horrific incidents, and evoke bouts of panic.  While not full-blown post traumatic stress, listening to comparable events can cause quickening heart beats and rapid breathing. My sporadic attendance did not keep me from hearing the experiences from some of the attendees.  Every case was shocking and unique yet contained some nuances of what I had endured, either by my ex husband or in conjunction with his (former) second wife.  But listening to others, serves as a reminder that your own story is just as compelling, and your participation as a supporter and survivor is truly valuable.           

Hearing the cruelness other women endured by their ex always cause a painful remembrance, yet there is renewed validation as well.  It is common for batterers to either deny the abuse, or place the blame on their victim.  When living with a batterer, it is not uncommon to become prey to gaslighting.  Taken from the 1944 movie Gaslight, the term is used to describe an abuser’s behavior of accusing his victim of false deeds, as well as ensuring her isolation.  It’s a way of creating self doubt, as well as forcing her to lose her independence.  A victim can often question herself when under the control of an abuser.  In writing my book, “…Until You Die”: The Narcissist’s Promise, there was the slimmest thread of uncertainty.  It was not until I was in class for domestic violence advocacy certification, that I even heard the term gaslighting.  The description of the term was a revelation as well as the final piece of validation I needed.        

During the conference, when one survivor related a time her abuser utilized a mocking tone that left her feeling sickened and helpless, which induced the exact pit-in-the stomach recollection after hearing that same nauseatingly mocking tenor from my abuser, as he continued his harassing deeds that continued for years.  There was a tremendous tale of survival from a young man who fled from his sexually abusive father, finding his freedom by emancipation with a young marriage in Nevada.  Another story reminded me of my ex’s cruelty toward my children with his second wife as a willing accomplice.  Hearing of the perverted glee of tormenting the children brought back these heinous memories.  Even during the conference, I began to wish my oldest son had the same courage after his step mother exposed herself to him, and his father openly made lewd and lascivious comments to her teenage daughter.  It was a house full of cruelty, perversion, abuse and intense fear.  My children were terrified, yet too young and unable to do anything to change their situation.

Many of the women attendees were interested in making modifications in our family courts so abusers will no longer be able to freely manipulate the system.  When that was brought up in the workshop I was conducting, I explained that our courts need a complete overhaul beginning with something as minor as administrative errors.  For example; the report written by the guardian ad litem in my case did not include anything that warranted losing parental rights.  The judge denied my ex’s motion for a change in custody.  If our court had accurate ways to track motions that were previously heard, his unethical attorney would never have been able to judge shop and present the motion two additional times until she got the answer she sought for her client.  In essence…I lost custody of my children due to an administrative mistake.  And that’s tragic.     

If all the work, dedication, support, and solidarity can someday bring about significant changes in our family court, our children will not have to endure the same fate.  Many of us are fighting despite the fact our children may be gone as well as severely damaged.  But, as loving, strong and fabulous mothers, we feel it’s our responsibility to continue to fight this battle, even if our children have been lost. 

I am thankful everyday for the daughter I have with me.  In comparison with my three older children who were ultimately raised by an abuser, it is crystal clear on who succeeded as parent and who failed.  Sadly, the products of failed parenting will probably be facing their own court battles, as they are no longer emotionally healthy individuals.  And if we are successful in changing our family courts – in their future, they may find themselves in the unenviable role of a non-custodial parent.     

The Name Game

In the movie, “The Crucible”, Daniel Day Lewis, who plays John Proctor is faced with either admitting he was consorting with the devil or go to the gallows.  But in saving his own life, he would be putting his name on a piece of paper, for everyone in the town to witness.  He passionately screams out, “Let me keep my name!”  But his options are non-negotiable.  He chooses to hang, rather than live a life in the shadows of the only name he’s ever had, forever blackened with a false admission. 

I faced a challenge with my name when the attorney representing my ex in court, pointed at me and demanded to the judge, “She is using MY client’s name!  She still wants to be married to him!”  Unlike John Proctor, I bore the name of my ex with indifference.  My matter-of fact rational was merely sharing the same surname as my children.  The fact it was his name was of no consequence to me, as I had long ago lost any feeling for this man due to his abuse and control.  That name held no respect, but after losing everything in my divorce, I still used the name to prevent further distancing from my children    

I was engaged to my second husband before the ink on was dry on my divorce documents.  My ex husband mockingly asked what name I was going to use?  It seemed logical to hyphenate both surnames, so I still had a connection to my children, as well as my new husband.  Unfortunately, due to longstanding issues he could not conquer, my husband suddenly disappeared when our daughter was barely three months old.  After a year without contact, I again pondered the issue of names.  My choices were to use the name of a man who was missing or a name associated with cruel abuse.  I chose to claim my own identity.   

The name battle had been raging in the presence of my children when their new step-mother would scream at them, “Your mother is using MY name!”  It was more important for her to adopt a new name and ignore the name bond she shared with her daughters.  My children were inordinately stressed from her constant badgering.  I thought my decision would alleviate some of their tension.  At first they were confused and my daughter asked if I would still be her mommy.  “Of course I’ll always be your mommy!  But I think it will be easier if I have a name that’s just mine.”  They understood.

I began to think of what name to select.  My mother’s maiden name was Robinson, which would be a bit redundant   I though of surnames started with “R”…but it seemed too contrived.  How could I just pick a random name?  Should I use my maiden name of Schlager?  I never liked the throaty sound of 4 consonants coming together followed by a guttural “G”.  It did seem natural to select a name beginning with “Sh”, a bit simpler than “Sch”.  During a random perusal of an obituary page in the newspaper, I noticed announcement for Shaye, an elderly person from the Jewish community.  I tried out the name and repeated, Robin Shaye.  It had a pretty sound…but also sounded familiar.  Suddenly, I remembered the movie, “And God created women…”  The remake starring Rebecca DeMornay (also a name changer), who played a character named Robin Shea who was an incarcerated musician and escaped from jail.  It was almost metaphorical of my life.  I, too, was a musician, and had escaped from my jail of being married to an abuser who was so controlling I had renamed him, and called him the Warden.

Analytical and wanting to be sure, I did a quick numerology check on the name.  Utilizing my full name, the numbers added up to a lucky 7 – just like my birth date!  Not only that, Shaye sounded like an anglicized Schlager.  It made sense. 

I was excited to legally receive my new name.  After standing before a judge and stating my reasons, I was granted with a document imprinted with my new name and emblazed with a gold foil seal.  It was especially beautiful because it symbolized a new beginning for me as an independent woman. 

My baby had been using her father’s surname for about a year.  Because of his absence from her life, I thought it was be less complicated to explain different names when she got a bit older.  I learned she could use the name Shaye without going to court.  I informed her daycare and pediatrician that she would be using my name.  Even her public school allowed her to use Shaye, instead of the name on her birth certificate.  When she was eight years old, her father resurfaced.  He had been crushed by years of self abuse.  It took him over a year to dredge up the courage to telephone our daughter. He died two months later.  His death opened the door to a legal name change yet her father’s name is also her birthright. 

I will leave it up to her if she wishes to change her name legally.  Whatever path she takes, I will support.  She still is joined to her father’s family by a grandmother, siblings and uncles.  I am hoping she may someday experience a strong familial bond with her father’s family, regardless of whatever name she claims as her own.  In the future, I see a strong young woman who may never want to take the name of her future husband.  She is showing the signs of young adult independence as well as a self pride.  I am hoping I had a little to do with that.  

A Grim Fairy Tale

Once upon a time there was a mother who had three beautiful children – two handsome boys and one beautiful girl.  They were everything to her.  The rising sun and setting moon could not measure up to the love she had in her heart for her children.  She made everyday an adventure. Although she had little money, she always came up with creative ideas to make each day fun and special. 

One day, the children didn't see her.  Their father had appeared and introduced them to a new house belonging to a new woman he said would be a better mother than the one they would no longer see.  The children were bewildered because this new woman was unpleasant.  She yelled at them all the time.  She never took them on outings.  She never sang to them or read them stories.  But, she was all they had, so in time they accepted her as a mother.  They clamored for their father's attention, but when he was there, most of his conversation centered on what a terrible person their own mother was and how lucky they were to be away from that terrible person.  In time, they started to believe it as well. 

There came a day when they finally were able to see their mother.  In the time they were apart, the mother had a baby.  They were so excited to see her and meet their new little sister.  Her hugs were as warm as ever, and she spoke to them in loving tones.  The fog that had grown through the years slowly dissipated as the children began to remember.  But their happiness was soon shattered by their father who daily told them that she only loved her youngest daughter and gave her all her love and possessions, while denying them with her lies.

Saddened, the children began to draw away from their mother.  Seeking a maternal figure, they grew closer to the woman who was now their father's wife.  In time, they did not ask about their mother and eventually they did not want to see her at all.  They coldly turned away when their mother tried to see them.  When their grandmother died, their mother again reached out to them, but they cruelly refused to attend their grandmother’s funeral. 

It was then that the mother had to make a difficult decision.  She could not think about her three older children any longer.  All of her attempts to talk to them were futile.  They were too frightened by their father to ask the details of their childhood, and and terrified to learn the truth, thus exposing their father as the liar.  So the mother devoted her life only to her youngest child, promising her she would no longer try to contact the older children because it made her sad, and her daughter did not like to see her mother unhappy. 

Years went by and the children went off to their own lives and families.  One day the three oldest children learned that their mother had died.   They went to the funeral and approached their younger sister who was standing there, her grief visible.  Approaching her, they briefly murmured condolences, and then turned to leave.  "Wait!" their sister spoke.  "I have a copy of Mom's will."  The three turned back, each remembering suddenly how much their mother had loved them.  Emotions welled up as the pain of all those lost years came rushing back.  She was their mother and they abandoned her. They asked no questions.  They never stood up to their father; and instead cried confused tears into their pillows.  "We're sorry," they cried.  "We loved Mom!  We're sorry we left you too!" 

As their tears flowed, their sister read from their mother's will: "To my two sons and oldest daughter- I loved you more than my own life, but you turned from me and never returned.  It made me sad that you chose to ignore your mother.  However, I did not want to leave you out of my will.  I want to give you something so you will always remember me....therefore, I leave to each of you one dollar.  This is so you will never forget that you only have one mother.”

The youngest daughter folded the will.  “She left me everything else.  But I would give it all away if she could have died knowing that you loved her as much as I did.”  She turned and walked away as one.  She would strongly stand as the one person who was fortunate to have her mother's love, which she knew would always be there.