Justice For Boo – PART I – The Discovery – 2009

BOO’S STORY:

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The restaurant was dimly lit and the mood was calm and easy, hushed voices whispering stories to one another throughout its interior. It was the place where we had celebrated my daughter’s past few birthday dinners, at her request; she had taken a liking to seafood as she grew up. Personally, I don’t care for it too much, but like most things in motherhood, that factor washed out the window with my child’s stated wishes. There we sat, talking about school and her wide array of “frenemies” there; her face randomly becoming lit by the shadows of light dancing around the archaic candle at our table – her increasing beauty affecting a slap in my face from Good Ol’ Father Time, I recall.

“Can you believe you’re already thirteen?” I teased her across the table, snickering and rolling my eyes in an effort to provoke her into a response.

Our relationship had been heavily strained leading up to this night: her thirteenth birthday – an estrangement that happened as a result of the local courts and child welfare agencies. We had been separated for nearly a year at that time, the very first year of our two-unit family’s still unrecognized, yet inevitable demise; the very first of a long string of years lost down the drains of time.

An imposing wedge in the form of a gavel had been forcibly squeezed between us with a shoehorn. We had suffered a trauma to our daily lives when she had been court-ordered to “residential treatment” at a nearby facility for children who suffer from behavioral issues (which Boo most certainly did).

“No…..it feels like I should be turning sixteen already…” was her response from across the heavily lacquered shine of a redwood tabletop, her large, hazel doe eyes shot up again to meet mine “…feels like I’ve been gone forever…”Boo’s reply was not one of anger or bitterness, as is often the case when it comes to the things Boo says.

And so it goes: A simple observation of Boo’s reality regularly and innocently transforms into a crushing blow to my own.

I reached over and grabbed her greasy hand, locked my fingers tightly around the little fingers so likened to my own, and said, “This’ll all be over before you know it, Kiddo…hang in there, we’re almost done.” Boo smiled, a smile that has the ability to melt away every bad notion that’s ever entered my mind, body or soul, and simply said, “I know, Mom.”

The rest of our dinner had been eaten without incident; and when the waiter and some random servers from other tables came around with a slice of cake topped off by a candle and an obnoxious level of un-harmonized singing, she happily accepted the attention and dessert offering. It was during this last part of her birthday meal that everything changed forever.

She began to talk about her counselor, a man with whom she had grown very fond of and close to over the time she had been at the facility the judge ordered to go to; a man in whom I had always secretly harbored a deep distrust for and could not put my finger on exactly why that was. The details remain blurry but the end result stands out like a black sheep among newborn albino lambs:

–         My daughter proceeded to absentmindedly and unintentionally (by attempting to show off how mature she was becoming while away from home, I believe) spend over twenty minutes describing to me in a bragging-like manner (because she was not yet old enough to even comprehend that a crime was being committed against her) – the gut-stabbing realities that defined a new direction being taken in the “relationship” between she and her “one-to-one counselor “at the facility, and it was anything, but acceptable.

This was the true beginning of my own Living Hell, making the time and ALMOST the life I had lost to Boo’s father pale in comparison to the grief, despair, hopelessness, helplessness and injustice that accompanied this night’s discovery of a pedophile on the county payroll, counseling children in a facility to which 90% of them are court-ordered to be.

 

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Beckoning Strength

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My entire existence feels quite strained and stretched past its own ability; my thoughts and feelings have been going through a change that’s so unprecedented and foreign to me, and my objectives in life have seemed to alter themselves as a result. I am going to once more, try to explain, try to describe, to convey in accuracy, my current state of being – without the fear of what someone else might think about it…because the need that I harbor for support and guidance always outweighs the shame and embarrassment….my desire for sanity balances out my habit for unhealthiness.

 

My only child, my daughter, age 16.5, has returned again as of late last night; she was picked up by the local police and then taken to the Emergency Room, as usual – from which, her tragic pattern has proven, she will leave once more and return to the world of Roulette, where she has chosen to live an insane life on her own.

It’s happened – finally…my heart and soul has gone cold and totally robotic towards her now…from so many years of preparing myself to lose her in a horrible, murderous way to some psychopath she’s willingly running around with; all of my tears, enough to fill the driest basin – for naught in the end. She has been dead to me for a short time now, I recognize – hence my current mourning period and the loss that I feel in every ounce of who I ever was. A genetic loss, a loss deeper than anything possible. A beautiful, delicate legacy, lost to the darkness of drug addiction and exploitation, trafficking and human madness.

So many many instances in which I have been the captive – a hostage to the absolutely appalling decisions made by others. It’s time for me to write this out loud, after all these years of chaos, of chasing a normalcy that was elusive, of fighting tooth and nail against the puppets staged to fight me – all while the invisible opponent slashed and cut at my heart from my womb. 

How many times did I save you? How many of your “wolf!” cries did I answer and walk you out of safely? Each time, only to be spat on by you in the end, when you grew bored of normalcy and made the sale. You continue to cry “wolf!” so regularly, even still…unable to see that the effectiveness of its meaning has long left the repetitive noise it creates. Ineffectiveness is a state that is lost on time and effort; and it is a concept that has sadly and tragically come to define our relationship. 

 

I can’t keep swinging back and forth like this – it will drive me as insane as the retched people my daughter lives amongst in the Nether-wastelands she seems to love so much.

Its as if, after helplessly watching her drown, unable to save her, and then, after finally accepting the defeat of losing her – I’m walking away to grieve her loss, only to be shocked by her sudden resurface and renewed plea for my help – help that she doesn’t really want at all. So goes the gut-wrenching cycle that no sooner is she is fitfully dragged to shore and renewed breath, the girl unfailingly belly-crawls herself back into the depths and sinks without a fight. Over and over and over and over.

My own brothers tell me to let her sink and move on…my own brothers!…

my therapist tells me the same thing! A therapist!

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p style=”text-align:center;”>My heart tells me I can’t win, and that I am better just mourning the loss as if its real, because it is.

Today’s Harsh Realities:

This morning I woke up to see a text message from a +1 phone number waiting on my cell phone’s screen for me…

When I open it, I see my only child’s face staring back at me through hollow and soulless eyes – a “selfie” she took and sent to me for whatever reason – no message, no text; just a reminder of her lasting beauty and dwindling potential. She’s been missing again for 5 days, today – after returning from what I believe had to have been her most near-fatal “adventure” on the streets of our over-populated and world-famous busy city. She was lucky to have made it back alive last time…

The number she text from traced back to an escort service about 30 minutes south from where we live – again. She holds no respect for herself at all; and always finds the most degrading and self-destructive circumstance available to her. She is perpetually on self-destruct mode.

PAIN = your only baby on earth, in whom you have poured every last drop of your being and energy – gradually growing older to defy the idea of nurture and sway to the side of nature – becoming someone too much like her father, who nearly killed you before your escape from him.

FAILURE = your only child, your “legacy” to the world: slowly fading away to the Dark Side of life happily and willingly. Your only child has no original ideas, dreams, goals, opinions or standards; her existence is the epitome of “simple”, requiring no morals or empathy as a human being to function properly. She is unable to even feel for her own mother for Christ Sake…she is lost and seeming to loving it. I try so hard to relate but can’t.

REGRET = your worst decision ever: the girl’s father, who you spend every day of your life regretting in every possible way – shining brightly through the smile and eyes of the daughter you had belonging to him. Despite the fact that he has never spent more than an hour with her as a young baby, she has grown up to resemble him uncannily. I must have been Hitler or Genghis Khan in a former lifetime…maybe a cruel slave owner or a Spanish Inquisitor…just fucking shoot me already please!Image

Gone Again…

I just got the call that has been Déjà vu’d into my existence like some horror-esque Groundhog Day – my daughter has gone missing from the private hospital in which she has been recovery from her last disappearance; she has opted to leave once again by her own free will. And just like that, she’s gone into the unknown (and known to a terrifying degree) without a trace or a second thought about her own safety or livelihood.  She doesn’t understand the mathematics of her situation, the power of equation – probability and finite conclusions.

I am old enough to know that we are each going through life as a dollar bill in the pocket of a manic gambler in a casino, drink in hand; we will play anywhere from one to a bazillion times before we run out of luck and are gone to the masses of dollar bills inside the machine that was the swallower of the gambler hopes and dreams. I am able to recognize the fact that the odds are already stacked against this situation; and with the gambler carelessly spinning wheel of chance time and again, her odds are quickly thinning. I can see how the mathematics of probability declare the eventuality of her luck running out and the wheel stopping at a very unhappy ending.

I’ve told her this, I have explained that one day, she is going to hitch a ride with the WRONG man and she will lose the ability to decide when and how to come home again when she’s ready; I’ve told her that she is gambling with her very life when she impulsively disappears from sanity like this…she doesn’t care.

I knew it was just a matter of time before I received a call from yet another detective on a newly filed missing person’s case on my only child; and I know it’s just a matter of time before other horrible calls come at the rate my daughter is at with her self-worth in the world. It baffles me, truly…I don’t really do the praying thing but anyone out there who does please pray for my daughter’s safety in the days to come.

Damn it, these are the days when surviving is the most depressing thing that I’ve done for myself.