WELCOMED CHANGE
Samuel would occasionally see his mother. But usually only when her parents were in town. Other than seeing Aida at one of Samuel’s school awards evenings, I rarely saw her. But to be perfectly honest, I was much happier with not having anything to do with her. Still, I did find it rather peculiar that we’d never had a conversation about Samuel’s well-being since our last meeting at the attorney’s office to finalize our custody agreement. I was somewhat surprised to receive an email from Aida shortly before Ellen’s sixteenth birthday. I hadn’t seen Ellen in eight years, not since she was so brutally removed from my care. I was even more surprised that it was essentially a letter of apology. Aida had left Martin, and in her email she apologized ‘ . . . for not maintaining a better relationship with you, Jeremy, and Samuel and not enabling you to continue your relationship with Ellen.’ She thanked me for keeping Samuel available to her and went on to explain: ‘It was very difficult living with Martin, and he kept me under a tight rein.’ She had a new man in her life, someone I apparently knew, and who she believed would be good for the kids. Then she signed off with, ‘Clean House, Trust God, Help Others.’
I’d briefly been introduced to Grant at a meeting of Narcotics Anonymous. It wasn’t one of my regular meetings and I’d never actually had a conversation with him. He was a newcomer at the time, and I was asked if I’d be willing to sponsor him. Up to that point, I’d never declined a single request for sponsorship and if he’d asked me himself, I’m pretty sure that would have said yes. Except, it wasn’t him that asked but rather one of NA’s mothers, who appeared to have already started a relationship with him. In NA, it’s strongly suggested that for our first year of recovery we avoid any form of intimacy, and we best not get ourselves into a relationship. It’s a common cause, if not the leading cause, of relapse. I personally fell for someone in my ninth month of sobriety, only to be told by my sponsor that it wasn’t a good idea. In fact, he was rather adamant that if I wasn’t prepared to wait, the chances were I’d relapse and in the process I could quite possibly end up losing or harming my children. So when I was told Grant had only been clean for a little over thirty days, I agreed to sponsor him. But then I added my first suggestion – he extract himself from this relationship or whatever it was that was going on between them. I’m not sure if he was given my answer, but he never ended up asking me directly.
Geographically we attended different meetings, so we never crossed paths again. However, when he got engaged to Aida, I did receive several calls from other concerned members of NA who’d gotten to know and like him. From all accounts, he was a really good guy. He was an active service member of the fellowship who seemed to be working the program to the best of his ability. Bottom line – I couldn’t and I simply wouldn’t, interfere. Besides, what on earth would I possibly have said to him, and why would he want to listen to anything an ex-
husband might have to say? If the roles were reversed, I know that I wouldn’t. Even though I really didn’t know Grant, as a fellow member I was naturally concerned for him. However, as selfish as it sounds, those concerns were easily overridden by the immeasurable sense of relief that I felt for Ellen.
Things did improve and they started having Samuel over for alternate weekends. It wasn’t perfect, and it did irritate me that once again it was left entirely up to me to do all the fetching and carrying whenever they wanted to see Samuel. Then one weekend while skateboarding he fell and broke his wrist. In fairness, it was a hairline fracture that any parent could easily miss. But without checking, they left him alone for more than twenty-four hours. They did leave him with a few painkillers, but by the following day he called and asked me to please collect him. In high school, I’d spent four years with St John Ambulance, so when I examined his wrist I knew it needed to be x-rayed and sure enough his arm had to be placed in a cast. But here’s the thing, in one ear I had the attending physician so annoyed with me for not bringing Samuel in earlier that he chose to read me a section of the child protection act. At the same time, I had Aida who was visibly pissed off that I was denying her the opportunity to bond. I hardly said a word, but at that moment I thought about handing my phone over to the doctor so the two of them could discuss their differences.
Then there was the matter of child support. I’d never asked for any child support from either of my children’s mothers. It was only after I became ill, and the business and I were firing on less than one cylinder that I knew I had to learn how to ask for help. But it also dawned on me that it had probably only been my ego standing in the way of Samuel’s right to be financially supported by both parents, even though Aida was clearly in a better financial position than I was. After a relatively short court battle I had to settle for less than fifteen per cent of the amount that I paid Aida – while Samuel was solely in my care.
In my reply to Aida’s letter of apology, after swallowing my false sense of pride by letting her know that I was struggling, I really only asked Aida for two things. First, could she please just be a little bit more considerate of the fact that I was ill, but that I still had a business and a household to manage – if she wasn’t going to show up, could she just let us know? The second was her child support payments. If for some reason she couldn’t meet her financial obligation, could she at least let me know when she thought she could pay?
I was struggling and I was afraid that I was incurring debt that I might not be able to repay, so I specifically asked if she would please prioritize her child support. For a little while things did improve, and I was happy Samuel was getting to spend time with his mother. I occasionally got to see Ellen and she seemed to be okay – and I could tell that she was really happy to have Grant in her life. But still, the odd child support payment would go missing without any explanation, and when I asked about it my emails would simply go unanswered.
ELLEN’S 16TH BIRTHDAY 2009
As part of the executive management team for a local casino, Grant had arranged to host Ellen’s sixteenth birthday in a part of the casino inspired by the spirit of District Six. I could appreciate why the architect wanted to tap into the colourful hustle and bustle of balcony life filled with jostling shoppers, street vendors, and children playing in the streets. But, of course, that was all before it was bulldozed and the community forcibly removed. Enough of my thinking! This was Ellen’s sweet-sixteen birthday party and given our history I was pleasantly surprised to have been invited. Still, I couldn’t help but question the use of what was destroyed to target gambling, which more often than not preys on the more vulnerable within our society.
Grant and Aida had done a magnificent job and Ellen looked absolutely radiant in one of Coco Chanel’s timeless necessities, the classic little black dress, elegantly finished with a playful splash of cerise pink. But I only got a glimpse of Ellen, and I didn’t get to wish her well. Ellen’s biological father had flown in for the occasion and he came over to greet me. But before we could say hello Aida interceded, even though I was holding an invitation that she’d sent, and I was asked to leave. I don’t know what Aida was thinking, but it was obvious that she didn’t want the two of us talking. But why she’d even think that we’d swap notes or discuss her on the occasion of Ellen’s birthday was beyond me.
I waited for Samuel at a coffee shop on the other side of the casino complex. I should have been pissed off, and I’d honestly had enough of Aida’s fear of being found out. But in my diary the previous night, I’d jotted down just how much I’d enjoyed shopping for Ellen. Ellen would probably be the only daughter I’d have, and it’s so much more fun shopping for girls. So while I waited, I chose to reminisce about Ellen’s infectious giggle and the positive changes in her life. She now had Grant, and her father had specially flown out for her birthday. And from what I could briefly see, she seemed to have developed an enthusiastic bunch of friends whom she’d invited to her party.
I’m not sure about what happened next. I can only retrospectively assume that an immeasurable sense of relief swept me away like a tsunami. I don’t ever remember playing as a child and I still avoid games like the plague. But, in the pre-dawn stillness of the following morning, I simply couldn’t stop myself. Feeling like I’d lost my mind, I grabbed a stone from the garden and drew some lines and squares and started playing hopscotch in the middle of the road. A kid’s game that I’d never played, but the only game that I could recall. Samuel woke to discover me hopping in the middle of the street and remarked: ‘That’s a girl’s game, dad.’ Nonetheless, he joined in and we took turns hopping from one leg to the other between squares, as we imagined the game might be played. We sang out loud, something else, that I rarely do – ‘Let it be, let it be, whispered words of wisdom let it be.’
THE EDGE OF MADNESS
The tsunami of relief I felt for Ellen triggered what sounds like the start of a badly written joke, which started with shadowy forms, a speech therapist, a Rabbi, and a Hindu Avatar walking into my life. They had me following instructions and delivering messages, while constantly questioning my sanity. Plato wrote ‘Madness, provided it comes as the gift of heaven, is the channel by which we receive the greatest blessings . . . So, according to the evidence provided by our ancestors, madness is a nobler thing than sober sense.’
Well, I don’t know too much philosophy or psychiatry, so I thought I best keep Kathy informed. Thinking I’d started to manifest symptoms of schizophrenia, I jokingly suggested that she might want to arrange a padded room for me. But what started with a game of hopscotch in the middle of the night became my nightly routine for the next hundred and twenty days. The following night I woke up a little after midnight with an overwhelming compulsion to write. Half asleep, I wandered to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. Unable to go back to sleep, I decided to catch up on the news only to be told to turn off the TV and write. As suggested by my sponsor, I’d gotten into the habit of doing a daily inventory. It reminded me to be grateful and helped me to let go of whatever was going on in my head. I’d often include the next day’s to-do list and somehow, it all made me sleep a lot better. But I hadn’t written for a few days, so thinking my consciousness had grown a pair of lungs, I decided to listen if only to get back to sleep.
I came to understand that 12:15 am was about to become my new non-negotiable starting time. Complaining didn’t help and only made me feel more certifiable. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me,’ I’d argue. ‘You know I was up till after eleven last night. I was doing service listening to an addict who’d relapsed and you still wake me up with less than an hour’s sleep and insist that I write!’ At the start, some of what went on reminded me of the hospital work I’d done as a child. As a new Christian, I’d taken to visiting the local hospital to visit anyone who was alone. But at times I’d know when I had to return, and sure enough, I’d be there holding a stranger’s hand for their final few breaths. At that time I believed this energy was called the Holy Spirit and I felt like a swirling, Sufi vessel of God.
Despite my initial claims of confusion, I knew from the very first moment I sat down to write I was being asked to share my story. But why me? Someone who’s practically illiterate and struggling to share their story with Kathy in the safety of therapy? At the time and to the best of my knowledge, there were only three books on the subject of childhood sexual abuse, all written by women. And I knew all too well the fear that men and boys face having to admit we were sexually victimized – fear it may indicate weakness or homosexuality, which can still result in negative social stigmatization.
‘A man gazing at the stars is proverbially at the mercy of the puddles in the street.’ I thought Alexander Smith’s quote, which I had read at a King Cake children’s birthday party venue I’d chosen for Jeremy’s ninth birthday, might help. Perhaps if I just followed these instructions one step at a time, I might just get there. It could help me to disclose all I had been so determined to hide, and I might end up helping someone else.
My version of the Third Step Prayer – ‘God, I offer myself to You – To build with me and to do with me as You will. Relieve me of the bondage of self that I may better do Your will. Take away my difficulties that victory over them may bear witness to those I would help of Your power, Your love and Your way of life. May I do Your will always.’
With the Third Step prayer in mind, I rearranged my working hours to utilize the morning hours to research, read, transcribe, make notes, and do my best to make some sense of it all. At 6:30 am my alarm would remind me to start breakfast, prepare Samuel’s school lunch, and get him up and ready for school. After the school run, I’d focus on business until it was time to collect Samuel. Then came after-school activities, sports, projects, homework, shopping, dinner, and I’d usually be in bed before eight-thirty. Subject to certain project deadlines, working from home allowed me enough time to take a nap if need be, or to spend time with the dogs unwinding in the Newlands Forest.
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