‘No one no asked me about me taking my son on a bus. He’s my son and no one can tell me where or where not to take my son’

I could not take it anymore. For years, years, I had to bite my tongue. I had to swallow my anger as I practiced the conflict resolution skills I had perfected in my ‘how to handle individuals with untreated  trauma tool box. Say nothing, nod encouraging, wait until she finishes her accusations, validate her feelings, comment where she was right and I could have handled it better, finish up with stroking her massive insecurities. Say nothing that could possible be taken as anything but you are the best thing since sliced bread and yes everything is just wonderful. Confirm that, yes, you have it all together. I am wrong. My concerns are unwarranted. Yes, you have it all together.

‘Why you no tell him the truth? I tell my son what ever I want. I can ask him to choose between living with you and living with me. He is going to come back to me soon. I can tell him you just won’t give him to me. You no can tell me nothing’

The bubble popped. My husband’s hand instinctively landed on my thigh to grasp on to his wife whom he knew was no longer sitting next to him patiently. I had stepped outside the walls I built to protect us. I had aimed my canons at the target below. As I dialed in my focus. I aimed to kill. He gently held on with his loving stability as took a deep breath in. Breath in, breath out as the snap of bombs exploding made the tall one tremble.

‘No. Absolutely not ok. You can not and you will no longer ask that little boy to choose between you and I. He is only four years old and you will not put him in that situation to choose between you and I again. Do you understand? I have had enough. You are impossible to have any sort of adult relationship communication with. You demand I share absolutely every detail of my life with you yet you refuse to tell us anything at all. You say I did something so awful to you. You say that were absolutely justified in taking him and telling me clearly I was dead to you. You told us how we would never see you or monkey again and yet you can not remember what I did that was so horrible. And suddenly you came back like you had any true options but our open arms. You tell me to get over it and to move on and yet you say I have done something so terrible that you will never trust me again. And still you can not tell me what I did or what I have ever done to you. You say I’m just sensitive and you are not in control of my emotions. Well I am sensitive but if I did not have a sensitivity to the care of others I would have no empathy for you or your situation. I would not have stepped in to care for your child for these past four years. Sensitivity compels compassion. So perhaps you should be thankful that I am sensitive. Because yes I care and yes I believe that is actually a wonderful thing to do.’

As my voice raised I was thankful for the thickness of the walls, for the white noise machine in the waiting room and for the movie playing ion the tablet that the children were absorbed in. All of those sounds filling the airwaves to cover my disappointment in myself as I began to cry. She squares her shoulders. I instinctively turn away. I can not look at her. My obvious refusal to take her in. She is like me in her desperation to be seen and I am literally closing my eyes and will not look at her as she puffs her small frame up in a way to show her strength.

‘The worst betrayal of my life was when I allowed him to call you mother.’

I cringe at the betrayal she is outlining. He loves her. But he loves me in the mother bond. I try to feel empathy for her but I find myself feeling nothing for her as my angry consumes my emotions. I feel little guilt in that moment that yes I am more a mom to monkey then she ever has been. She did this to herself. She will not admit it to me at least but she did this to herself. He loves her, yes I agree. But he loves me as his mother. He loves me.

‘So do you tell him when I’m not around that I no love him? Does you tell him when I’m not around that you loves him more? I bet you does. I bet you was real quick to erase my name from his lips to tell him you his mother. Ain’t that right kait’

I wince. I hate how she has started calling me Kait. My name is kaitlin; mom to the most of the little child lights that come into our home needing a family at least for a little while but I am Kaitlin to her. Only my own mother is allowed to call me the nickname Kait in our own complicated yet fiercely in-love relationship. When monkey’s mother decided to start calling me Kait with such venom I want to scream for her to stop.

‘It sets me off. Hearing him calls to you as mom. And to me. To me he says mom done that and mom gave me this and mom says that. He ain’t talking about me. No he talking about you. And I his mom. I his mom. He my son. Oh you make me feel some type of way. I want him with me. Don’t you know that? Don’t you understand that? You dumb? You stupid kait? You of all people should know more then anybody else what I go through. But you lost all trust with me when you let him call youz mom. I know you told him you his mom. I know you did. He my son. He my son.’