Thursday, October 14, 2010

October 17, 1986/ October 17, 2010.

                                         The date my soul died with a silent scream.

24 years ago today, my soul was wrenched from my being and shattered.




For seven years I had phoned and spoken to police, doctors, ministers, priests - anyone who could help me stop him from beating me and abusing all my children. Could stop him from sodomizing my babies. Stop him from abusing animals.Stop him. Help us. Nothing.

So I find a job and seek divorce. I have temporary custody. I move us to a safer place. By mortgaging the properties I have. There are 4. One for each child and one for me. For them to have a heritage to sell or live in.

His psychologist has recommended custody to the abusive brute. Again. The first judge threw it out and requested another "expertise". The police, doctor, psychiatrist, a social worker, neighbours, minister- a veritable parade of people have come to the court to speak of our experiences at the hands of this abuser. One psychologist vs. how many ?

Another social worker decides I am lying , or am psychotic or my son has been abusing - or- I don't know to this day exactly why she recommended custody to a brutal abuser. The report she gave me was all whatever the abuser told her. There was nothing correct in it. Not even the distance between homes. It would have been laughable if it hadn't been a death sentence for our souls.

October 17, 1986. The five year old wanted to dress up for a "kind of party at school". Unusual- she runs back to give me yet another kiss before getting on the bus. The seven year old wouldn't go to bed the night before. She insisted on following me around as I worked on my teaching papers. She wouldn't go to school in the morning, claiming a queasy stomach.


October 17, 1986, 12:05 p.m. The door knocker is banging wildly. Importantly. Too noisily. I look through the security peephole. I see a policeman whom I know. I know them all, after years of calling and reporting.  Undo all the locks. A strange young man in "workie" clothes pushes the door in and jams his workboot in the space as I try to shut the door-. What is THIS ??? He says; " I am here to take xxxxxxx to her father Madame." (we speak in French) Open the door. The policeman looks like he will faint or vomit.

I tell this strangely intense young man to remove his foot. In my best teacher talking to an out-of control child voice. He says : "What are you going to do ?"  I tell him, I will ask my child to go up to my room and turn on the tv there. Guess he saw something in my eyes. He removes his foot. Shut door. My beloved always -  oh - so - pale child goes upstairs like a ghost.

I phone a neighbour friend. I can hardly dial. My entire body is shaking.  Friend comes. I tell her- he says he is to bring xxxxxxx to her father but there are no papers or judgement. Nothing. She verbally blasts the young man- in English. Well- he would understand the tone.

Finally he tells me to go upstairs and tell the child she is to go and live with her father. (From her behaviour, she already knew- but I didn't) I said. No. I will NOT tell a child she has to go and live with her abuser. It is insanity. You tell her. Before you do, write down what you are doing here and why. Sign and date it. He did.  I had no paper or warning - nothing - I had phoned my lawyer. Of course- it was noon and the offices were closed.

And then my soul walked out the door and that was it.

This paper is marching with a friend, in Rimouski. Symbolic. To carry our silent screams to the Marche Mondiale des Femmes. On October 17, 2010.

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