I haven’t seen my youngest son since Christmas day, for an hour where we sat in the back of my car whilst he opened the sack of presents I and his maternal family had bought him. I’ve rang every alternate Friday since in the hopes of a contact visit, only to have the phone slammed down on me.
Whilst lay in bed full of this blasted flu bug earlier this week, I longed to hear his voice, I braved ringing the paternal grandmother’s house phone, where he now lives with my ex. He’s blocked me on his phone, so it was my only option. This time, he spoke. “What have you rang for?” He demanded. I was thrown that he had spoken and more thrown because his voice has clearly broken since Christmas, another milestone I have missed.
He then proceeded to accuse me of all sorts of so-called misdemeanors for the next 30 minutes, which I tried to fight off because it’s no use getting into a war of words, he is living in a war zone already. I heard my ex in the back ground, feeding him what to say. I kept telling my son how much I loved him, how intelligent he sounded in his reasoning, surely a doctor or scientist in the making, as he explained alas, that he has 23% of my dna in him. He went on to explain more facts and figures I neither registered or cared too because it’s all just bluff. Bluff and bluster to fit in with Dads views of me, mum. I don’t give dad enough CSA payments, I should work more hours. The next minute I was accused of not working at all and leaching off my husband. I pointed out the contradictions in his thinking but its hopeless when they are so brainwashed they would believe day is night for the alienating parent.
I gave up and put the phone down saying I loved him. After a few minutes, call it obstinacy, foolishness or sheer desperation I rang back. He answered with a ding ding round two… I told him I wasn’t there to argue my intention had been to say I loved him and I think of him all the time, as I do his eldest brother. He laughed, a hollow empty laugh. “Why don’t you pay Dad more money if you loved me you would?” I asked “How much does he want me to pay then? £100 more, £200 or £1000? Would it mean I got to see you?” “Erm maybe not!” he stated firmly. “Then money isn’t the root of the problem then is it?” I replied and he stuttered.” Put your father on if he wants to discuss money, this isn’t a conversation for you and I!”. Suddenly I heard the voice of the man who has caused me all this untold pain. “I have nothing to say to you!” he said in a dramatic voice and the next minute my son was back, cajoling for more money. Typical they are cowards, “So you are the mouth piece and voice for your dad then?” I confirmed. “No!” my son said vehemently. “But I gave your dad the opportunity to discuss his concerns like adults and hes passed the phone back to you!” I stated,. My son denied this and changed the subject.
I did too, I told him that he might say he hates me.. “Who said I Hate you?” he cut in.. “Well you obviously don’t love me..” I let it hang in the air. The kind caring boy I knew and love, came out, the authentic son. “I never said I don’t love you and I said I loath you I didn’t say I hate you!” he said sheepishly. Confliction in his voice so strong, I wanted to weep. “No matter how hard you deny me, your heart wont stop loving me or missing me you know this!” I said quietly. “Tell me that the last thought before you sleep at night, isn’t me!” I said firmly. He was quiet, stuttering, “No, No!” I said just as quietly, “Do you remember the times I made your favourite meals, the times when you were ill and I would sit by your bedside all night if needs be?” he was quiet listening. I had sent him a poem I had written. He told me I had copied and pasted it. I laughed and said, actually its one I wrote. He was struck dumb. I knew by sending a poem it would reach him like a text or letter would not. My son loves poetry, the eldest does too. I sent it hoping both would see it.
I told him it was no use carrying on, we weren’t getting anywhere, going round in circles and I was not about to listen to any more meaningless accusations that simply were not true. I told him I loved him always, yet again. I told him I would wait forever and one day he would join me in No Man’s Land, as my poem had spoken out to him.
I said goodbye and I rang off as this tiny, adolescent voice said Bye to me too, because under it all, he misses me just as much as I mourn him.
~This is hell…. I want it to end.
No Mans Land
I found myself thrust onto this battlefield …
With no armour and no weapons
I didn’t want to have to defend myself
From the war of words that hit me
So to every hate filled bomb
I said I love you
To every evil stare
I smiled back
To every blasphemous rejection
I said, I will wait for ever
And I climbed out of the trenches
It was no place for me
Or for you
I ducked the crossfire
And I kept on walking towards you
I scrambled over barbed wire
Till I was in No Mans Land
It’s lonely and it’s barren here
I’m all alone
But You know I’m here
And I know you’re there
Suddenly, somebody shouts “Fire…”
And your words scream out
Trained, with precision, to kill
But You know I won’t fire back
For one day
You will lay down your arms of war
And You will cross that big divide
You will open your arms with love
And you will run to find me …