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A Kidnapped Mind

Page 17

by Pamela Richardson


  But Dr. Elterman knew little of the situation in which he was embroiled. He said on the stand that he knew Peter had banned me from Dash’s school, but that the impression Peter had given him, as recently as a couple of months before the trial, was that my ban was a recent phenomenon, a fresh issue. He was shocked to learn that I had been excluded from my child’s educational welfare since his first day of Grade One. He had been similarly surprised when I told him, during my interview that day in his office, that I had not been allowed to speak with Dash’s doctor for the past six years. He admitted, when Jamie asked, that he didn’t know that blocking a parent from the child’s school and physicians was a nearly universal tactic of an alienating parent in PAS. He said that Peter often called him out of the blue to apprise him of the latest developments. He sent Dash along for appointments out of the blue. Those dates coincided with hearing dates, and I wondered, sitting there in the courtroom, did your reputation just creak a little, Dr. Elterman?

  If Elterman hadn’t seen Dash’s alienation in 1989, I would have understood. It’s hard to see. But not to see it the following year when permanent custody was decided was incredible. By 1996 I was shaken that he still ignored it. Sitting with Jamie before the trial, in a hushed voice, I listed the PAS indicators on nervous fingers.

  “One, a previously loved parent is rejected by the child upon the family’s split or shortly thereafter. Two, one parent is preoccupied with winning the child or defeating the other parent. Three, one parent shows a great lack of respect for the other parent and does not facilitate or respect that relationship. Four, in the child’s eyes one parent can do, in Elterman’s own words, ‘no right and the other no wrong.’ It becomes as black and white to the child as it is to the parent. Five, the rejection occurs over trivial matters. All these factors are crystal clear in my case and have been for years.”

  “The judge will see it now, Pam. Even if he doesn’t understand the syndrome or believe it exists, he’ll see that Dash isn’t thriving where he is,” Jo-Anne Bogue said.

  “This is a textbook PAS case,” Jamie added.

  “Jamie, I would have given anything for it not to be. For this to be a figment of my overwrought, overprotective imagination. But —”

  “But it’s not. This is happening. And we’re going to get Dash out of there.”

  Dash.

  Peter Hart and me with newborn Dash, August 1984.

  Three-month-old Dash with me in front of our house in Point Grey.

  Best friends Sandy and me with our new babies: Dash at three months and newly born Warren, October 1984.

  Dash and me in Florence the year Peter and I lived in Italy.

  My mother, Doris, with two-year-old Dash in our garden.

  Dash with Big D looking at a world map at my house in West Vancouver.

  Dash and me sitting in the tree house Big D built for Dash in West Vancouver.

  My father, James, David Richardson, Dash, and me at our wedding in the garden of our home. A week later David and I had our first son, Colby, born September 29, 1990.

  Best friends Warren and Dash on a fishing trip we took them on to April Point, spring 1991.

  Big D helping Dash clean a fish at the cottage in Lake of the Woods, Ontario.

  A “ham sandwich” hug with Dave’s mother, Tannis, Dave, and Dash at Lake of the Woods.

  Dash and I making our Christmas gingerbread carousel, 1991.

  Milkshakes all around! Quinten, Dash, and Colby in our kitchen, Kerrisdale, 1994.

  The year Dash joined us for Christmas, 1995.

  Quinten, Colby, and Dash climbing on our “climbing tree” in the back garden.

  Dash, so proud in all of his new clothes, 1997.

  Dash looking distressed after telling me to leave the soccer field because he does not want me at his game. Quinten, not understanding, tries to pull him back but Dash continues to walk away after this shot is taken and goes home with another boy.

  Dash, Quinten, and Colby on our heartbreaking and heartfelt trip to Maui. He had agreed that Lord Byng was not working for him and that he needed the attention that Glen Eden could give him.

  Our final Christmas photo together in December 1999. Dash was antsy and unsettled that Christmas morning in Whistler, so we quickly got everyone together and went snowmobiling as I was so afraid that he would not last the day with us and would hop on a bus home to Vancouver. It worked out and we had a wonderful Christmas dinner together, just the five of us.

  A week after Dash died his friends painted this huge graffiti near Granville Street Bridge, a powerful and beautiful tribute.

  Recovery: dealing with my anger by running a half marathon in May 2001.

  Quinten, me, Dave, and Colby at our house in Mougins, France, in summer 2005.

  We had been before six judges in the seven months that led up to the trial. The judges had all been concerned. We had been added to the trial list speedily and we were once again before Justice Donald Brenner, who had heard our application to vary access in 1993. We had been told that the 1990 access order still applied, and that Peter was expected to comply with it. Peter had been ordered and then reordered to give me Dash’s report cards and access to his doctor and dentist. Peter had requested adjournments and dismissals, but, for the most part, they had been rejected. And on day three of the custody trial the judge gave me a big win. Beginning right away, Justice Brenner said, Peter and I were to be joint guardians of Dash. That order allowed me direct access to Dash’s school life, an ability to meet his teachers, something I had not been able to do since he was five and a half years old. But when I called Principal Murray Stephenson the day after the decision and tried to make an appointment with him and Dash’s teachers, he replied that I could not. On a challenge from Peter, a lawyer for the Vancouver School Board had advised Stephenson that, because the order hadn’t specifically allowed me “ad-hoc” visits, I could only attend the school for the thrice-yearly parent-teacher nights, the next one of which was months away. My first real win disappeared right before my eyes. I have rights but not the right rights. Jamie and I went immediately to Justice Brenner for clarification. He confirmed that he had intended for me to be able to meet with the teachers and principal whenever I wanted to and that I had full rights to communicate with the school from now on. It was a dazzling victory. Peter could no longer control what I knew and what I didn’t. The veil was lifting.

  As the trial continued, Peter took the stand for six days and did what I had seen him do so many times before. He obfuscated when Jamie asked hard questions, he changed the subject, went off on tangents, altered his story, and irritated even the judge. Peter had spent years telling me on the stand that “Dash has decided” not to visit; it’s “Dash’s decision”; “Dash is making choices. I respect that.” After Elterman’s testimony, which was lightly critical of Peter’s empowerment of a child Dash’s age, Peter changed his story. “I didn’t say it’s up to Dash’s choice until Dash got upset. So, okay, okay, I said, you don’t have to go. That’s all I did. It wasn’t as if I said you decide, son. I didn’t say anything near that. I never, I never put it on Dash to make his own decisions.” Peter’s testimony was also filled with paranoia that read like something from a psychology text:

  “This all started off as a plot for custody. She wanted custody all along and it’s so blatantly apparent how this thing started off, they knew they were going for custody when they started off with the equal guardianship. The whole thing was a set up.”

  “I am under siege.”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Richardson are my only enemies.”

  “I was basically being vilified as I am now.”

  “I’ll be looking over my shoulder all the time.”

  Dash must have believed I was forever waiting to storm the castle, as his father assured him that he spent every conscious hour guarding the gates. At the same time Peter blurred the lines between himself and Dash, and they became one person. Peter would complain that “we” were dragged into court. “W
e” are being persecuted. “We” are being vilified. Dash had taken on Peter’s views because he was rewarded for them, and Peter defended Dash’s views because they were his own. In time they were no longer emotionally separate people. It was frightening to watch.

  Peter called in a slew of criminal lawyers who swore to Peter’s good character and fine parenting. One said that he had never met me but had “heard all about” me through another lawyer. The evidence of half a dozen of them consisted entirely of things Peter had told them. Stoked by Peter’s stories, en masse they gave the impression that Peter was a persecuted single parent of chirping, happy Dash. One lawyer, Ken Westlake, a close personal friend of Peter’s, testified to my selfishness over Dash, although we rarely socialized and had spent no time together with Dash. He claimed to be close to Dash, but conceded that he had not even seen him for two years. Ken Westlake testified about seeing my husband, Dave, snorting coke and drinking heavily at a party in 1989 at his sister-in-law’s house, but under cross-examination admitted that Dave had not been at the party at all and that he had never met him or seen him before. In a desperate attempt to explain away the drinking problem that even Dr. Elterman now believed existed, Suzanne — separated from Peter now for a year — brought to court various alcohol-based homeopathic medicines and tinctures that were meant to explain Peter’s alcohol-infused breath. She was persuasive, a senior family-court lawyer, and soon to be a provincial court judge. Greg Hart got up and said that Peter was the “best parent I have ever seen.” Dash was “blissful.” Greg, now in medical school, never saw his dad drunk, he said, and “everyone in the household hated the topic” of visitation, access, and my relationship with Dash. I wanted to shout out, If you hated dealing with me so much why didn’t you just deal with it like millions of other people do and let Dash see me? When I didn’t get access for weeks and weeks and weeks why didn’t someone just facilitate it? When I called seven times in a week to try and speak to Dash, why didn’t you give him the messages and the space to call me back? Could Peter really be that persuasive a force? Was their guilt so strong that evidence which tarnished their carefully crafted stories was rejected as a matter of course?

  “Dash deserves to live with healthy people,” I cried that night with Dave. “At eight, ten, eleven, Dash doesn’t need a father who is his best friend, he needs a parent. He doesn’t need a house of fun, booze, and no boundaries, where he can come and go as he pleases.” Dash needed to know that the world was a fair and good place, not a place where people were “out to get” him, “dig dirt” on him, and “vilify” him in court.

  Our ten-day trial stretched to thirty days. Peter was spinning it out. I couldn’t figure out if there was a reason behind it, but Jamie took me aside in his frustration at the time-wasting witnesses and explained, “The older a child is, the less likely a judge will move him without considering very carefully what he wants.”

  Dash’s twelfth birthday was looming.

  We didn’t want to give Peter more opportunities to delay and get us off track. We didn’t call doctors Beyerstein, Goodwell, or Armstrong, even though they had important things to add. We knew that Peter’s lawyer would object to their testimony, because none of them had ever met Peter and we couldn’t afford the time — as it was Peter had asked for and received twelve adjournments during our trial. Jamie and I focused on the tangible issues that demonstrated the PAS best: the total failure of my access, our superficially hostile estrangement, Dash’s unhealthy behaviour, and the sharp dip in his progress at school to which my “agent” Elizabeth MacKenzie and Murray Stephenson testified. Melody Frosch spoke about the lack of supervision at Peter’s home, Dash’s general unkemptness, and Peter’s aggressive phone manner. She spoke of the Mexico trip. Myrna Halpenny, who had told me privately that she feared a backlash from Peter for appearing in court, testified to seeing him drunk when she picked up her son, Myles, from their house, about the evening she was having a coffee at my house when Peter arrived disoriented and slurring to pick up Dash, and about the phone call she had received when she wrote her affidavit.

  Peter had told the court Dash “couldn’t wait” to testify; he had “so much to say,” and he would “bring him down here anytime.” And so my son was called to the stand halfway through Peter’s case. We knew he was coming: he was on Peter’s witness list. I held my fingers pressed to my lips when I saw him enter the room, trying not to cry. Is your heart breaking today, too, Dasharoo? You’re already so damaged. Your presence here is a given; your testimony coached. We know what you’re going to say. So go home, dear one. Jamie stood and objected vehemently to Dash’s presence, but Justice Brenner waved him off. Jamie was as concerned for the case as he was for the child. Dash’s evidence would undoubtedly be against me. Dash’s position had already been made so clear, through his father’s affidavits, through his messages to me, through his “do the right thing” notes. Why put him through it? All we could ask was that our objection be recorded. I touched Jamie’s arm. “Ask him as little as you can,” I whispered. A father of five, he nodded. He was as horrified as I was.

  Dash climbed into the witness box wearing his father’s clothes. He looked straight ahead as he was sworn in. When Justice Brenner welcomed him, said he hoped he was comfortable, and offered him some water, I wanted to get up and leave. I wanted to go out in the hallway and be sick. My job was to protect Dash from harm and I had not. I was helpless, incompetent. I had failed in my objections, I had failed in the first trial, I had failed in 1993 to see it through, I had failed forever, and my grief turned to agony when Dash turned to the judge and said that testifying was his “greatest wish.” I had worked so hard for so long to not feel any hatred for Peter, but as I sat with Sandy, squeezing her hand, I started to shake. I could feel poison rising up in me. I hated Peter. I hated him more than I’ll ever hate anything for the rest of my life. For using our child, for abusing him, for leaving him alone and frightening him. For all the years Dash had lived with anger. For creating the perverted loyalty that had frozen Dash’s heart. For ignoring his son except when he needed him to punish me. For putting his needs before his son’s at every turn and for giving Dash no limits or ability to grow into a healthy young man. But mostly I hated Peter for having killed the trust and joy that had flowed so freely in that child. The cruelty of it, the sheer perversity of it, struck me like a brick that day in court. I had to raise my hand to my face to hide sudden, angry tears.

  Dash’s testimony was as we expected. His convictions were strong but with details conspicuously absent. Peter’s lawyer, Russell Tretiak, tried to engage Dash in his testimony, but Dash floundered. They took him off the stand and brought him back days later. Do you remember a time that you hadn’t seen your mom and Dave for a while? I’m not sure. I couldn’t say I do and I couldn’t say I don’t. I’m not really sure. Did you go to the Canucks game? Did you have a good time? I guess so, I don’t remember much about it. I heard some stories about how you would have to get changed over at your mom’s place or sometimes you would have to get changed over at your dad’s place to go play soccer? Can you tell the judge anything about that? I can’t really remember anything. When you were at your mom’s house, would she take you right to the field? I can’t really remember. You can’t remember anything about it? No. If you went to your mom’s on a Friday night, you would miss goofing around with your friends at home? I can’t really remember. Do you remember the first time you saw Dr. Elterman? No. Do you remember who took you to Elterman’s office? No. Do you remember if anyone was in the room with you? No. Dr. Elterman said this year that you don’t have any specific reason for not going to see your mom except for that sometimes you don’t feel like visiting your mom? You remember telling that to Dr. Elterman? No.

  And so it went on. Dash answered “I can’t remember” twenty-three times. He was a nightmare witness for Peter’s lawyer, but he did remember some of his lines. He remembered not wanting to visit me and the “seven years of accusations.” He had almost no memo
ries of good experiences with me but crystal clear recollections of my “insults” toward his father, the relentless “questioning.” Dash said angrily, “Dave asks me ‘How’s Suzanne?’ and I think what’s it his business how Suzanne is doing?”

  When it was his time to speak Jamie asked, “Does your mom question you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What did she question you about?”

  “Regular stuff.”

  “Like what kind of regular stuff? I mean, you know, ‘How’s school?’ or what?”

  “Yeah, ‘How’s school?’ like, ‘What are you doing lately?’, ‘What are you up to?’ that sort of stuff. Then she’s like, so ‘How are your sports doing?’ That sort of thing.”

  Jamie had one more question. “Do you love your mom?”

  Looking down at his feet, in a soft but clear voice, he answered, “Yes.”

  Two months into our never-ending trial, one sunny Sunday morning in late June, Melody Frosch called me. “The boys are swimming in the pool, Pamela. Do you want to come over and visit?” For a second I was confused. “Dash is here,” she said.

  Dash had told me he wouldn’t see me because of the “court stuff,” but the thought of sitting with Melody and watching Dash play in the pool was too tempting to refuse.

  “Melody, thank you. How long have they been there? Have I got some time?”

 

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