I had passed the tests, week in and week out and they really couldn’t say anything bad about my relationship with my son or my care of him – a care I had to try and demonstrate in the two hours in this small room. I had to show them I was a good mother and that M should be with me. I did all I could to show them that, but it angered me that I had to. I knew I was a good mother and one had only to look at the testimonials of people who knew me and knew my parenting – to know that, but I had no idea what had been said to these people about who I was, but I was very soon to find out.
“Some papers arrived today from the Island. Maam." Dan informed me in his polite drawl. “I think you should read them and give me your comments. I am going to courier them up to you.” I was out with Miriam, the realtor, at the time having lunch as we did from time to time now. As I headed back to the house, I wondered what I was about to find and was unprepared for the shock that awaited me.
A large envelope was delivered later that afternoon. I signed for it and was almost too afraid to open it. Would it contain more reports filled with lies? Would it give me answers as to why this barbaric separation had occurred? I had no idea and to start with I just lay it on the side and decided not to look at it. I would leave it until after supper at least and then face whatever I needed to. As was now, an almost daily occurrence, I headed to the Travel Lodge for my evening bowl of French Onion Soup and glass of wine and then went back to face the bundle of papers I must unleash and face whatever horrors lay within.
For indeed there were monsters, demons from my past – ghosts of my teenage years when I had had a brief spell of depression when I was seventeen – nearly thirty years ago. The envelope was filled with my medical notes from this period – random pages from an archaic file that dealt with some of the more dysfunctional aspects of our family’s growing up. Private and confidential conversations held between me and the doctor who had treated me. It was a period that had held a lot of unhappiness, but I had long since buried it and moved on. After all, I had been a teenager and I was now in my mid-forties. How on earth could adolescent depression so long ago, matter now? But it seemed it did. My medical notes had been accessed by the social worker, against my human rights, against medical ethics and totally without my consent. Yet, it seemed that these notes had been presented to the American authorities as if they were evidence of current mental health problems when I had had no treatment for anything even remotely related to this ever since.
I was horrified and even more so when I read some of the drivel contained within. But in those days , prior to the Mental Health Act 2004, depression was treated very differently than it would be today. Drugs had been administered freely, often with terrible side effects and were highly addictive. In my case the prescription drugs I had been forced to take, had caused me far more problems than the depression and this had led to the vicious cycle of taking myself off them and then the withdrawal that follows – drugs that are not even legal now, were prescribed by doctors to children and teenagers, throughout the late seventies and early eighties. This period had hurt and angered me as I felt it had damaged my chances of a normal adolescence and I resented the sledgehammer treatment and blamed my parents for allowing it. However, they at the time had merely followed the current advice and way of thinking. But to use it against me thirty years later as a reason to take my son away, was ludicrous and yet it seemed that that was exactly what Social Services had used to persuade the CAS to take M – suggesting I was some kind of dangerous psychotic - a threat to my child. It was outrageous. I was angry and in despair all at once. If a Judge read these notes and believed this to be my current state of mind, I was doomed.
I rang Miriam, telling her what had happened. She told me I shouldn't worry that if they were going to such ridiculous lengths to try to justify their actions, that any Judge would see it as desperation and highly vindictive. She said it would work against the Authorities rather than for them and that they would look aggressive and completely unreasonable. She tried to reassure me – but given how this case had gone all along – I was unconvinced. Panic filled my heart, would I ever get M back? I knew I had to stay positive. I tried to push my feelings of anger and emotion to the side, as I carefully went through the notes – trying to be objective – highlighting salient points and explaining things where necessary. I was forced to examine and revisit the ghosts of an unhappy adolescence and the pain that had been my parents marital problems at the time and to justify why I had felt so sad about this. It was cruel and affected me deeply to re-open such an old wound, but I knew it was important to tell my side of this story too and I did so, working through the night for Dan, annotating, correcting, explaining away my teenage depression.
I spent a fitful night reliving the unhappy memories of those teenage years which had been brought to the fore by this most recent onslaught by the Department. I could not believe the lengths to which they would stoop to justify their actions in taking my child from his loving, nurturing home and sending him to strangers in a foreign land. Would either of us ever get over this experience? I somehow doubted it. My fear for the damage they had done to my little boy was immense and yet there was worse yet to come.
Dan was concerned about the contents of what they had been sent. I went to see him the following day. Whilst he agreed that something in the distant past should not be a factor in any of this, he knew the Courts well enough to know that they can hone in on any piece of evidence and that the CAS would do all in their power to make it seem relevant by suggesting whatever problems I had had thirty years ago, remained to this day. I was apparently now being described to the CAS by the Department as “a danger to my son.” This was particularly horrifying and upsetting as I had never harmed a hair on his head and never would. But it suited them well to cover the abuse for if they demonstrated that I was mentally ill, they could then say I had imagined the abuse. Dan obviously agreed that this was outrageous and advised that we get a current psychological or psychiatric assessment done for me and for M too if possible. This was going to prove harder to achieve than we imagined.
I did as asked and went through the phone book ringing psychiatrists and psychologists to no avail. Most didn’t have slots for months, even privately and those that did had the wrong qualifications or speciality. It was hopeless with only three weeks to go before the Show Cause Hearing. There just wasn’t sufficient time and there was the added difficulty of trying to get papers out to Florida in time. It seemed everything was against us and meanwhile twice a week, I saw M and tried to reassure him that I was doing all I could and would soon have him back with me.
Dan assured me that no Judge was going to see M’s evidence and take the risk of sending him back to the Island and his father. However, we only had a small part of the transcript with us. We didn’t have the recording of the ABE interview that M had given to the police and what was more the transcript that had been prepared by the Court transcription service was not accurate. It contained a fatal error which we did not notice at the time, but was picked up by counsel later on when comparing it to the original police transcript. M had told the police “I always tell the truth.” The Court transcriber had changed this to “I don’t always tell the truth.” One word changed the meaning altogether and it was contained in the copy we had. Whether it made a huge difference, we will never know - nor will we ever know if this was an accidental or deliberate error but it was very worrying nonetheless.
Inn cases such as this, where hearsay evidence is allowed, and things are interpreted to fit a particular picture they are trying to create – chance comments, remarks made years ago can all be used against you. This was the case with my archaic notes. I had told a psychiatrist many years earlier, of a time when I was about fifteen that I had babysat for my niece who was then a few months old. My sister lived in a house with thick pile carpets – the shaggy variety that were in fashion at the time – my niece had rolled off her changing mat onto the floor when I reached for the talc. She had been fine,
had not hurt herself at all, but as a conscientious fifteen year old, I duly told my sister who laughed and said “the nannies tell me she is always doing that. Don’t worry, she's fine.” With the anxiety of a teenager, I had told the doctor who was counselling me about my parent’s marital problems, that this had happened and had caused me worry. I said “I was afraid my niece might have hurt herself.” In shock horror I noticed in my psychiatric notes of thirty years earlier, this had been changed to “she was worried she would hurt her niece.” Innocuous if put into context, but highly dangerous semantics when taken in isolation. It was that one sentence that had been lifted by the Social Worker, taken out of context and used to say I was a danger to my son – even though I was now forty-six years old and this had happened decades ago and despite it being nothing more than an anxious teenager seeking reassurance.
But how do you challenge these wrongs, when you are given no opportunity to do so? How do you show why all of the lies and insinuations are wrong and the real culprit is being revered and supported by all? That was the insanity. That was the madness. It was horrifying. Here was I a good mother by all accounts being the subject of what could only be described as a witch hunt. I endured endless criticism, judgment, scrutiny of my every word, thought and deed even from childhood, to fit the Court’s picture and demonise me in order to give my son to the man who had harmed him. It was evil beyond anything and yet the army against me grew bigger each day and M regressed further, losing confidence, becoming babyish in his talk, and looking thin and neglected. It was pure heartbreak - state- enforced cruelty.
M’s constant pleas to me to take him home and his belief that I could make that happen, filled me with despair. I did all I could to reassure him that I was fighting hard and would not give up. I urged him to be brave and whilst he was not happy in foster care, the family were kind and the friendship he had forged with the girl in the family seemed to help. Nothing however could make up for the loss of his mother and nothing could bring either of us comfort without each other.
We poured our love for each other into the two hours a week we shared at the CAS building. In between the sessions I shopped for gifts that might bring him small comfort and help him feel connected with me. I did this as much for myself as for him as I needed to feel close to him. He was in my thoughts every second of every day and our pain was as one. We yearned for each other and with the help of Dan, I tried to believe this nightmare would soon be over and they would realise the momentous mistake they had made. I tried not to feel hostile towards the CAS workers who were only doing their job and who at least were polite towards me. I tried to believe that deep down they knew of the injustice but were powerless to go against the almighty power of the Department who had clearly fed them a pack of lies. I clung to the hope that in three weeks a Judge would see the truth and order that M remain in Florida with me and if not, order that at least we both be kept in Florida whilst reports were done by officials who were not tainted and skewed in their beliefs but would act independently with M’s interests at heart rather than their own.
Meanwhile I urged Dad, now that he had returned to the Island to contact friends who may be prepared to swear affidavits as to my good parenting. My father asked my brother and tried two of my friends, but to our great sadness and horror, they would not help. Whether it was through fear, or whether over time they had come to doubt me, I do not know, but even for M’s sake, they could not be persuaded.
It appeared that the ripples of the Island's Courts and the Department had spread even further and had started to infect the minds of those who had once shown me love and support. Those who had children of their own, I suspect felt that they may somehow be turned on themselves or have their own lives put under scrutiny. My brother’s attitude hurt the most as he was a vicar. I felt he should show compassion, but he allowed some past childhood sibling jealousy or rivalry to prevent him doing what was best for M. He could not get past his own feelings towards me for what he seemed to see as preferential treatment by my parents towards me as the youngest in the family. It was a warped view and not even accurate, but in his mind it clearly was a factor and instead of thinking of my innocent child, he allowed that to prevent him from helping us – something I have found hard to forgive.
Dan still remained optimistic. He believed we would be able to stay in America for the immediate future if not forever. The Fall school term was due to start and if M was placed in school it would strengthen our position as far as staying. Dan believed they would have to enrol him, but when the term started, they did not. The CAS lawyer was clearly confident that M would be returned to the Island.
The date of the hearing loomed and Dad flew back out to give me support. At least this meant he could see M who was delighted to see him too. We prayed hard for the right outcome and went to Church with our new friends. The congregation offered up prayers for us and everyone told us to believe and have faith that M would be returned to me. Nothing else made any sense and they surely had to consider M’s wishes and feelings. We firmly believed, as did Dan that the United States Courts would not risk sending him back to potentially suffer further abuse. They could not take the chance of getting this wrong.
We didn't know who would be sitting on our case, but it was likely to be one of two female Judges. One of them, the stern-faced Judge who had been present at the first hearing and the other, a Judge who had ruled to keep a mother and child in America on another case where the mother had run. We prayed to get the second Judge as having made this ruling in the past, we felt she would be more sympathetic.
The morning of the hearing came. I had contact with M at the CAS for two hours before hand. It was so hard because if the Court ruled against us, it might be last time I saw him for a while. I held my tears back as I held him close to me and told him that everything would be alright. He said that he was looking forward to going to school in America and believed he would be coming back to me, seeking reassurance that this would be the case. I did my best to overcome the doubt in my heart and said I was sure that everything would be fine and we would be back together soon. Deep down I feared the worst. No one had ever listened to either us - was anyone going to listen to us here, thousands of miles from home? Would the Judge even look at the papers? Would she read my medical notes and damn me for something that happened in the dim distant past, something that should not have happened? Or would she see the love that existed between M and I and focus on our right to be together?
We produced the scrapbook that M and I had so lovingly put together as evidence of this great love – pictures of our past life to, notes he had written and drawings he'd done of he and I holding hands. If the Judge was a mother, would she find it in her heart to cherish this love as we did and not want to cause my innocent little boy even more pain? I sent silent prayers to God – a God I had long since ceased to believe in – desperately willing myself to have some faith that the Judge would see this for what it was, a grave case of injustice.
Miriam and Bill came to the Court to wait with us. Bill, a deeply religious man turned over pages in his bible as we waited. Miriam, not so inclined, offered her bright positive attitude of total faith in the truth prevailing. Each in their own way offered their support which we gratefully accepted. There was no sign of anyone from the Island - not even M’s father. Dan felt this would also strengthen our position as it would appear as a lack of interest on his part. It was clear why he hadn't come out though. He knew that anyone witnessing M's distress at seeing him, would have seen the truth.
We filed in quietly and sat subdued in the Court room. Our hearts sank as the Judge who had been at the first hearing walked in, her face emotionless and cold. I tried to reach her gaze and hoped she could see the love in my heart, but she did not look at me once. Dan loomed large next to me – an imposing figure in his Court attire. It was the CAS lawyer who got to speak first and I sat there with every word wounding me as she made their case – a case based on all the lies that had been perpetrated b
y the Social Worker – a case built on hearsay evidence from biased people trying to protect their jobs, with not a thought for a little boy whose life had been smashed to pieces from the day he confided to his Mummy, what his Daddy had done – whose world had been turned upside down for daring to say that he wanted it to stop.
The hearing went on for most of the day. Dan was convincing and strong in Court. He pulled no punches. He pointed out the lies, he painted a glowing picture of the relationship M and I shared. He criticised the CAS and he focused on M’s rights and mine. Listening to him, I looked for a flicker of understanding in the face of the Judge, but saw only frigidity, boredom and disinterest. I wondered if she was even listening. I hoped I would be called to give evidence and she could see that I was a well-educated, articulate woman who loved and lived for her son. Dan said I might be called, but that he could not ask for this, it was down to the Judge as to whether she wanted to hear from me and she did not ask me to give evidence. I was not sure if my evidence would have helped or not, but I longed for an opportunity to show her I was not some crazy woman who had acted on a misguided whim, but a mother trying to protect her only child from harm.
The day drew to a close. The Judge told us she would be giving a written Judgement in the next few days. All we could do now was to go back to the house that we had longed to make our home and wait in agony for the verdict.
Dad and I took trips around the area to fill the time and distract ourselves as best we could. It was fruitless but we had to get through the next few days somehow as we waited for the call that would seal M's fate and my own.
We had bought Miriam’s car from her as without an American license I couldn't get insurance and we were spending a fortune on hire cars. The car would stay in Miriam’s name, but in effect, be mine. It seemed a good solution and we had done this believing that M would be kept in America even if he did not immediately return to me. We thought too, that they must surely need to get an expert opinion from an Independent child psychologist. Whilst staying in foster care, would be hard for M, if it led to him being kept with me, it would be short term pain for a long term future of happiness. It would be preferable to him being returned to potential harm and perhaps being forced to live immediately with his father.
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