An Open Letter to My Children

Dear I&D:

Kiddos, how are you?

I hope you are well, but, once again, since the last time I saw you (the evening drop off at your grandparent’s home on the eve of Christmas Day), no calls have successfully reached you.  As the last three years has shown, getting ahold of you, even though the Courts have established that we have a right to communicate, is incredibly difficult.  Why is it so? How could that be?  Well, unfortunately, the answer is all too clear.

Simply put, there are forces at work which are beyond my control.

I plead.  I implore. Yet the 150 cell phone calls I’ve made to your grandparent’s home (as my cell phone’s records show), and perhaps a 100 more Skype calls in the last year or so have ended in about a 10% success ratio, with the last few months undoubtedly resulting with about a 5% success, perhaps less.

To be honest, it kills me.  Killing me slowly, however, is the aim.

Moreover, the response from the forces explain, “He can call whenever he wants,” but although such an attitude is taken by the Courts as supposed willingness to let me call, there is not mandate by the legal system that my calls have to be successful.

I have sent COUNTLESS texts over the last few years to ask when I can call you, to know when you’ll be home, and/or to ask what’s the best time to reach you.  In fact, after every failed call (i.e., after every call resulting in either nobody picking up the phone, or when met with busy signals, or a rare, “They’re not home” reply), I ask via text how to get ahold of you. Yet, literally, there have been TWO replies in 2.5-years-plus that stated “Call now”.  The last was OVER two years ago! NOT once since have I received a return text.

The aim is to kill me, slowly.  And that’s what it does. That’s what they do.

When I cannot get you on the phone, my heart breaks a little bit more each time.

Friends have advised me to make a paradigm shift.  One recommended, poignantly, to call only with the aim of calling, to do it for you, but even to expect no contact. If my goal is to not actually reach you, she suggested, and instead to call just to show my love, then the gesture of calling might be satisfying enough to know that I tried.  However, that hasn’t worked yet, at least fully, for I do let it get to me that the forces beyond my control have practically DESTROYED our communication.

How could someone do that?  How cruel and coldhearted does someone have to be to NOT arrange a call back, from two children to their daddy?  To not return a text to let me know when I can reach you is simply calloused behavior.

Any parent, whomever it is in this world, should rise above animosity, bitterness, greed and retaliation, transcending their own self to realize that the children would enjoy talking to their father. The benefit of the calls is NOT just the father’s happiness, but rather, and I mean this with all of my heart, the beneficiaries are you children!

A child’s development would SURELY benefit from hearing his or her daddy’s voice, from daddy telling him/her regularly, “I love you,” or “I miss you.”  Hearing that would give them more love in this at-times-evil world.  YOU CHILDREN WOULD BENEFIT FROM A LOVING FATHER BEING ALLOWED TO SHOW YOU THAT LOVE MORE OFTEN!

For someone to not see that is unimaginable.  It is incredible.  How dare the people involved to make that choice.  How fucking dare they.

As you children know, I tell you every time I pick you up that daddy called.  I let you know, so you know that I love you and haven’t forgotten you between weekends with you. I ask if you know I called, often at the immediate pick up times, so that it is on video, so that there is no chance of anyone claiming I manipulated any video (i.e., that I forced things before the video like, “Tell the camera you didn’t know I called,” which has been claimed).

Yet after I query, you often seem quizzical, like you have no idea I called. And you’ve stated it clearly.

You’ve both told me clearly that you cannot call.  That you cannot talk on the phone, that “people” don’t want you to–even though you tell me regularly you’d like to talk.  You’ve both told me other things that make me sick to my stomach.  The fact you’ve explained to me that you’ve been told it is too late to call me when you get home after spending your evenings at that place of employment is shockingly wrong, for I am always going to be up after you go to bed.  It is never too late, I implore you to know.  Other examples could fill paragraphs here, but suffice it to say, it is all a vindictively cruel game, and YOU ARE THE VICTIMS.

Kiddos, I write this because I love you.  You mean the world to me.  You are my world, which is what I was even told in the following photo of an email after separation.

I am so sorry.

I want to talk, regularly, even just two to three times a week is enough (but I’d surely take every day), so I can hear your voices, so that you hear mine.  You need to know that I call.  You need to receive my calls, but you rarely can because of those forces at play beyond my control.

How I wish it were different, I&D.  It should be.  By every definition of what the world considers good, wholesome, pure–and how that should be allowed to exist between a father and his children, it is all a violation of our rights.

On Christmas Day evening, right before leaving my home, before unplugging the lights surrounding our little trees and ornaments, I sat you down to hold you, to talk to you, to remind you of my love.  I had set up my phone on the coffee table to run on video mode, which captured our last moment together for the following three weeks (with one week already having passed now) before seeing each other again.  With tears in my eyes and the crackily voice to accompany it, I explained to you, “When you go to bed each and every night, stop to think that at that moment that you fall to sleep, Daddy is thinking about you, too.”  Tears flowed, as they are right now as I write this entry.

There is nothing I regret about the last three years, you two, yet I regret that actions have  been taken that are beyond my control. I am practically powerless to get that to change, but I know that one day, you will have the cognitive power to make the choice to call.  I await that day with an open, hopeful heart.

I miss you, beyond compare.  I just want to talk to you, my kiddos.  Please.

Yet it is beyond my control.

Daddy

PS These truths are self-evident in the following messages.

great-father-wont-deny-blocked-names

great-father-to-the-kids-blocked-names

66-kidsare-yourlife-blocked-names

 

 

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