There was a time when text messages and emails were ignored, and I was instructed by the step-parent that my calls and any communication from me caused anxiety and that it was best, for my child’s best interests, to cease and desist if I cared about their happiness. At the very least, I didn’t want to NOT acknowledge my children and send them love (and a present, hopefully) on their birthdays or at Christmas. But I came to find out (long story) that presents I sent across the world were constantly, oddly, not finding their way to my children, or if received at all, the presents, most curiously, got lost or misplaced. Every. Single. Time. It would seem I was not even ‘allowed’ to be a small part of my child’s life on their special occasions. I don’t even know if they knew of most of the things I sent over the years. Have you experienced this too? What to do?
What I did, and I only offer it as a suggestion, is that I wrote the cards, bought the presents, but kept them. I had a spare shelf in a wardrobe. I did it for my own sake mostly. I got to enjoy buying the present, and writing the card, but not sending them. Sending anything was obviously futile. But it was great because I actually got the opportunity to write in an uncensored way, hoping one day, my child would read them. So I didn’t pour out my grievances in these cards, though that would have been tempting and very easy. I wrote about how much I loved them and hoped they were doing something fun on their birthday, or over the Christmas holidays, or how immensely proud I felt that they had finished another year of school … these sorts of things. I think it kept me sane! As I often write, NOT being able to communicate our love to those we love is the most painful experience. So, this was a remedy (for me).
Obviously, the shelf filled up, but on a rare visit home, a holiday that was permitted, I showed my child the shelf in the wardrobe. It was a risky thing to do, because the ‘parental alienation’ was definitely still going on. But during the holiday, after a rocky start, it had smoothed out and the old, happy, close relationship emerged again. The words of love expressed in the cards might have been rejected still, or made my child feel uncomfortable, sad, angry … but they were touched, I think, and delighted with the presents. I must add, it wasn’t ‘buying’ love, it wasn’t the price of the presents, it was the gesture. That I had not forgotten. It’s a little like family court cases that don’t go in our favour. It’s good, at least, that the children will know we tried all we could.
Fast-forward a few years, and my child returned home. I do believe that the shelf in the wardrobe (the cards, the presents) helped me but also helped plant the seed of remembrance in my child’s mind, that there was so much love. I was always there, always thinking of them. There was a shelf in my wardrobe and a place in my heart. Nothing and nobody could ever change that.
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