(Originally posted 28-Apr-2015)

The night she kidnapped my children, and lied to police.

In the middle of a cold December, the year 2000, my world came crashing down.

When you’re in the partner abuse cycle, you never know which day will end with you having no home, no car, no job, and your children missing.

There aren’t any words for what it is like to attempt to leave a house with your children and be physically barred from doing so. Or what it’s like when that person calls 911 and starts screaming into the phone that you’re hurting them, attempting to throw them down stairs, when the only contact is from you attempting to get past them to the door you can’t quite reach, with a scared child in one arm and holding the other child’s hand.

This person was not my ex. It was his mother. He was not present, making this act of preventing me from leaving, in essence, felony kidnapping, I was later told. The police arrived, and my ex soon after, and I was told that I had to leave, without my children.

That was it. Just leave them there, with my ex’s vehicle piled high with their belongings. Just leave, when it was clear they were getting ready to go somewhere I would not be able to find. Just leave, and trust the courts, when the police were standing between me and my children.

Leaving that house, that night, was probably one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done. After hearing that person scream into the phone that I was trying to hurt her. Which came after her saying to my children, we have to get ready to go, and not knowing where she planned to take them.

I’m supposed to forgive in order to heal, but how do you forgive that?

My middle sister took me in and connected me with every resource I needed. In a month, I had an apartment, a vehicle and a temp job. And an ex parte order for custody, that took more than one attempt—and police intervention—to enforce.

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