To my ex-wife, mother of our son:
Thank you for giving me the opportunity to keep our wonderful son with me on a permanent basis; to have him near me is a thing I’ve coveted every day of the four years since our divorce. By demonstrating to the community, to your friends, and most importantly to the Superior Court judge your complete disregard for our son’s welfare you’ve inadvertently opened up so many doors for him!
Although I long ago realized that you’re not, by nature, a good person, I might still have found enough compassion for you in my heart to forgive the incident which resulted in your arrest in front of our child. I might have listened sympathetically as you explained that your medication was unbalanced, and that the depression simply became too much for you. I might even have helped you after you lost your job. I might have done all that, had I not spoken with those who were present, and with your friends, and with our son’s school. I might have, had I not found out from our son the things you’ve been hiding from me. And I might’ve given you some benefit of the doubt that you were merely an incompetent but well-meaning parent, had I not seen the changes in our son in the three weeks he’s been with me and his stepmother, and had I not spoken at length with his doctor.
Were you to actually care about our son, you would be pleased to know that his chronic eczema completely disappeared after the first week with us. The daily baths and clean bedding possibly may help explain that, although the fact that he doesn’t use that special lotion you provided may be significant as well. He has had no asthmatic episodes while in our care, possibly due to our insistence that he actually use his prescribed medications, and not the “extra” inhalers you’ve had him using. It might surprise you to know that all of his teachers have remarked on the “dramatic” improvements in his self-confidence and demeanor over the past few weeks. This may have to do with the regular meals he now receives, and the cessation of the constant scolding he was used to. You see, his stepmother and I feel it’s not entirely sensible to let an 11 year old “decide” to live on ramen noodles and macaroni and cheese dinners, and we keep clear and consistent rules of behavior for him. Believe it or not, he’s adapted quite quickly to having a structure to his daily life; something he’s previously been accustomed to receiving only two weekends every month.
You would also [in the hypothetical instance that you gave a damn about such things] note with approval that our son is quite well dressed lately. Thank you so for denying us access to his clothing; you can keep the stuff, as he prefers his new outfits. It’s amazing how far the child support money will go when actually spent to support the child. It would warm your heart no doubt [if we were to suppose your heart was capable of warmth] to see the confident way he speaks to me, and the easy smiles he frequently wears. Such a relief this cheerfulness is, considering that you had him diagnosed for depression last November. It’s probably a good thing you never gave him the Prozac they prescribed for him so you could use it instead; he doesn’t appear to have needed it. (But don’t worry; I consulted with his doctor and we’ve stopped the refills on that Rx.)
I’m sorry you didn’t get to see our son’s face last Thursday when he told me how he’d run the mile race that day in school. He was so happy and proud! They’d given the kids 15 minutes; he finished in 12 minutes, 38 seconds. Not a blistering pace, but pretty good for a kid who was convinced not too long ago that his asthma made such a feat impossible for him. Sadly, I’m not sure you can appreciate that accomplishment, but that’s your loss now, not his. As he said to his stepmother that evening, “I’m pretty healthy. I can admit that now.” You, see, he no longer has you to explain to him every day how sick he is.
I wonder how long it will be before he feels ready to tell us everything he’s feeling. I wonder what secrets he’ll keep inside as he grows older. I wonder when he’ll come to terms with what his mother truly means to him. He’s too young, you see, to do the research yet; he doesn’t have access to message boards like this, and to search engines that enable people to find out about such esoteric psychological mysteries as MBP and other factitious disorders. I’m certainly not going to force him into any realization for which he’s unprepared. He will ask and tell me the things he needs to ask and tell when he is ready.
But I know these things, now. I see you more and more clearly each day, my dear ex-wife; the act can no longer fool me.
And I remember things. I remember the way our child could never hold his milk down as a baby, how we tried so many formulas until we found only one that he seemed to tolerate, and how the doctors couldn’t give a sensible explanation for his problem. I remember what a good eater he was for me when I started him on juice and cereal, and how he seemed to prefer to be fed by me. I remember the horrifying rashes, and how, whenever it seemed we had his skin under control he’d flare up again. I remember the food allergies that seemed to cause such strangely disparate symptoms, and how he was always inadvertently eating things he knew he shouldn’t. I remember the dramatic ways you would describe his problems to our friends, and the way you would exaggerate the slightest problems to his doctor.
Those things I will always remember. I don’t know how much of it our son recalls, and I don’t really imagine he needs to remember. Somewhere deep in his mind, he knows. But it doesn’t matter, really. Because YOU LOSE. He will never be in your care again. He survived the game. He beat you, the best way he could possibly have done so. Living well is the best revenge, they say. Sooner or later, he will know this for himself. With every accomplishment, every milestone he achieves, every healthy moment in store for him, our son will celebrate, consciously or not, his victory.
You lose.
