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Lost in Iceland

Lost in Iceland (Photo credit: Helgi Halldórsson/Freddi)

Following my kid’s most recent hospitalization, and the pending Child Welfare Services investigation, I felt compelled to contact my estranged spouse.  Even with all the anger and hurt I have, I couldn’t let a Child Welfare social worker contact him without at least an electronic heads-up.  He took that heads-up as a cry for interference…sorry, “help.”  Help only he could provide, in his incredibly passive aggressive way.

He received my email delineating all that had transpired since before he moved out 9+ months ago (because even when he was here, he wasn’t involved), and called me.  We had a one minute, 30 second conversation.  Then he called again.  Another one and a half minute conversation.  For crying out loud, of course I’ve told the psychiatrists, therapists, and social workers what medications the kid is on.  Good grief, am I a moron?  No, I’m not.

Then his mother got in on the drama.  This is a woman it took me almost 15 years to get to the point of a civil, superficial relationship with.  And I’m fine with just exchanging simple pleasantries with her.  Really.  I don’t want to invite a more thorough sharing.  Ever.

But he called her.  And she called me.  And we’re off to the hand-wringing races.  She was aware that he quit the family months ago.  Her response?  A typed note tucked into the youngest kid’s June birthday card.  She forgot the other kids’ birthdays and had not a word to say to me…until the situation became dire and dramatic.  Now it’s all “I love you” and “bygones are bygones.”  Please.  I have parents who show up at the ER to comfort and shelter the youngest kid without making me feel like s@#t.  (Thanks, Mom and Daddy.)  All the MIL wanted was to get me to bring my kids to her (extremely faraway) house on Christmas Eve and engineer an ambush with their father.  Dear heaven.  And no thank you.

Then the estranged spouse called again.  For an update, he said.  I really have no idea how much to share with him, he doesn’t have the wherewithal to really understand the nuances I’m dealing with.  He’s never bothered to pick up all his crap, much less tell the kids he’s never coming back!  How much can this man-child handle or understand?  I don’t know.  So he gets answers to the questions he asks, and just the facts.  Hand over my heart, I’m doing my very best.  I’ve been civil and truthful, but I haven’t invited him into the fray.  He’s got his own issues to deal with and the kids have repeatedly said they don’t want to talk to or see him.  I’m letting them feel their feelings and draw their own boundaries.  I’m really regretting giving him a heads-up on the CPS investigation.