Abandoned Boy

I find it astonishing that whether we call it karma, the universe, or prescience, circumstances find you. Mine usually fall under the category of, “I will never do, or go, or experience – that.” Never say never.

Occasionally, though, it’s merely ironic fate – the thing you want most not to encounter, you encounter; hypocrites in power, for example, standing squarely in the path of safety for a child. I have, on several occasions, been the advocate that took on a religious institution or powerful individual over sexual abuse, and in one case, child abduction. Those incidents found me, not I them. And I, who am by nature conflict aversive, have had to practice what I preach. This was one such time.

My coffee buddy Diane called that morning, to ask if I could go with her to her friend’s house. Her friend – let’s call her Amy – was distraught at having had her four-year-old son returned to her from a visitation with his father hysterical. Diane wanted Amy to tell me what she’d told her.

We drove to a small townhome nearby. Impatiens bordered the curved walkway. Bougainvillea cascaded down around an arched entry. Diane rapped briskly on the beveled glass of the front door, then turned the knob. Light filtered through plantation shutters where Amy lay listlessly on the couch.

Diane walked in and knelt beside Amy. I quietly closed the door. “Where’s Joey?” Diane asked.

“Napping.” Amy shielded her eyes as if the weak light hurt them, or perhaps to contain the pain we saw brimming there.

“I’ve brought Laura,” Diane said. “Remember I spoke with you about her? Will you talk with her?”

Amy nodded. Diane went to make tea. I sat on the edge of the couch and took her delicate hand in both of mine.

“What happened?” I asked softly.

Amy told me that she and Jim (not his real name) were separated. The previous evening she heard Joey crying even before Jim knocked on the door, promptly at 6:00 pm to deliver him after his weekly visitation. Though in his father’s arms, he had pitched forward into his mother’s and wrapped himself around her. Jim put the overnight bag on the floor inside the door, and turned to go. Amy asked what happened to have Joey so upset, and Jim said this tantrum was because he didn’t get to have an ice cream cone.

Amy told me she had held Joey, rocking him back and forth, rubbed his back, and tried every manner of soothing she knew how, but he couldn’t be calmed. Clearly this was more than ice cream. When his sobs turned to hiccups and finally subsided, he fell asleep in her arms.

She stood and carried him to his room. Pulling covers back, she carefully put him to bed. He curled up in a little ball, sucking his thumb. Deciding not to wake him to put him in pajamas, she drew covers up to tuck him in. “Nooooo. Don’t hurt it,” Joey had said cupping his privates with his little hands. “Joey?” He hadn’t wakened.

Confused, Amy went and sat on her patio, little shivers of ice pecking at her heart. Minutes later Joey had a nightmare. Amy ran to his room and lifted him to her. He scrunched his knees against his chest, making it impossible for her to hug him. “Joey! Wake up, honey. Joey!” His eyes flew open wide with terror. “Joey, it’s mommy. Shhhh. Mommy’s here.” He registered her voice, and collapsed into her.

Later, she asked him to tell her about the scary dream. He wouldn’t. She asked him what happened with Daddy that made him cry. He again put his hands down protectively around himself. She started to sob as she quoted Joey, “He said, ‘Daddy said I can’t tell anyone. It’s just befeen (between) me ‘n him.’”

I pulled Amy up into a hug as she cried. Joey’d had nightmares all night. He wouldn’t sleep in his own room. When he finally fell asleep in her bed, she’d called Jim and demanded to know what he’d done. She swore at him, called him names, and when he refused to answer for himself, she left a voicemail on his father’s phone.

This morning early, his father had called threatening that she’d never see Joey again if she said or did anything. She believed him. He had power, friends in high places, and plenty of money. When she said her father-in-law’s name, I recognized one of the most visible church leaders in America. Oh. My. God. The subject of my intervention was married to this famous pastor’s son and heir apparent.

We talked, she and I, about why she needed to get help with this. We talked about her needing the backing of a group who understood what she was going through. What Joey was going through. I told her that her in-laws’ money couldn’t make this go away, nor could her father-in-law’s fame. Right now Joey needed her strong, protective, and doing her utmost, to make sure this never happened again.

With Amy’s permission, I made a call to a child advocacy group like one that had helped me secure my children’s safety from my own renowned father, and Diane and I sat with her until the caseworker arrived.

Amy was so young. She married into Christian royalty. She’d given birth to a beautiful boy. She had no frame of reference for what her husband had done nor what her in-laws were capable of. I am humbled and awed at the courage some mothers have. She had it in spades.

She bravely did what it took to protect her son from further abuse. I don’t know the details, but thirty years later, I know that this lady is mentioned as the first wife in biographical information, and that this man remarried and had more children. There is no mention of his firstborn son. It’s as if Joey never existed.

I dare to believe he, and Amy, are thriving. I bet they’re grateful that this family abandoned a son to protect an empire.