“Mommy, I have to tell you something that is very hard to say.” In a fraction of second my life skewed sideways. I knew that I was about to hear something that would change me as a person forever.
I put my hands on Timos’ little face and encouraged him to open up to me. And as the details of a horrific, violent, bloody crime came spilling out of my four-year-old’s mouth, I understood the depth of his terror as he was fighting me just weeks before. He was never fighting me. He was fighting the women who had abducted and tortured his tiny three-year-old self in a brutal, prolonged attack. He had known more pain and more fear than most do in a lifetime, and he was just waiting for me to continue his abuse. But I had fought back with hugs and kisses and words of love, and I had won the deepest level of his trust.
My soul was shredded beyond recognition. I actually felt what small force of light that was left in my heart go out. I physically felt my light go out. I understand what people mean when they say, “a piece of me died”. But I didn’t have time for that. I pushed it down and got to work.
In my heart I knew that what would help Timos heal the most was justice. I reached out to people I knew in Uganda and told them what happened. One man reached back. Our friend, Timos’ social worker who had helped with our adoption. He was heartbroken to hear about the attack on Timos and he offered to help us.
We hired private investigators and lawyers. We did video depositions for the judge. And after almost a year my now five-year-old son spun around our living room with his arms flung up to heaven, shouting, “I’m free! I’m free!” We had just heard all the women involved had been sentenced to maximum security prison for their crimes.
Garen, Keegan, Zade and I stood and watched Timos in his joy and I contemplated all these things. My youngest son was teaching me about the resilience of the human spirit, but I wouldn’t believe it was for me for a very long time.
One day, after we’d been home about a year and a half, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I’d smiled. Or been happy. I knew in that moment that I would probably never feel happiness again. I literally had the thought that I would be a Woman of Sorrow forever.
I lived my life to make sure my children had reason to smile, had joy in their hearts, had happiness in their lives. But I didn’t have those things. How does a parent get over the knowledge that their child has been touched by real evil? I put everything I had into helping Timos heal, but there were no resources for parents in our situation. I know because I looked. I would find groups and be told it wasn’t for us. So I would just keep getting out of bed in the morning, telling myself it would be bedtime soon enough. I lived for bedtime.
I will never forget the most desperate moment of my life. Garen took Timos for a bike ride to the park. I heard the garage door going down. I stood in the middle of my kitchen. I stood there for a very long time. And then I screamed. Allowing that first scream, I found I couldn’t stop. I screamed again and again and again. I fell to my knees, sobbing, screaming, in so much pain I couldn’t contain it. I screamed for so long that I was soon swallowing blood, it was pouring down my damaged throat. I had a terrible headache because I had been beating my head on the cabinets without even realizing it. I have never been more desperate, more desolate, more empty. How does a parent heal from the scars their children bear?
Woman of deep and incredible sorrow.
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