, , , , , ,

It was only a matter of time, really. Frankly I’m surprised we were able to keep my son’s birth under wraps as long as we have. But, like the burrowing ear worm that won’t stop until it reaches the delicious brain, so too is the unending web stalking that my estranged, mentally ill mother inflicts upon me.

Based on my own confirmatory searching, she have had to seek out my husband’s name and mine in conjunction to return the unfortunately still public baby registry I had believed to be expired. But, as my luck would have it, she found me out and set off the firestorm that I had braced myself and friends and family for since we made our closeted announcement.

In no way did I expect to keep his existence a secret forever, but I had always hoped for just one more day of silence. But my lease had run out on this borrowed time, and sure enough the furor was unleashed. I soon began to realize that keeping him secret was actually the easy part.

Over the days that followed the ominous calls to my and my husband’s phone, I knew she was desperate. She began harassing everyone she could think of, distant relations, old friends, finally resorting to calling my own father, whom she so loathed, seeking out any information she could.

I wish I could say that my father did right by me, and kept my son’s information safe, telling the woman who ruined so much of our lives to pound sand. I wish I could say that for once, just once, my father put someone else’s rights and interests above his own. I wish I could say that he took the high road. But, no. For my father so loathed my mother that he could not simply pass up the opportunity to rub this in her face.

My father betrayed me, and my poor undeserving son, for his moment of schadenfreude. He not only gave up his name, but also his birthday and even sent a photograph. This did not even register as the ultimate betrayal until he called me moments afterward to relish his victory. I was simply gutted, staring the dark truth finally in the face that these subhuman monsters who birthed me into their service, simply did not have the ability to love me.

So now begins the next phase of our lives, complicated even more now that I am essentially a zombie orphan, whose parents are essentially dead to them but not really. With each passing day, I fear the new wrinkles of their devious plots to override my imposed boundaries as they have done with every other I have attempted in the past. None of that matters. Only the baby and my husband, the family I created for myself, only that matters now.