I know I'm late to the game, but I'd still love to contribute. Most of my life, I thought my mother had abandoned me. I even have a very vivid memory of sitting on the driveway, at four years of age, waiting for her to come pick me up for visitation, but she never showed up. That was the end of it as far as I knew, and weirdly, I don't remember ever asking where she went. My dad bought me a pet parakeet (which was apparently a trend at the time, buying parakeets for children who had just experienced a trauma), and we moved into a big, beautiful new house. I figure that's a lot of distraction for a four year old, so I try not to blame myself for not putting the pieces of the puzzle together earlier. When I was fifteen, I discovered that my mother had been sending child support payments to my father all those years (because he hadn't spent a dime of it but put it all in a savings account in my name instead, literally the only good thing he ever did). I had been under the impression that there was no contact between them whatsoever. That's when I became skeptical, but I still had no idea what had actually happened.
I sent a letter to the people handling the child support payments that consisted of nothing but my contact information (because what the hell do you say to the mother who left you?), and I asked them to pass it along to my her because they weren't allowed to tell me her information. She called. We cried. She didn't mention a thing about why she left, and I didn't ask. I was a fifteen year old girl who was just thrilled to have an older female to confide in. Then, one day, I had the bright idea of having a conference call with her and the young man I was dating at the time (whose name I honestly do not remember), and he asked the question: "Why did you abandon your daughter?" Holy fucking awkward balls! She didn't say much because I don't think I let her say much, but the words "she moved" came out. That stuck in my head. I'd never even considered how sketchy the timeline had been. She would also hint that I might not be safe living with my father by asking if I was "okay" in a certain tone. I knew what she meant. My father was a manipulative, mean functioning alcoholic who knew how to walk the tightrope between reprimand and abuse. He'd been made that way by shitty people, so ya know, don't be shitty! Also, I don't blame him at all, and I hold no resentment, blah blah. Basically, I'm over it; I don't want pity, but I still acknowledge that it was a thing that happened. Moving on... When I moved out of his house at eighteen, I wanted a lot of the family heirlooms that were just gathering dust in the basement, things that meant a lot to me, but my father would have just thrown out. In the basement, I found a lot of legal documents pertaining to my parents' divorce and the subsequent custody battle. That was another thing I didn't know. She tried to keep me. (I found rather risque photographs of the only girlfriend I can remember my dad having too, but those were less important ... at the time.) I also discovered ways my father abused my mother in those documents; for example, he would hide her shoes so she couldn't leave the house. That probably sounds bizarre to most of you, but it rung pretty true with me. She wasn't allowed to have a job, friends of color, or paint anywhere except the basement (I should mention, my mom ... totally the artsy, hippy, patchouli-smelling type.) Once again, all those things made sense to me. Growing up, I wasn't allowed to watch television shows with people of color in them. (Who loves orange soda? Yeah, that's a new joke to me. Fuck you.) Some fucking power trip, eh, pop? Eighteen year old me was still not getting it. Fuck, I must have been dense. Through simply existing on this earth a few more years, I picked up a few tidbits about how custody battles actually work. Money plays a huge role. My father had a lot of it, and my mother had none. Learning that, I dropped a serious truth bomb on myself. She didn't leave me. I was taken from her. Now, we're awkwardly FaceBook friends, and I have no idea how to tell her I know.