Happy Birthday to Chase

March 24th was my grandson's 10th birthday. This is the TBA bulletin announcement from 2016.... that's how I found out about him!  

He's not allowed to know I'm alive. 

Sending a happy birthday to Chase. In my heart. I share my journey of domestic violence to parental alienation so my past won't be someone else's future.

Some day, he will find me.

Heritage.

The Last Letter to Jared Levine

Please read "Be Careful What You Wish For" before this heartfelt letter that tore at my heart.

I've been hurt so much in my lifetime but having an adult (alienated) son tell you that you were just his "biological mother" was the end of the road for me.....painful beyond words.

The only way I could respond after the shock of such a statement was to cry and write.  I raised my 2 sons practically alone - their father never showed any interest in them until their teen years when I started standing up for myself against all the abuse I endured.

This is what I wrote to my son in October of 2024...:

Dear Jared,

It's been an awful few months for me.  I lost the entire summer of 2024.  But you wouldn't know that - especially just from texting.

July was spent literally suffering through a bout of Covid.  I wasn't permitted to take Paxlovid due to complications.  The month of August was spent in and out of the hospital - more than once - due to long Covid complications combined with cancer.

Then September.  September truly sucked.  I was put on a new medication regime for 4 weeks to address a leukemia issue.  The medication (daily) on top of cancer treatment (bi-weekly) made me wish I were dead.  Side effects were debilitating.  I couldn't even leave my apartment.  But you wouldn't know any of this from our texting.  I heard through your sentences that you were stressed.  Knowing that was not healthy, I felt for you.  Especially as your mother.

NOT AS JUST YOUR "BIOLOGICAL MOTHER!"

That phrase implies that I gave birth to you and gave you away or abandoned you in any way - which I most certainly did NOT!  When you texted that phrase to me - telling me I was just your biological mother - I felt a knife in my heart that almost killed me.  Words are powerful and those were devastating.

I truly raised you for 13 years - ALONE.  I never had a partner nor a co-parent.  But you don't seem to recall any of that.  And I'm pretty sure you convinced yourself of this "biological mother" crap because it is easier for you to deal with pain - pain you experienced and pain that you inflicted.

I struggle with so much, too.  And am truly sorry for any pain my own actions have caused you.  I have apologized more times than I can count.  I was going to say I can't give you blood - but you wouldn't want mine anyway. 

You have hurt me terribly.  But you don't want to know about that.  All the awful things you had said and done to me - things you refuse to own.  Not once did I ever hear an apology.  Not even when you told me to get a gun and blow my brains out....calling me a cunt, kidnapping my dog, stealing my passwords, hitting me, so many awful things.

Not one apology from you. 

You are an adult with children of your own. Old enough to know better.

Your texts occasionally hurt me - and I kept making excuses, just happy to be communicating with you.  That was also hard for me.  Being quiet when I'm offended doesn't feel right anymore.  But when I expressed this to you - you shut down again and manipulate the situation.  You cut me off again for defending myself.  If there is anything I have learned through the years of healing - it is to stand up for myself.  

You said you were "protecting" your children from me!  Insane. But it’s ok to expose them to their grandfather who is a diagnosed sociopath!

What do you think I would do to them?  Are you serious? Yes, I know you are - no matter how crazy it sounds.  I also know you continue to be influenced by others.  It’s trauma bonding.  Don't let people tell you what to do - especially when they don't have any consequences.

That "biological" mother b.s. was something Jason spewed at me over 20 years ago - some things I never forget - when your father was having an affair with Janet (they got together when I was still married to your father and we were all living together).  You are sure as hell old enough now to know the truths - though you might still try to ignore them.  Jason had once long ago referred to the "woman" , Janet, your father cheated with as being his "new mother."

Pain.  I know it all too well.  And nothing hurts more than words from your own beloved children.  

Getting back to your texts, I realize now that I mis-spoke and have expressed an apology.  I used the word "stuck" because your deceased father in law used that word to describe you.  After some thought, maybe you are on your own time schedule of controlling and torturing me more.  I wish you were on the timetable of healing.  And healing, like life, is not linear.

I get very frustrated with time.  Cancer changed my own time frames.

I pushed for photos of my grandchildren.  You sent me a pic of their backs in the distance on a staircase.  Teasing me?  Why would you do that?  Without further communication, I can only guess why.

And you texted that telling my grandchildren about me would  be too confusing for them!  They don't even know I exist!  Cruel.  Just beyond cruel to both me AND MY GRANDCHILDREN.  How that made me cry.  That pretty much left no hope for me to have any sort of relationship with them - until they become adults and may come looking for me, their heritage.  You shut a proverbial door in my face as you texted that you never gave them my cards, letters, gifts, etc. in all the years I have been sending them.  You could have told them I'm their grandmother - YOUR Mom - and I live far away.  Anything but....you erased me.  You cannot imagine how that feels.

You and I agreed not to bring up negativity in our texts but I watched as you changed the rules.  And you kept poking the bear.  But you didn't like when I said I was being bullied several years ago - in reference to signing away my voice as you and your father in law demanded, protecting your abusive father.

If someone ever hurt your daughter Lara, beat her, raped her, ...how would you feel about someone demanding her silence?  Shouldn't her voice always remain her right and her choice?

I did not want to rehash that awful time in my life - but you were the one to mention it.  Then you didn't like what you heard from me.  You did not want to discuss it.  I certainly have made mistakes in my life but certainly not in refusing to sign something so awful, hurtful, and insulting!  You wanted my complete presence removed from all social media, silencing me, without promising me a thing.  Your father in law treated me like a business deal.  He was WRONG to ever do so.

It has been very difficult for me texting you, as you are not the only person here with trust issues.  And you refused to reassure me that you did not share any of our communications with anyone.  For this alone, I haven't been able to sleep at night.  You surround yourself with people who have caused me harm.  I never want your father or brother to know my personal business - nor anyone in that horrible Levine clan.  And if you shared anything with Kerri, she might tell them.  It is very upsetting to me.  I challenged myself, not trusting my gut, and opened up to you.  I kept my word.  But you did not.

Life is messy.  You and I are both fragile.  When you text something that is untrue (I asked if you lived near Paramus and you said you didn't know where Paramus was) all trust can go down the toilet.  Cresskill isn’t far from Paramus.  I mentioned going to therapy with me - at least for ground rules and to get closure on some of our issues.  But that was not important to you - you said you didn't have the time for even one appointment.  You could make the time. People make time for what matters to them.  I did not speak up to tell you this, I just absorbed your response.

For the month of September I was in tremendous discomfort and on medication for pain.  I tried reaching you by phone - you would not answer nor return a call.  I emailed - but know that your father is the master account on all your email addresses so you might never have received them? Why is he still the account holder when you are almost 40 years old?

We must be able to let each other know when we are offended.  Without going dark.  If you tell someone they hurt you - you don't get to decide you didn't.  I told you the "ed hole" story thinking you would laugh but you flipped it and told me how mad you were at me.  Every good memory I tried to share, you had changed or erased.  I think it's easier for you to just register bad, that must hurt less than remembering what a loving mother I was and am.  The things we did together - soccer, Nintendo, reading - everything! I was always there for you.  Me.  I remember how it broke my heart to take you to a therapist when you were 9 years old because of the way your father treated you. You told the therapist your father didn’t love you.  And gave her examples. Did you forget?

My relationship with you was manipulated when all I wanted to do was end abuse and divorce your father.  I never thought it would mean losing you and your brother - not even when your father threatened me with never seeing you again.

I fought for you then and I'm fighting for you now.  

Please keep moving forward with me.

*PS.  Thank you for trying to build a bridge for 9 months via doggy pics.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*The doggy pics was a disaster for me!  I didn't tell Jared that but it reminded me of the time he kidnapped my dog for his father, during my divorce proceedings.  It's as though God was sending me a clear message - Would I let Jared near the dog I have now? NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS.

As awful as this sounds to you, the reader, I would never even let my son enter my home.  It would be unsafe.

This entire communication taught me so much.

 

 

The Demands - to make me disappear

My ex made everything disappear and threatened me that I couldn’t try to collect my half of Foodirect or 11 Piping Brook Lane in Bedford for 5 years. He made me sign it. Or he would hurt people I cared about. When the 5 years were over in 2021 I had no money for an attorney. But I’m still standing. Then they wanted me to take down all my social media and be the victim again, promising me nothing but isolation.  I wouldn't sign this demand.

​

The Younger Son

​I wrote this last March 22, 2025 , on my younger alienated son’s birthday……..

Today is a day full of memories.  Most of which I wish I could forget.  My younger of two sons was born 40 years ago today. Please read my previous post to know the status of my non relationship with this young man.  It is one of sadness and abuse.

I'm going to celebrate today, though.  Not because it belongs to him.  But because it is a day I triumphed through a very difficult 9 months.....

My first son was two years old when I learned I was pregnant again.  I was thrilled. At 11 weeks of my pregnancy, I went for an ultrasound.  Alone.  I was not part of a marital couple who participated in such important appointments together.  I was married to an abusive man who wanted nothing to do with anything that wasn't about him.

So  I went to my ultrasound appointment and sure enough there was something in between the legs of the image on the screen - and the nurse confirmed I was having another boy.  A girl would have been nice, but honestly I was never a girly girl - I loved being a boy Mom.  And after suffering a previous miscarriage, this baby was ultra special.

I went home to our apartment where my two year old was napping as his father was watching television.  And I was beaming because I was told by the medical staff that everything looked great in the imaging.  I relayed this to my husband and he asked if they could tell the sex yet.  I told him it was a boy.  We were having another boy.

Wham ! I remember the back of his hand slamming my face as I stumbled into the refrigerator in our kitchen.  I went to grab the refrigerator handle to steady myself when my husband grabbed my wrist, squeezing my finger backward.  The shouting - all the shouting....he was screaming at me that he was not having another boy.

"There is only room for one son in my business (Foodirect, formerly P & L Provisions)!  I will not have another son - and there will be no room for him in my car.  You piece of shit!"

I don't know how I did it, crawled maybe.  But I got to a phone and called my parents.  I heard my son crying in his crib.  I was badly bruised, my finger broken.  I don't know why I didn't phone 911 but it was probably because I was terrified of the man I was married to.

On the phone, as I cried out of pain and fear, I told my mother what happened.  She said to wait, they were coming.  With a police officer.

My husband ran.  He left our apartment immediately after hearing me speak of what he did to me.

My parents came to our Yonkers apartment and helped me pack up myself and my toddlers' things.  My son and I left to stay with my parents.  I sought medical help for the injuries my husband inflicted on me.  My unborn child was okay.

I was not told I could press charges against my husband.  The officer merely escorted us down to the car and off we went.  My toddler and I settled into my parents' house in Rye Brook, which would be our home for the next year.

My husband was not worried about us.  He didn't care to find us, or know our plan.  My father found a divorce attorney for me and after a consultation, I decided to just keep that on hold for the time being.  Looking back, how I wish i would have listened to some people about filing for divorce immediately.  But I was a mother of a two year old with another on the way and everything terrified me.

At 16 weeks of pregnancy, I had my cervix stitched.  My doctor was worried about me carrying my son to full term because of what happened with my first delivery.  I had my first son 4 weeks prematurely.  I did not tell Dr. Beals that it was because my husband had pushed me down and hit me the day before my water broke....but it was certainly a probable cause.  Back then, I did not speak of the  physical abuse I endured.  The first time I ever told anyone anything was when my parents picked me up this day of the ultrasound - the day my husband exploded because he did not want another son.

My father was a very passive man his entire life.  He never stood up for himself so I know now that he was incapable of standing up for me.  But I wish I had the kind of father you see in movies who go and beat up guys who mess with their daughters.

Anyway, I was grateful for the escape to safety and some peace.  And I prayed so much to have my second son and for his good health.  Sleeping on the couch in my parents' family room for all those months was worth it.  My two year old slept next to me in a portable crib my mother purchased for him.  We made their home ours for the next few months.

Eventually, my husband figured out where we were and contacted me via phone.  We didn't have cell phones back then.  He called my parents' house.  I believed I had to let him see our two year old who was about to turn three, so I permitted him to enter my parents' home only when we had supervision.  I was still scared of what he would do to me because he did not want this baby I was carrying in my belly.

My husband made promises.  He apologized.  All so we did not get a divorce.  He started visiting us weekly.  Still under supervision as I would not be alone with him.  And he wasn't even interested in the fact that his son wasn't living with him anymore.  I guess he was enjoying his single life too much.  

The time came when my doctor recommended a scheduled C-section, as my first son was delivered by C-section three years before.  I was to pick a date.  I chose March 22.  

I did not have affectionate parents, mind you.  In fact, they were pretty cold.  My mother was not kind to me - her behavior toward me would have gotten her jail time in this day and age.  You see, I grew up getting hit.  Until she drew blood.  Probably undiagnosed bipolar, my mother always had erratic behaviors.  My father was the Art Director for IBM, so he traveled nine months out of the year when I was growing up and was mostly not around.  I got used to being called ugly among other things.  I was accustom to getting hit.  Thus, I married an abuser.  After years of therapy, I now know that is not uncommon.  But I pledged to myself and God, that I would do everything in my power to never be anything like my own mother. 

On March 21, 1985, I had a small overnight bag packed for the hospital.  My now three year old was to stay with my mother while my father took me to the hospital in Bronxville, NY.  My father drove me to the ER entrance of St. Lawrence Hospital and did not get out of the car.  As I opened my car door, the hospital staff greeted me with a wheelchair and whisked me away.  No kiss from my father, no words were exchanged.  I will never forget how he didn't even move from the driver's seat of the car.  I was on my own.

My husband was well aware of the date I had chosen for the delivery as well as the date I was to arrive at the hospital.  He did not care.  He asked no questions all during my pregnancy and removed himself from anything relating to this baby I was about to have.  He did not show up at the hospital, even though I had asked him to.  He said he was "busy."

I was on my own.  I had paperwork pre registered and was wheeled to a private room.  Now all there was to do was wait for the morning.  My delivery was set for 8:30 AM.  

At 6 AM on March 22, 1985,  I awoke to a familiar face.  Someone did show up for me!  It was my dear friend who was also a PA.  She was given permission to take care of me pre-op.  This person cared.  It is bringing tears to my eyes just remembering the joy of seeing her there for me.  No one else came.  As a matter of fact, this really pissed off my friend.  My in laws weren't there, my parents weren't there...but especially the father of my baby did not show up.  I told my friend that my husband said he was "busy."  No, you just can't make this shit up.  My friend also remembers it all.  She picked up the hospital room phone and in front of me told my husband to "Bite the bullet and get your ass to the hospital!"

He told her he was "busy."

I remember being wheeled into the operating room and crying.

And then I remember waking up to this precious little soul who entered our world at 7 pounds 11 ounces.

His father finally did come to the hospital.  On his own time.  Not when I needed him.

I eventually took my husband back, moved into a house together that we built in Bedford, NY, and sustained another 14 years of injuries due to the domestic violence.

So, here you have it.  Happy birthday - on my son's birthday but to celebrate me.  I carried him to term.  Alone but not alone.  Because every single day I talked to him in my belly telling him how much I loved him - and because God was with me every step of the way.

I did the best I could always.  I took the punches so my sons didn't have to .  Until I couldn't take it anymore....

This day, March 22 - through my eyes, is a day that I celebrate my own strength.  I am declaring it a day when I remember how strong I was when I didn't even realize it.

Sometimes the strongest people are not those who show strength in front of you, but those who win battles you know nothing about.

#domesticviolencesurvior #domesticviolence #jaredlevine #foodirect #parentalalienation

Life Goes On

 

I once had a different blog, years ago.  You might recognize the title, "Until You Say Uncle."  It was basically about my survival through horrific episodes of domestic violence - a 20 year marriage from hell, experiences in a broken United States family court system, and trying to cope with tragic loss - parental alienation.

As a mother of two sons, I had lived in Bedford, NY, with a husband who routinely abused me physically, verbally, psychologically and eventually emotionally through the systemic alienation of my children.  I  had nowhere to turn for help.  All people could see was an enviable lifestyle with a husband who was successful and bought me beautiful "things."  I finally found the courage and strength to pursue a divorce.  But it took me 3 tries as this husband threatened me daily.  He proceeded to cut me off financially, spending much of his considerable wealth on frivolous legal tactics to drain me.  Without money, I could not fight back.

I lost custody of my children, had nowhere to go, no job and  therefore no income.  My divorce was initially denied; he did not want one.  I later obtained my divorce on appeal - for cruel and inhuman treatment.  The pain of losing my children to his brainwashing antics would never go away.

I fought as best I could for my sons...their father kept me in  court for years.  He had said he would "kill me with motion practice"  if I tried to see my sons or collect the financial judgement of divorce - he said I would never see a "dime"  nor see my children, who were teenagers at the time, again.  

This should not have happened.

But people are rarely aware of the tactics used by such abusive men.

Starting my old blog gave me the strength to persevere.  It awarded me so very much support by readers - and I remain forever grateful.  I shared my story and built a community.  Life took over as I reinvented much of what was lacking.  I returned to my art, teaching, advocating to end domestic violence and parental alienation...and grasping at every joy I can encounter.

It's been hard.  Don't get me wrong.  But no matter how much I hurt and struggled, I learned that life goes on.  It's imperative to learn from it.  And realize we can all do hard things.

I'm hoping to do so much with my renewed “Until You Say Uncle.”  I'd like to rediscover those old coping skills that I gained through my writing as I bring awareness to various causes and reflections that are life's components.

In writing and sharing again, I'm also hoping to assist others on their own journey.

Hang in there, keep moving forward.

Because Life Goes On.

Be Careful What You Wish For

 

Be Careful What You Wish For

March 02, 2025

 Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it.

A few months ago, my ringtone went off on my cellphone while I was painting. As I looked at the caller ID screen, my heart felt like it skipped a beat. The identification said that one of my two adult alienated sons was calling. He had not phoned me in almost 20 years.

You know how there are things you pray for - well, at least I do as I have occasionally asked God for assistance in the same breath as expressing gratitude...but you realize they are unlikely? I often pray for my sons to have awakenings. To understand that they were victims of their father's abuse in so many ways, especially in destroying my relationships with them. Parental alienation is the weaponizing of children, usually in high conflict divorces, as they are brainwashed by an abusive parent to turn against the targeted loving parent. As in my case, it was merely another way for my ex-husband to hurt me. My sons actually joined him in abusing me toward the end of my marriage and well into my decade long divorce proceeding. It was all part of the post separation abuse.

I won't get into the tactics of parental alienation right now, but let me tell you it is brutal. My sons went from being my world, telling me that all their friends wanted me as their mom to sending me vicious emails and leaving vile phone messages. Brainwashed as teenagers, they are now both adults with children of their own. My grandchildren are not allowed to know of my existence.

So, when I saw my 39 year old son's name on the caller ID, I ignored it. Thinking it was just a butt dial, I continued painting my canvas. My ringtone sounded again about an hour later - my son's name lighting the screen. Then a text came through. As I read it, I remember forgetting to breathe. I was completely shocked and lightheaded simultaneously. He wanted me to call him back.

And after a few minutes of breathing again, I did. A five minute phone call followed. It was my son's voice which I was praying to hear for so very long. The only way to describe it is surreal and generic. I tried my best not to cry. We did not get into anything messy, for lack of a better word.

However, in the course of 9 months, that was the only voice communication. My son would not answer his phone again, nor did he ever try to call me again.

We texted. That was it. But it was something.

Periodically, I asked him to meet me for coffee somewhere, meet me for dinner anywhere, go to a therapist’s office with me (of his choosing)….I was always told he had no time for me. 🚩

And I was extremely guarded. For this was a son who wronged me in so many ways from when he was 14 years of age up to the awful time just prior to the outbreak of COVID when he demanded I sign a gag agreement to protect his father (I did not sign it). I had to let it go, as much as I could. I have major trust issues and this particular son is one of the main reasons for them. History has made it so. As a teenager he did everything from kidnap my dog for his father, ask me for my voicemail password only to give it to his father, sent me emails calling me a "cuntrag" and telling me to die....It's hard to act like it all is forgotten, when it isn't. One particular email he sent me years ago said, "Get a gun and blow your brains out. Kill yourself. Taking pills is for wusses." Sure that may not seem so bad to you - but it was right after I had a month long hospital stay after trying to stop all the pain I felt in my heart from losing my sons during the divorce from hell. It almost cost me my life.

Let me repeat - for their 14 and 17 years at the time I said "no more" to the abuse in my marriage - my sons were my world.

Losing them to lies and brainwashing had broken me.

And now here was this male adult texting me like we were old friends. Even though we weren't. I struggled through every word we exchanged. For a few months, the communication was very civil. But there were so many red flags I now see in hindsight.

My son was collecting information. That is the sum and substance of the communications we had for several weeks. And I was a fool. I remembered reading a quote years ago that the best way to begin to trust someone is to act like you already do.

That is how a few months of communication started. 

He focused on what I can now only think of as his mission. I was diagnosed with cancer almost three years ago. My son kept asking me for my "prognosis" as many people in my life had reached out to him over the last two years, asking him to reach out to me. The fact that it took him so long should have told me everything - but I tried to keep moving forward.

Imagine you have a virtual stranger asking you the most personal and vital challenges going on in your life - WTF doesn't begin to cover it. There is nothing more personal than a cancer prognosis. He wanted to know when I was going to die.

But stupid me floated past some information and disclosed a little. I regret it all more than I can put into words. I told him some personal things, thinking it would open doors of communication only to have him slam them in my face.

I literally begged him for photos of my grandchildren. He refused. I asked him what they loved to do, their favorite foods, what made them happy - for the most part, he refused to engage. I just wanted to learn about them.

The first and only phone encounter was in February of 2024. Our texts were weekly for a while. He would tell me how stressed he was. And I told him to enjoy his life, change careers if that would make him happy, that he could do anything he set his mind to. As we became more familiar, he told me he was angry at me and I kept apologizing for things. Do you know that not once did this grown son ever apologize for the horrific and hurtful words he directed at me well into his 20's? Nothing. And I did not remind him. Not even of how he hit me during my divorce from his father. Believe me, we have been through so much. I believe he may have blocked much of his own behavior out of his mind, as a coping mechanism.

July came around and I got quite sick. I contracted Covid despite all my extra vaccinations. And when you get Covid while on chemotherapy treatment for cancer - let me tell you it was serious. I was totally debilitated. In and out of the hospital, I faced my August birthday in an emergency room.

With a morphine drip for the severe pain in my chest and on oxygen to breathe, my son texted me "happy birthday" with a photo attached. It was of 2 children from the back - their backs are facing the camera, and they are approximately half a mile away from the lens, walking up a lit staircase. It reminded me of a cruise ship ad. I saved the photo on my phone but won't share it here, as I will keep my word regarding that privacy.

An hour after the initial birthday text, my son texted again asking if the photo made me happy.

Here's another WTF moment. I may have been on morphine but why would looking at the back of something unidentifiable make me happy? I answered him as I struggled to text with my good arm - I was hooked up to an IV and more machines than I can name. I thanked him. I told him I was in the hospital and why. He told me the photo was of the backs of my grandchildren as they climbed stairs so far in the distance. I asked him how I would ever know that and could he please be so kind as to send me a photo of their faces. No. He would not.

Be careful what you wish for. As tears leaked from my eyes, a nurse came into my room. I don't know why, but I told her what had transpired and showed her the photo. Sometimes you have to tell someone how you are being treated to realize how bad the treatment really is. She went ballistic and told me to block the "little shit son". She told me that no mother, especially one in the hospital who is sick, deserves to be treated like that.

Well, happy birthday to me. After that, there was a little more texting with him - as I was forever making excuses for his awful behavior. He lives 30 minutes from the hospital I was in. He never asked how I felt or if he could do anything. Nothing. There was no one home there.  

My son lost his father in law to pancreatic cancer the year before so I rationalized that he couldn't deal with another hospital. I thought of my son's father in law alot while I was in that emergency room, and all the things he had told me only 2 years prior.

My son's father in law had told me that my son removed himself from my ex husband in every way imaginable as he finally realized the extent of his father's abusive behaviors.  Another mistake I made was believing this to be true. My son's father in law passed away not long after telling me that my ex was no longer in my son's life. He lied.

Fast forward to September and I start getting very hurtful messages on my phone. My son wrote that I was only his "biological mother." That the cards I have sent my grandchildren, now 6 and 8 years of age, have all been thrown in the trash. That every letter I wrote went unread. And my son was in Florida, spending a week with his father. The messages became combative. Telling me my son pitied me, I was going to die alone, that his father "wasn't mad at me anymore and moved on......" And that I would never meet my grandchildren.

He told me his father's father died - and all I could think was that there was a seat in hell waiting for that man, too. Maybe someday I'll write about his awful acts of abuse and how he trained his son to be violent. My former father in law hurt so many people over the years in so many ways. I grew up down the street from that family and I could tell you an earful. At 93 years old, he's gone - good riddance. All I could think of was how I had begged him and my mother in law for help so many times only to have them literally laugh at me.

I don't mean to ramble but PTSD from domestic violence sometimes gets the best of me. Back to getting what you wish for.

I never received any apology nor acknowledgement from my son. The verbal abuse continued via texts until I stood up for myself in a nine page letter I emailed him. I was on a delay switch. I had taken enough and deserved so much better. Forget about my continuous cancer battle and treatments, I raised him practically alone for his first 14 years of life. I was not perfect, but damn - I did the best I could. I was the assistant soccer coach for years, always the class parent in his schools, attending every single event of his on my own, alone....I did not deserve his animosity. Especially as he repeatedly told me I could not see my grandchildren. Not in a photo and most certainly not in person.

So be careful what you wish for. It has taken me months to recover from the pain my son inflicted - again. It was as though a scab was torn off and a knife penetrated my heart. Over and over.

I will no longer be making excuses for how damaged my sons are. They are well into adulthood with families of their own. Families who also deserve better than to have my son's wounds bleed on them, too. I'm missing out on being a grandma, but those children are missing out on so much more. And I truly fear for them as my ex husband is a perpetrator of abuse in all ways possible. He was diagnosed as a psychopath with antisocial personality disorder and being morally bankrupt. And he is in the lives of my grandchildren.

Maybe parental alienation isn't the worse thing that can happen to a loving mother. Now I think it's worse to find out that your alienated child has grown up to be everything you hoped they would never be.

 Sometimes my higher power will give me exactly what I wanted just to show me it wasn't what I needed.

Jimmy Blue Eyes and My Regret

I have a few regrets in my life.  I know not the best to have but such it is.  Two of them are pretty major.

The first is that I did not go to the police and file a report when I was raped.  

The second is not telling my Uncle about all the abuse I endured after I married my rapist.

Sometimes I just think about how different my life would have been, could have been, as those two regrets most likely would have changed the entire trajectory that led me to today.

I should have gone to the police, or at least another adult, regarding the rape...but back then it was humiliating, full of shame, and too scary.  It was as though my soul was kidnapped when in truth a piece of me was destroyed.  I was always invisible to my parents so they did not even realize or take notice of how the trauma caused my world to change.

Marrying my rapist, though, is on a whole other level of making a bad decision...but I keep reflecting how different things might have been had I told my Uncle Jimmy what was transpiring.  He would have "remedied" the situation with my abuser.  I believe wholeheartedly that he would have taught Robert Levine a lesson or two, or three or four.

This Uncle I speak of was best known to many as "Jimmy Blue Eyes."  To me, he was just Uncle Jimmy.  He wasn't a real Uncle, but my maternal Grandmother's cousin.  My Grandmother, Elvira Scalzo Ciringione, was cousin to my Uncle Jimmy and his brother, Uncle Joe Alo.  Uncle Joe was my very favorite relative as I was growing up.  

Up until I left for college, I was extremely close to my Uncle Joe.  He'd take me for walks through the woods behind his house in Pelham Manor for hours and teach me about all the various kinds of mushrooms there are in the world.  He'd always say mushrooms were his favorite vegetable.  He'd sauté, fry, roast and bake them.  He had a colorful chart of all the species, edible and inedible.  When my Aunt Nina, his wife, got her first racing green Jaguar, my Uncle told me immediately and brought me to see that gorgeous new car - because he knew how much I loved automobiles even as a child.  When I was in high school, I brought my first boyfriend to visit my Uncle Joe and Aunt Nina every week.  My boyfriend, James Landis, enjoyed speaking to my Uncle about medicine.  My Uncle Joe was a doctor and James became one.  When I got my driver's license,  the first place I drove to was my Uncle Joe's house.  My Uncle Joe, Aunt Nina, and their dog Ali were my refuge, my safe place, where I felt loved.

So on all those visits, I'd sometimes see Uncle Joe's brother and mother - Uncle Jimmy and Aunt Julia.  Aunt Julia did not speak a single word of English, only Italian.  She always wore a black dress of sorts with black knee high stockings.  She embodied a stereotype of elderly Italian woman from the Italian countryside so long ago.  She could not communicate in English, but she always let me know how happy she was to see me and how much she loved me, via hugs and kisses.  

Aunt Julia sure knew how to make me feel special.  Needing my relatives to translate, she consistently told me I was her favorite girl - she believed I was named after her, and that was an honor.  Neither of my Uncles had children so Aunt Julia truly doted on me.  Whenever she saw me she'd say , "My Julie for Julia" in Italian.  Then shed give me a hug so great that it blocked out the rest of the  world.

I'd also see my Uncle Jimmy in Pelham Manor for many Sunday dinners.  He and my grandmother were close.  I remember them always laughing together like they had inside jokes no one else knew about.  But I also remember a lesson that Uncle Jimmy told me.  You had to eat pasta only when it was hot.  One Sunday, Aunt Nina served pasta that was not piping hot.  My Uncle Jimmy, sitting at the head of the table in their dining room, was furious and yelled at my Aunt.  He made her take the plate back as he expressed his anger.  I was terrified and followed my Aunt into the kitchen where I watched her cook a fresh batch of pasta and sauce for Uncle Jimmy.  As he received his fresh entree, he said never eat pasta at room temperature.  And that was that.

I also have many memories of visiting my Uncle  Jimmy in Florida every year as a child.  I would get so excited when we pulled up to the big letter A on his metal front gate at the foot of his driveway.   Throughout my childhood, he loved to hear me play the  piano and always commented on  my progress.  He did an awesome Jimmy Durante impersonation, with a hat, that was always a good laugh.  

But I always noticed all the men surrounding the outskirts of my vision.  They were always wearing dark suits.  I learned early on not to ask any questions.  I remember my grandmother whispering that to me.

One time at his house, I opened the door to a back room only to find someone smiling up at me from under the covers of a bedspread.  A guy.  I was pulled out of the  room and told that this "young man" was sick and to be quiet.  I never touched anything I wasn't supposed to again.  I later found out that "guy" was the son of someone my Uncle worked with.  Decades later I learned he worked for someone named Meyer Lansky.

As years went by, and my college education approached, I lost track of my Uncle Jimmy.  Throughout my childhood, I was told that he worked in the furniture business.  And as my high school years came to a close and I was off to college, my grandmother told me that my Uncle relocated to Rome, Italy.  I never heard from him again, nor was he spoken of. 

I left for college and there was no more communication with my Uncle Joe and Aunt Nina.  I didn't know what happened and really just let it go as I settled into my new future education.  But it was all off.  I didn't know what happened to anyone...not even Aunt Julia.  And when I asked my Grandmother, she would end the conversations.

Everyone was dismantled.

It wasn't until years later that I finally learned the truth.

My Uncle Jimmy Alo was in the Mafia.  The real Mafia!  He did not go to Rome.  He went to prison.

My Uncle Joe and Aunt Nina disconnected from all that they knew.  As a doctor, his reputation was effected by his family relationships.

I did not see them again after I left for college.  I graduated college, was raped, married my rapist, had two sons and was a victim of domestic violence for twenty years.  I asked my grandmother many questions before she passed away, during my divorce.  My Uncle Jimmy could have helped me so many times for so many years - but I did not tell anyone.  I was only in survival mode trying to protect my two boys.

During my divorce from Robert Levine, my grandmother told me she had wished she had told my Uncle Jimmy, she said he would have fixed everything.  She told me about my Uncle's true life as Jimmy Blue Eyes right hand man to Meyer Lansky.  How I wished I had known.

He could have changed my outcome.  He could have made it so my sons would know and grow up with my own values, not those of their abusive father.  Uncle Jimmy would have helped me escape the life of harm from a sociopathic husband.

If only.

Sometimes I still sit and think about what a difference it would have made.  He certainly would have taught my now ex husband a few lessons.  

But that's the thing about regrets....they are feelings of sorrow for inactions and also for actions that never happened.

We all make mistakes, sometimes keeping secrets, and have regrets.  Some little, some big, 

some simple and some more complex.  

Some things we regret forever.

Memories

​

What Does Parental Alienation Look Like?

​My sons once loved me with all their heart. When their father knew I wanted to end the domestic violence and all his other abuse, the manipulation of my sons escalated until our mother-son bonds were replaced with their hate.  I filed for divorce 3 times, I tried to leave 5 times.  Always taking my abusive husband back because of his threats.  I followed through on the last time I filed and he kept his word for the first time in 25 years….Id never have a relationship with my sons again. 

This is an example of what parental alienation looks like.  On March 22, 2007, I sent my younger son, Jared, a happy birthday message for his 22nd birthday. After years of him joining his father in abusing me during the long divorce proceedings.  (He hit me - I called the police, he would write to me that I should commit suicide, he kidnapped my dog, and more….)

This is what he wrote back.

How I Named My Blog

 Say Uncle

From Wikipedia:

In the United States, the expression "say Uncle" or just "uncle" may be used to indicate submission, such as when wrestling, or a cry for mercy in a game.

And in my married life of twenty years - a lifetime ago....I had to say it so often.

But it taught me so much.

An expression that my perpetrator (abusive ex-husband) always demanded, a submission, a begging for mercy as he abused me...he would not stop until I said "Uncle."

The very first time he did this to me, we were not even married.  We were watching television on his parents' bed, in their bedroom (they were away for the weekend).  He pulled down their bedspread, pushing me under the top sheet of their bedding.  He covered my entire body under that sheet, including my head.  And he farted under the sheet as I was trapped in it - over and over again - my cries to stop, my struggle to get free - ignored.  And then he said it.

The command was "say Uncle."  If I said it, he would stop farting on me and let me go.

Crying, I said Uncle.

It didn't end there.  All this transpired after he had raped me, as I already felt branded, shamed, and unworthy of better treatment.  More about that at another time.

As I mentioned, this is the reason for my title here and on the memoir, I am completing.  I have a story to tell.  

And no matter what my life has encountered, what adversity I face, what pain I endure, I promise myself to stand up, speak up - and break the silences.

I think of the four grandchildren my ex-husband and my adult alienated sons will not let me meet.  And I am writing for those children.  I want them to know how much I wish they knew I existed.

I will not say Uncle to cancer, to parental alienation, to abuse, nor any other challenge.  This warrior is here to stay.

Today's Trigger

You always hear people say, "leave the past in the past."

 But if you have any sort of trauma in your past, life doesn't work that way.  Especially with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

Today, as I scrolled through Facebook, I came across an ignorant comment from an intelligent woman, a writer.  She actually wrote, "love can be violent and delicious."

I immediately felt a pit in my stomach and a tremendous surge of anger.  And let me tell you it takes alot to push my buttons.  I've been in therapy for years trying to connect with anger that I hold within me - since it was literally beaten out of me for years through domestic violence and conditioning.

Have you ever felt two very strong emotions at once?  So strong they could knock you over?  I thought I'd puke. I literally had to take a screenshot of it because I couldn't believe it's reality.  And then I thought of how this woman who made such a statement has a young daughter....

I usually have one of two reactions to triggers.  I dissociate, ignoring what is triggering my trauma, or what I've learned to do to keep sane - I stand up to it.  Tall and strong.  I use my voice.

I replied to this woman that her comment was awful and that obviously she had never been raped or abused.

But all I kept thinking about was her young daughter.  Would anyone teach a young girl that "love can be violent and delicious?"

I know I didn't always teach my sons the lessons I truly think they should have learned.  Their role model was an abusive father.  But I did always say "don't be like your father."  Unfortunately...they did not heed my words.  Seeing their mother physically, emotionally and financially abused was their lesson in life.  My bad.

I beg every mother of every girl out there - please teach your daughters that love shouldn't hurt.

MLK, Jr. Day Reminder

 "Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

My life's history is clearly exhibited in various reports, court transcripts, and diary entries.  Especially evident via a psyche report in which Dr. Marc T. Abrams, a forensic psychologist, summed up his professional opinion during my divorce proceedings. If you think "survivors" are only those who outlived the horrors of a concentration camp, I ask you to think again.  Along with American history comes much tragedy.  There was slavery.  There is domestic violence.  For those of us fortunate enough not to be destroyed by horrifying human conditions, we are in fact survivors.   

Sometimes, you don't need to add a description to a photograph to make a statement.  This is one of those times.  Below is a copy of a legal exhibit, submitted by my ex's attorney, Mona D. Shapiro, which consists of statements made by Dr. Abrams (only one of the psychologists assigned to evaluate us during my divorce)...Dr. Abrams comments about my ex, Robert Levine, about me...and my sons, Jason and Jared. The contents of this one piece of paper sum up what I have had to deal with and what I live with on a consistent basis.  Legal abuse has taken the place of the beatings I received.  Mr. Levine continues to manipulate the courts as he uses the legal system in continuing his abuse.  He no longer needs to use his hands on me. 

Although I have scanned in the document below, I will transcribe the sentences for easier reading.  If you haven't walked in my shoes, don't judge me. Don't ask my why I stayed for almost 20 years in an abusive situation (I tried to leave several times, and it only made the violence escalate). Don't tell me to let go of my pursuit of justice (what would I be teaching my sons if I said "Uncle" again?).  Read the personality I have had to deal with, that of my ex husband - the psychopath who wears an Armani suit and drives a Bentley convertible.  I am surviving my personal terrorist. 

It states:

1. "Mr. Levine's personality is consistent with a high functioning, sociopathic (also referred to in literature as psychopathic) personality."

2. "This personality configuration is characterized by narcissism that is directed towards the direct manipulation of others so as to meet ones own needs, regardless of the consideration of others or of any moral considerations of ones actions."

3."When this type of personality configuration results in a patter of illegal behaviors that displays a disregard for the well being of others, and moral considerations, then it is labeled 'antisocial.'"

4. "There is historical evidence to support the labeling of Mr. Levine as having antisocial personality."

5. "Mr. Levine is also the type of man who seeks to portray a machismo facade his relationships with others appears to reflect a self-centeredness that results in other people's interests being placed secondary to his own.  He has the capacity to appear charming and self assured and is likely to maintain this facade as long as his narcissist needs are getting met."

6. "If his narcissist needs are not getting met, his response may range from sophisticated maneuvers to manipulate to blatant and aggressive acts of control."

7. "He can then become attacking and demeaning towards others in an attempt to place himself in a position that he considers superior to others."

8. "(He) engages in actions that reflect a callous disregard for the well-being of others and the conscious disregard for the moral considerations of his actions."

9. "She married a man, who in the professional opinion of this examiner was psychologically, physically, economically, and probably sexually abusive to her."

10. "This examiner believes that Mrs. Levine was left to raise her children essentially single handedly, until the boys were in their late latency years."

11. "This examiner is of the professional opinion she does suffer from Post Traumatic Stress disorder and has episodes of Major Depression, which are a direct result of the chronic abuse that Mr. Levine directed towards his wife."

12. "This examiner perceives Mr. Levine to be a poor role model.  It appears as though he uses his son's psychological alignment with him to support and back-up their father.  Even at the expense of their own integrity.  This examiner is of the professional opinion that the boys have observed their father being psychologically and physically abusive towards their mother."

13. "This examiner is doubtful of Mr. Levine's capacity to engage in a a mutually satisfying long-term relationship with another woman.  this examiner can only hope so for Ms. Torre's sake and for the sake of the children."

14. "...this examiner considers Mr. Levine to be a relatively morally bankrupt individual."

15. "This examiner perceives Mr. Levine to be a genuine sociopath who engaged in a pattern of physical and economic abuse of his wife." 

Enough said: