Dear Jason

When we understand that each day isn't one more day, but one day less, we'll start giving more value to the things that truly matter.

Dear Jason,

I'm not quite sure where this writing will take me as I follow my heart to an unknown destination.  Writing here is my only possible way to communicate with you, so I'm hoping that by some miracle you find my words. The last time I received any communication from you, it was regarding my old blog, the original "Until You Say Uncle," when you emailed me that you didn't care if I wrote because in your words, "no one read it anyway."  I still have that old email from years ago.  So long ago.

I do my best to try not to remember you as the raging 17-year-old at the Westchester County courthouse when I was there to obtain an order of protection against your abusive father, and you were literally screaming at me that you were going to kill me if your father went to jail for domestic violence.  The guards had to escort you away.  The domestic violence shelter counselor who accompanied me was appalled by your behavior and left my side only to leave the waiting area (which remained guarded) to speak directly with Judge Braslow regarding your threat.  Your face scrunched, frowning and mouth foaming as you yelled at me - an image I fight every day of my life for over 20 years.  And when Judge Braslow entered a restraining order against you to protect me from your threats, it only fueled your anger.  

Even when I tried to rescind the order of protection against you, my son, you were still hostile toward me.  And it never ended.  I filed for divorce from your abusive father and you sent me a letter telling me how much you hated me and did not regard me as your mother anymore.  Instead, you referred to the woman your father cheated with as your "new mother" saying you liked "your new mother better."

Well, there's this concept.  When you squeeze out a tube of toothpaste, you can't put the toothpaste back in the tube.  Same with words.  They have lived in the darkest corner of my heart for two decades.

As you probably already know, I have cancer.  I have a feeling that you celebrated when you found out about that.  Sad.  But you were not always so cruel and mean.  I saw how you changed at only 16 years of age, when I had to pick you up from the Pleasantville police station.  You had stolen my car from me when I was sleeping and met up with other Byram Hills High School students.  I was told you exhibited extreme road rage and threatened to "kill" one of your fellow students.  The phone call from the police station was terrifying as I did not understand it immediately.  I thought you were home, upstairs in your room.  I didn't even know my car was missing. 

Rather than have you address the consequences of your actions, your father used his connections to have the incident record expunged.  And what did that teach you?

When I picked you up from the police station, I was speechless.  And to be honest with you, scared of you.  You were showing signs of such anger that I knew you were your father's son.  You had even beat up your brother and threatened to kill him, too, at one time.

During my divorce from your abusive father (can't say father easily without adding the abusive part, as it is and was a part of his identity), you were interviewed by 3 forensic psychologists.  They all told me I had reason to fear you.  They all diagnosed your father as a sociopath and said they saw similar signs in you - they said you needed help, but you refused to go to therapy.

I think one of the worse things in the world is when a mother has to fear her own child.

And here I am, writing to you.  When you have nothing left to lose, some types of fear diminish.  I treasure my days on earth.  but a funny twist is that you are still in so many of my thoughts and memories.

The past can't change, but memories can through brainwashing.  And like it or not, your memories were altered by your abusive father.  As he involved you in every aspect of the legal proceedings in divorce, he told you lies after lies after lies.  And you ate them up.  It was easier to hate me than lose me.  I never wanted to leave you.  I just didn't want all that violence and abuse in my life anymore.  Your father was going to kill me - yes, he said those words way before you did.

You were once such a sweet, caring and sensitive child.  Even more so than your brother.  I remember when I had a miscarriage and you were 7 years old, your brother was 4, that you were the one crying for me when I was in the hospital overnight.  Not your brother.

I miss the you before you changed.  Before you were gradually taught to hate me.  Remember when you were asked in court (because your father listed you as a witness) if your mother ever abused you?  Do you remember what you said? It's actually documented in court transcripts until the end of time....You said, yes.  You told the judge I abused you!  When asked how...your reply was priceless.  With a straight face, you told the judge that I went out one night at dinner time and when you were 16 years of age, I left you dinner with instructions to reheat the lasagna I had made; for you to use the microwave by yourself.  I remember I heard laughing in the courtroom, but I thought it was a pathetic reach for even your father to imply such a thing as that being an example of abuse.  I did nothing but love you. 

Do you remember how I fought for you to go to college after your high school graduation (the graduation where your father said you did not want me, and threatened to have me arrested if I showed up)?  I met with your guidance counselor; I spoke to judges....and your father insisted that you were not going to get a college education because he didn't want you getting smarter than him.  Your father is not a "smart" man - he is a bully who destroys people, families and businesses to make his millions.  Foodirect was built on taking advantage of others and many many lies.  Your father got his stake in it after he had drugs planted in his cousin's husband's car (they were going through a custody battle).  His Uncle Paul, the original founder of Foodirect/ P & L Provisions, was so impressed by how your crooked father orchestrated Steve Sussman's demise, that your father earned his brownie points.

Hurting innocent people does not make you smart.  It does not mean you are a good businessman.  It just means you are cruel and a bully.

My point is, you could have been anything. You still can be.  Don't stay stuck in a job you hate.  

When your brother married Kerri Berson, of Millburn, Jared's father-in-law told me so much about you when he was still alive.  I learned much about you up until 3 years ago.  Marc Berson would always give me an earful, but I don't know what was true or not.  I know his own agenda was to hurt me anyway possible, as he aligned with your abusive father in the post separation abuse, and he succeeded in the result of emotional damage.  Marc E. Berson told me he was helping to make sure I could never meet my grandchildren.  He told me things and sometimes showed me photos that left me hurting and in such pain.  Berson told me you were miserable.  That you were very unhappy in life.  Marc said you hated working at Foodirect for your father and Jared.  Marc told me you kept buying things to make you happy but nothing you purchased ever could erase the anger you expressed to the world.  

Things Berson told me hurt me in ways I cannot describe.  One of the worst, aside from your unhappiness, is that your son…my grandson, has a learning disability for which you are not getting him the proper care.  Should Logan need any sort of extra help or care, he should be a priority. Always.  I wish there were something I could do to see his education is all that he needs it to be.

You may not understand this, and then again - maybe you will.  No matter what has transpired, I want you to be happy.  Somehow.  You have 2 sons of your own now, Lucas and Logan who are not allowed to know I exist.  I hope you are better at being a father than the example you had/have.  I always told you and Jared, "Don't be like your father."

Unfortunately, neither of you listened to me toward the end.

You are 44 years old now.  I hope you hear some of what I am relaying.

For two decades I have lived with the fear that if your father didn't kill me, you would.  Cancer changes perspectives in many ways.  Realistic or not, whenever I hear about a son killing a mother - I think of you.  And I pray you have found a way to settle down.  I also pray you don't harm your wife, Crystal.  Marc told me that she "wears the pants in that marriage."  So I hope she is a strong enough woman to see through her father in law's demeanor and agenda in life - your father brags to people that you and your brother work your "asses off" so you can send him checks in the mail....not sure what that all meant, but it sure didn't sound good.

I hope you want what is best for your own sons.  That is all I ever wanted for you and your brother.  I wish I had a family to lean on all those years ago, I wish I had some financial independence all those years ago, I wish I had somewhere to put a roof over your head and food on the table all those years ago....without your abusive father.  I would have left sooner.  I would have gotten us all out.

When we lived under the same roof, for 17 of your years, I made a huge mistake - I covered up for your father.  I made excuses for him all the time.  Especially to you and your brother.  I tried not to show my pain.  And where people say don't bad mouth the other parent in a divorce, let me tell you - I should have called your father out on his abuse long before I did.  I should have let you know all I lived through so you could have a father and a lifestyle you were accustomed to.  I truly suffered.  You are old enough to know the reality.  Perhaps, not strong enough to face it.

Here I sit, tears in my eyes as I remember the curly haired little boy who wanted to marry me, his Mom, and live with me forever.  I knew you had to grow up some day.  I just never knew you would grow to be so cruel.

Maybe you are getting help for your temper.  Maybe you have pursued other job opportunities by now.  Maybe you remember some good memories about your mother.  Me.  The original one.  I hope so.

And maybe you will one day have an Ahah moment.  The kind where you wake up, face reality, and reform.  I'll be waiting for you.

Love,

Mom

ps. If you can't remember the good stuff, I'd be happy to fill you in.