GOODBYE, SOL.

 This is an update to stuff I wrote before, a continuation, maybe conclusion to my parenting saga. Recap: after our separation, Paula vowed to keep me and Sol apart (“TYou’ll never see Sol again”, she yelled at me in November 2017 one morning when she was picking him up from my apartment). In 2019, she sued me in the hopes that the court will agree with her that I was some kind of a monster and keep us apart, but she failed and I was acquitted in May 2021. Following that, she decided to just go rogue and refused to let me see him. Neither pleads nor threats helped.

For a few months, I tried to find a lawyer to represent me, but both lawyers and courts were still dealing with massive back-logs due to the covid pandemic, and I couldn’t find any to help (most lawyers I called never called back, or called back a month later to tell me they cannot take any new cases). It was also around that time that my kidney disease was discovered, and between testing, therapy and shit hitting the fan at work, I didn’t have enough physical energy and mental focus to do much more. I also knew that the family court system doesn’t have much teeth in this scenario, and that other than issue a small fine, there isn’t much they could do.

Later in 2022, as my illness was getting worse and it was becoming clear my days are numbered, I became concerned that Sol probably has no idea I was sick. Back in late 2021, he reached out to me and we had a few email exchanges and a phone call, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him over the phone, and at the time, I didn’t know how long I had. At the time, he asked me to keep this a secret from Paula, but he apparently spilt the beans himself because she called my mother to inquire about me a day or two after this, and then he stopped responding. This suggests she “got to him” somehow, either by convincing him to not talk to me again, or forcing/threatening him.

In June 2022, I decided to give him a final chance to connect with me. I didn’t know how he felt and how much of his feelings were programmed by his mother’s vendetta and hatred of me, but I figured that even if he decides to not see me again, he needs to be given that choice with the knowledge of my illness and the opportunity for closure. I was concerned that he may not know I was sick, and perhaps even my death would be kept a secret from him and he might only find out when he was an adult and be traumatized by not having had a chance to say goodbye.

I decided the best way to do this would be to meet him at school, because I knew that at home, Paula won’t let me see him. I went to his school, and met his principle and explained the situation and asked to see him. The principle asked him, and he agreed to see me, but also wanted his mom with him. They called Paula and she came-over and I met them both. Both of them were wearing masks, which illustrates to me more than anything the kind of fear and control he lives under (last year, he would only wear a mask if I forced him to).

I told him how I felt, and apologized for my mistakes as a parent. I told him I was sick and this is the last time he is going to see me, unless he wants to see me again. I told him that today he gets to make the decision, and he can choose to want to see me again or not. Sadly, he responded that he doesn’t want to see me again, and there appeared to be no hesitation or thought on the matter.

I thanked him, and wished him a good life without me, and left, and that concludes my life as a parent. I don’t know what the future holds. Perhaps he will rethink things and reach-out to me again someday, but at this point, I probably only have a few weeks to live, so unless he does so soon, this will not go anywhere. There’s nothing else I could do, really. Even if I could somehow force him to see me, that is not my way and that’s not how I want him to remember me. I hope that his memory records that my last act was to respect his wishes with dignity and not make him feel worse about it. I hope that with this memory, he may be able to think back one day of his childhood memories and remember me for who I really was, and our times together as what they really were, as opposed to whatever twisted picture his mother painted. I made adjustments to a letter I wrote to him, which he will receive on his 18th birthday. It is quite long, almost 20 pages, and I feel illustrates both facts and feelings well. I don’t know if he’ll bother reading it, or just toss it in the trash, but I hope he does, and that it serves to correct any misunderstandings or false-memories that may have been implanted in his head. I will never know how things turn out, so all I can do is hope for the best.