Financial, physical or spiritual; unpaid debts accrue.

“Tonight as you lay half on, half off the bed, watching me write through the door ajar, aged 2 and a month, you said, ‘I love you, Mama.  Daniel very happy.‘ 

I cannot tell you how this moved me, that I taught you to express love (as you know it).  I was so, so moved.” 

I had been writing my response to Chris’ argument against backpay in child support due.  His stalling against facing responsibility to Daniel had wrought stress in our lives for over two years now.  Financial, physical or spiritual; unpaid debts accrue.  I could not change the nature of cause and effect, but Chris sought me to stem its flow in his direction.  

Since I had received Chris’ application against backpay in the mail, every time I collected Daniel from him or spoke with him on the phone, Chris badgered me to tell the Child Support Review Board that he owed nothing, that he had paid me.  It was harassing, wearying, caused me conflict and doubt.

“Thank you darling,” I said to Daniel, his body hanging over the edge of my bed to manoeuvre a view me. “I love you too. You know Mama loves you very, very much. Now, you must sleep.”  

Love:  a feeling, emotion, energy.  A gift.  Daniel’s love unfathomable to me, washed clean the wreckage in my heart.

‘Attention:  Child Support Unit Review Board’, I wrote.  I would type it up later, and print it out at the library. ‘Mr W has been pushing me to tell you that he has contributed toward his son since birth, in attempt to reduce his dues as per your recent decision.  Preferring not to be dictated to, I word Mr W’s request from my perspective…’

Reading Chris’ argument, I was perplexed.   Was Chris truly not able to see that buying a baby capsule to enable him to transport Daniel was not child support; buying nappies and clothing for when he had Daniel was not child support; the TV he got from somewhere that I didn’t need or want…  Could Chris not see that, or was he being opportunist in claiming that?  I just did not know.  My compassion, my downfall 

I stopped writing, looked at the pages before me.  It was curious that on this planet where we were landed, others would make decisions about our lives because we could not reach a consensus of support of our son.  The Scales of Justice imbalanced fatigued me daily as I suffered not only my very mind, but the weight of Daniel and his needs.  If Chris would just pay 50% of Daniel’s keep – and he was capable – I would have greater energy for Daniel, and my depression at being, ever searing potential joy with despair, might (could it?) be lightened.

I was tempted to look upon Daniel again, but must not keep him awake.  Knowing he was watching me, I brought the nib of my pen to my page again, and continued.

I wrote the background of Chris and my relationship, of the $100 Chris gave me a week after Daniel’s birth when he said he would give “what I can when I can”; how I opened an account in Daniel’s name with that $100; how after eight months I realized Chris was not inclined to give what he could afford to his son – rather, what he was willing to let go, in keeping his lifestyle. ‘Due to lack of support,’ I wrote, ‘I closed the account on the 5th of August.’

I wrote that I never pushed for money from Mr W ‘because my pride would not allow me to beg’.   Rather than beg Mr W’s support of Daniel, within two months I was keeping two jobs (court reporting/dictatyping from home and cleaning).

I was ashamed Chris had outed my weakness, my breakdown, when, tortured by insomnia, unable to eat, rendered zombie by exhaustion, I had closed my blinds and doors until I could face the world again.  But instead of hiding in shame, I acknowledged it and told the Board it had been the turning point – that at eight months when I brought up child support with Chris and he shouted “I’ll piss off, you’ll see!”, then disappeared for a month to punish me; after I handed Daniel to him and lay crying in my room for days, did not answer the door, did not answer his calls – after being brought to my knees, I had come out, determined to not bear Chris’ dues to his son as well as my own: determined to seek support of Daniel regardless of Chris’ urging that I “Tell them I’m a student who went back to China.”

I wrote that my Legal Aid Lawyer gave me an option to add to Chris’ debt the prenatal expenses – my nine months of pregnancy – but I could not in my heart do that, for I had survived that period thanks to the ladies at work – even women I did not know but for their face – who had given and given and given to me in a surprise baby shower.   I could not claim that abundance begifted me by work colleagues, as items and expenses due by Chris.  Life had greater meaning than gathering money at every opportunity:  I just could not do that.

I recalled the baby shower.

“The afternoon went on until I was surrounded by countless “baby things”, wrapping and cards. Tears had broken from me during the afternoon and I felt tired, overwhelmed. Gina offered to help me drive the gifts back to my bedsitter, which I accepted gratefully as they literally would not fit in my car alone.

I drove back to my flat in a daze. This morning I had nothing for the child in my womb; now I had everything.  Most difficult to understand, though, was why they all gave to me.  I just couldn’t get over it, the generosity, all directed to me and my unseen child.  I had never in my whole life experienced such an avalanche of goodwill…

I sat on the floor and leaned against the wall…

Emotions wild like raging seas, wrought from somewhere deep, swelled in my chest.  I felt like all of my Christmases had literally come at once.  Particular dismal memories of childhood had just been wiped away – like the ocean cleans sketches in the sand.

The emotions swirled a while and then, unable to stop the tide, poured through my eyes in tears. I don’t know why, I cannot explain why, but alone in my bedsitter, pregnant and without family at side, I cried hard, heaving sobs.  A powerful release occurred.

I cried a torrent and a day.”

I looked across at Daniel. At last his eyes were closed, his whole body surrendered in peace.  I got up and carefully moved him into the centre of my bed.  I looked forward to going to bed, placing my arm over my toddler son, our spirits united, sleeping.  But I had to finish what I had to do.  I would rest when I licked the envelope, stamped the letter, posted it.  In posting it, I would let the it go.  Until then, I could not rest.

To Chris’ alleged unemployment, I pointed out to the Board that he advertised his business in a new age magazine monthly at $26/month (I discovered); paid for a stall at the Fremantle markets; a stall at the Alexander library; a stall at the Conscious Living Expo. ‘I would have remained silent on the above’, I wrote, ‘if Mr W’s greed had not brought me to write to you.’

I felt drained.  I wanted to not bother.  But every mistruth I read, or inaccuracy, I felt driven to correct. 

At 17 minutes past 1 a.m., I finally I lay down my pen.  I had in my handwritten draft, I believed, righted the course of the ship of which I was captain:  Daniel and my lives, together.  We were back on path for Daniel.

‘However, I do credit the father’s attitudes today’, I wrote in closure, ‘believing him to have genuine loyalty toward his son’s future.’  I wanted by those words for Chris to see that I could see he had changed a little in his responsibility for Daniel – I thought, wasn’t sure.  But I had faith in him.  I wanted to bode well for the future, and let the Child Support Review Board know it was surely a misunderstanding by Chris – he didn’t seem to understand the enormity of what we together owed Daniel.

~

I placed the pile of papers in order on my desk, turned off the light, and crawled into bed alongside Daniel, still in my clothes.  The comfort of the large blanket covering us, sheltering us, resounded deeply inside me.  I smelled Daniel’s beautiful hair, listened to his light, gentle breath, and felt my heart beat with love against his small flesh being. The vibration of the love which emanated from my chest set a rhythm upon which I cast my fatigue deep, deep in my bones, and surrendered.

Mother and child, we slept.

Copyright, Noeleen&Daniel 50/50

Tracy in The Dark

“No Dadda today,” Daniel said as I strapped him into his car seat.  I looked at him.  This was the second time he had said that.

“Sweetheart  –” I began.

“No Dadda today!” Daniel said again, half in order, half request.  I snapped the buckle shut, looked at my boy.

~

“Chris, how often do you leave Daniel with Tracy?” I had asked, when collecting Daniel.  It was the opportunity I had been waiting for – Tracy was not around.

“Why?” Chris asked defensively.

I had learned over the months that if I had a concern regarding Daniel, I had to broach it carefully with Chris, tactfully.  I had learned that his temper needed to be managed and I had to be calm, gentle, placating.   If I angered Chris by questioning Daniel’s mood upon his return to me – or even wanted to know what they had done together, Chris was susceptible to tantrums.  He might handle Daniel roughly to demonstrate he is in charge – to see pain and anxiety rip through me, then storm off down the walkway of the block of flats, Daniel looking at me over Chris’ shoulder, me feeling anxiety, concern, helplessness.  He might sneer or laugh at me for my fears “groundless”, humiliating me in front of Tracy, regarding me as soft, brainless – “You make him a Mama’s Boy!”  He might raise his voice, have me cringe lest neighbours complain and Daniel and me be looked upon as trouble in the otherwise peaceful community.

I wished so badly that I could discuss Daniel with Chris and not be met with defence and guardedness – rather, equal concern.  But I could not, and inside me burned embers hell hot, of anxiety.  Daily I burned deep within where the child in me still cowered, trembled at raised voices, pleaded to not be the cause of a man’s ire.

~

“Mum has to work, darling,” I said.  I have to make money (how to explain that to a child?) so we can buy things we need and want – and pay rent!”

I had left my job as actor at the Police Academy and was working normal hours in a small office.  The boss often had an open Penthouse magazine on his desk when he called me in for some reason or other.  He repulsed me.  I was conflicted whether to tell him to put it away, or resist saying so in case he got some bizarre pleasure out of me acknowledging the breasts and long legs laid open before him.

Daniel was not persuaded.  He told me again he did not want Dadda today.

~

“Because, well, I don’t know Tracy”, I had told Chris.

What would Chris say if I told him that when I was putting Daniel to bed the other night and turned off the light, he began panicking and crying “Tracy in the dark!  Tracy in the dark!”  I had snapped on the light immediately and ask ‘What?’  But Daniel would say no more, just whimpered, “Tracy in the dark…” as if that explained itself to me.

Could Chris handle to know this, or would he think I was making it up?  What if he told Tracy and she got upset, and took it out on Daniel?  This is what broken people do to get at others, isn’t it:  harm children or animals? Could I risk this potential side effect of me telling Chris why I wanted to know how often he left Daniel with Tracy?

Tracy, a former battered wife who took beating after beating, but when her husband broke their son’s nose – then she left.  Tracy, who Chris planned to take custody of Daniel with once Daniel was out of nappies, “Because we got a house, dog, fence, and you got nothing.”  Tracy, who told me she knew Chris was having an affair when he met me (and I thought we were starting a relationship), and who forgave his disloyal character “Because he’s been hurt by love”, she’d said, pouring a cup of tea, watching the steam rising.  Tracy:  someone I had no right to sum up, or judge.

~

I looked at Daniel’s eyes in the rear vision mirror as I drove.  They were troubled:  where was he going?  Where was Mum taking him?

“We’re off to child care, sweetheart!” I said, cheerfully.  “Lots of fun with your friends!”  Daniel’s eyes turned from gazing out the window to meeting mine in the rear vision mirror.

I had done well to leave the job I loved, in favour of normal hours.  This way, Daniel could be placed in child care instead of with Chris.

But Chris now had established rights as Daniel’s father; a pattern, though haphazard, of seeing Daniel.  He did not pay for Daniel’s food, keep or wellbeing – I still needed to construct a response to his appeal against the backpay due to “achieve” that – but he had established rights because when Daniel was born I felt that a father has rights to see their child, bond, assist in raising them.  With that idealism, I had availed Daniel to Chris from the very first moment he expressed interest in Daniel – one week after his birth when Chris rang out of the blue near 11 p.m., arrived with a feng shui chart he had drawn up about Daniel and told me I had born him a lucky child “right time and day – not perfect, but very good.”

I had accepted Chris’ bruised fruit offerings, allowed him to display Daniel to his various female accompaniments as they went out for a night on the town (he was not shy to say); I had accepted $100 once, thinking, “That’s not how it’s done:  you don’t indulge in hours of fun at thee casino then give to your child what’s left, or lucky left”, my lips speaking nothing, knowing I would be called ungrateful.

I had flung the door open to Daniel’s father for no greater reason than because he was Daniel’s father, and I did not know how to close it again – or no, hold it only ajar, stand guarding the entrance, allowing Chris to pass our threshold only if he followed my rules.  With Chris’ intention to have custody of Daniel, I feared going to the courts in case they forced me to hand Daniel over even more than I was now, with growing reservation, doing.

“No Dadda today” Daniel said, meeting my eyes in the rear view.

“Daniel,” I said, “Dadda wants to see you.  He wants to have fun with you!  I have to let him pick you up from child care, sweetheart – but then Mama will come and get you.” 

Daniel did not respond.  I repeated, “Then I’ll come and get you.” 

He looked away.

~

“Don’t know Tracy, don’t know Tracy.  You don’t have to know Tracy.  She my girlfriend!” Chris retorted.

“Chris…”  I had to tell him.  “Daniel seems to be afraid of the dark – because of Tracy.”

“Lots of kids afraid of the dark!  Why blame Tracy?!”

He was irritated with me, did not want this conversation.  He didn’t like it when I had concerns about Daniel.  I was pure annoyance to Chris.

“No, just – how often do you leave Daniel with her?  And Karen?  Why do you say you want Daniel but then leave him with your sister or your girlfriend?”

“You just jealous, that’s all!”

Oh no, not that argument: I wasn’t a woman of thought, opinion or concern:  I was dismissible jealousy.

“Chris, I’m not jealous,” I said.  How could I explain to him there was no way in the world I wished to partner him, as I realized his character more and more every day.

“They got opposing energies, that’s all,” he then offered.

“What?”

“Just a bit of different.  We all different energies – opposing energies.”

“Chris, it’s not an energy thing.  Daniel cried out ‘Tracy in the dark!’ when I was putting him to bed.  What does that mean?  What’s he saying?”

Chris looked at Daniel, annoyed.  He looked at Daniel as if he were the reason for this hassle of a discussion.

“I don’t know!  He make it up!” Chris said.

Tears came to my eyes.  I felt like I had no say what Chris did with Daniel when he had time with him.  I felt the horror of not knowing.  I felt powerless, engulfed in sadness, fear.

“I don’t want you to leave Daniel with Tracy,” I said through my tears.  Daniel in my arms, put his hand to my face, wet his hand with my tears, looked at me curiously.

“You want I help you, you don’t want I leave Daniel with Tracy!”

I couldn’t believe I had vocalized that:  I had actually made a rule.  It would probably offend Tracy, but Daniel was my child and I didn’t want him in her company any more.  I didn’t want to offend Tracy.  Surely she was facing issues from what she had escaped from, but I just didn’t want Daniel with her.

“Yes I want help but no, I don’t want you to leave Daniel with Tracy,”  I said.  Daniel was patting the wet of my face against my cheek.  I shifted him to my other hip.  “Don’t say it unkindly.  Just, if you want time with Daniel I don’t want you suddenly going off because of an appointment.  Make your appointments when you don’t have Daniel.”

Chris began steering me toward the door.  He did that whenever I reached his limit of tolerance – which was so, so low.  He didn’t want to talk with me any more.  He wanted us gone – me and my teary face and Daniel who didn’t keep his mouth shut.

“OK, OK, I not leave Daniel with Tracy” he said, opening the wire of his front door.

“Do you mean that?” I asked, incredulous.  Had I actually established a boundary?

“Yeah yeah I mean it,” Chris said. 

As his body moved forward on me backing out of his front door, I saw Phong, Tracy’s son, in the shadows of the house in the background.  I hadn’t known he was there.  I wondered what he would tell his Mum, how he would say it.  I wondered what he knew.

Minutes later, Daniel and me were driving away from Tracy’s house, Chris behind us.  I did not trust what he had said, but felt I should learn trust.  It’s just that, Chris had an awful habit of delivering words to you, wrapped in what you wish.

.

.

Copyright, Noeleen&Daniel 50/50

Happenstance

I was wandering through a neighbourhood not my own, yesterday.

It was a bit affluent (I have always feared getting that word mixed up with effluent)
 and in my jeans and black top, I didn’t feel I could walk into any of the dress shops that so tempted me.  

They were all empty, the dress shops, and appeared cool and dark inside.  In each, at the end of the rows of gorgeous dresses stood a woman well coiffed, well dressed and manicured, waiting for “real” customers;  customers with money to burn:  not me.  I just did not feel rights to step in and browse.  

So I was outside, on the streets, in the balmy lovely sunshine.

The reason I was in that suburb is because Daniel had an appointment.  The thing is, that place is notorious for keeping you waiting, waiting, waiting (and that professional is worth waiting for).  As Daniel was fine to sit texting his friends back and forth, I went for a wander.

I ambled down one street without entering any shops, crossed the road, went up the other side.  I was aimless, idling time.  There was an intersection up ahead, so I crossed the lights and went down another street.  I heard jazz music flowing through the open windows of a cafe/bar.  I looked in:  again, I didn’t belong.

Then I smelt incense.  I followed it.  I came upon a new age shop.  Comfortable at last, I went in.  Jade, crystals, books, essences… and a sign:  the palm and tarot reader is available.  I thought, hmmm, it’s been a while since I did something spontaneous…  

When I first met Daniel’s father, it was all chance – well, fate. I had decided to try the hairdresser on the ground level of the building where I worked as a court reporter.  That random day the hairdresser chatted, saying she’d met a feng shui practitioner who did a reading, and her life had improved.  I said I’d never thought about feng shui. She said give it a go. Why not, I thought, as I took the number she gave me.  Later arrived Chris at my bed sitter, pony-tailed, vibrant, Eastern wisdom to offer (I thought).

So I asked the attendant how much a palm reading was, and tarot reading, and then – though I had gone out that day for Daniel’s appointment, I decided to give it a go.  I rang Daniel, asked if he had been seen yet, and did he mind me taking half an hour for a reading?  He said, ‘Go for it’.

Wow.

So so much was said, brought into perspective, resonated.  How can this be?  She even became curious at Daniel and drew some cards relating to him.  Again, what she said was entirely credible/related/happening.

Rather than bore you with a self-indulgent post on what the reader said of me, I’m letting you know I have decided to video my recall of the reading.  In a year’s time, I will look at that video and report on what she said that actually happened.  Things are meant to be changing this very year upcoming, so I will “look again” in a year’s time…

~

Subbers:  thank you again, for being there.  Thank you for what healing is occurring to me in the writing of Daniel and my story, which you receive – and sometimes comment upon:  I thank you, we connect.   

For a bit of ‘entertainment’, the below video is a poem I wrote and had nowhere to place – about a year after Daniel and me arrived in Melbourne, 4000 kilometres from Perth in Western Australia (where his father is).  The year that followed this became very dark indeed, and the one after that…

but today the sun shines, and this is prosperity.

Sincere best All.

Copyright, Noeleen

Belong

The Indian Ocean breathed upon Daniel and me.  We sat on its shore, at its edge.  It whispered to my consciousness.  I felt so present upon Earth.  Small, but real.

I was conscious of my mortality, conscious of the salt in the breeze, could almost feel salty specks get caught in my nose hairs as I breathed in.  I was conscious of the sun warming us; a mighty heater in the heavens.

Daniel was giggling and interacting with another toddler.  But I stayed very close, so deeply, deeply afraid he might do something wrong like throw sand or hit the boy or frighten him or be loud.  I was ready to swoop in and remove us, excuse us, retreat.  I did not feel comfortable in society.  I was taut with anxiety.  Not even the radiance from the heavens could melt my anxieties.  All of the other mothers, I saw, were capable and confident.  If their child cried it would be normal, accepted, a part of life – but if Daniel cried, I would be guilty of disturbing the peace, guilty of having a child unrestrained of emotion, guilty of being noticeable.

I hated my low self esteem.  I was conscious that the way I was, was not normal.  Yet I did not know how to change how I naturally felt.  How do you naturally feel you have a place in society?  How does an ape sitting in a tree amongst the others feel surely it belongs?  How do you feel you have a right to be, to take up space, to plot yourself on the beach and actually spread out? Where does this sureness of being a valid human come from?

Invalid.  A burden to a mother who must kill herself to escape you; to a father who drank himself into stupor enough to not see you. And now Daniel’s mother.

.

A seagull landed nearby me, joined by another, and cocked its head with a knowing.  It eyeballed me, cocked its head the other way.  Yes yes, I had food.   I remembered my hunger, teens.

.

The other mother smiled blithely at Daniel and her young.  She looked so relaxed.  Was she actually enjoying being here?  What would she do if… if… I don’t know.  I wasn’t fully sure what I feared, but the unpredictability of Daniel growing and forming alongside me petrified me.

I wanted to put my feet in the ocean, to walk away for a few moments – submerge fully.  I remembered my days before Daniel when I went to the nudie beach, Swanbourne, and bathed without inhibition in the blessing which is the ocean, that chopped about wildly at my feet. As I stepped into the ocean, it drank me into its depths as much as I drank it.

.

I could not let it be with Chris.  If I did not establish a foundation of support for Daniel now, there would never be a marker of expectation.  My expectation from Chris was to step up and be a man.  I had to find the balls to face the every day of having Daniel, and he needed to find the balls to support that in the absence of him self.  I decided I would respond to Chris’ argument.  I would write to the Child Support Agency and state what I saw to be just and right from my perspective.  He had given his perspective:  I would give mine.  The Deciders of round 4 would make their decision and we would all live with it (I hoped).

But I would not surrender to Chris’ bark now because to do so would be like cutting cloth painstakingly through the months, leaning over my purpose, stitching the insignia of Daniel and me through stress and fatigue; it would be like hemming that symbol of rights and raising it up a flag pole in statement:  you have engendered karmic debt by your human actions in the throes of pleasure and here we stand to ask you to pay – it would be like that flag being caught by the wind and billowing wide and loud, but being shot down.  It would be like, then, not raising it again.

I had to raise our flag again, shot down by words in opposition, because though Daniel and me were small upon this Earth: we were small, but real.
.
.

Copyright  Noeleen&Daniel 50/50

I, Deserter

The letter from the government, I did not want to open.

I paused, let the sun breathe on me a few moments more, let the slight waft of breeze from the ocean ruffle gently the plant life around me a few moments more, let peace remain a few moments more.  I then opened the letter.

‘Application for Review of a Child Support Assessment’, I read in black and white.  Behind that page was several more, being Chris’ argument against the backpay which had gathered in dollars and cents as he stalled through the Courts, aiming incredibly for the impossible:  to not be declared Daniel’s father.

“She could have been with anybody,” I could still hear him say to the Magistrate, but had introduced Daniel to his family only weeks earlier as his son, and begged I tell them that I was his wife.  I had looked around the courtroom, had felt crimson Catholic shame tinge my face.  Indeed, I could have been with the local football team.

 .

“Already paid,” was Chris’ defence.  What?  How?

‘Television – $100’ I hadn’t asked for a television!  Chris just came up with it one day. Was that “child support”?

‘Washing machine – $80’  That old washing machine he gave us that day I giggled so much -  I was grateful for it, though it broke soon after, and cost me to repair.  Can that be “child support” when food is what was needed that week, and shelter; support toward Daniel’s shelter?

‘Babysitter’ – how could Chris paying his sister to look after Daniel when he said he would have Daniel, be child support?  It wasn’t my fault he handed Daniel along rather than kept his word.  And surely that was “sharing responsibility”?  

I did not understand.  Did Chris have a valid argument?  Had the effort and stress in bringing us to this day been made futile by Chris’ neatly compiled Plan B?  I felt gutted.  

‘Chinese medicine and doctor for when Daniel was sick’.  But I took Daniel to the doctor when he was sick too!  It was part of “caring for Daniel”, not child support… was it?  I did not know.  ‘Baby capsule, bottle, clothing nappies…’   

Then I read, 

“On September 22^nd to the 27^th of September the mother disappeared during this time the father has had full care of Daniel and paid for everything in this time, the mother did not tell any one where she was which caused anguish to the father and the child.”

I was mortified.  Chris had let the Department know of my breakdown.  What would they think of me now, how would the Department treat me now, having deserted Daniel to his father.  Is leaving a baby with their father for a few days deserting them?

I felt so ashamed, outed as incompetent – not competent enough to keep going through sleep deprivation, crying publicly without reason and randomly, Daniel crying, Daniel grizzling, responsibility, weight, weight, weight of need upon you, alone.  What was Chris’ purpose in stating this?  To say he paid for Daniel singlehandedly a few days and it had been a draining experience?  I knew that!!! 

I felt deep despair in recall of that time, just on a year ago.  I had one night spoke out to Chris my intention to pursue child support, as his “I’ll pay what I can when I can” wasn’t happening and although I had trusted his word, I realised it was not trustworthy.  In his rage that followed, Chris spat, “I’ll piss off! You’ll see!”  He then became uncontactable for a month, unavailable, absent – not there for Daniel for a whole month. 

Alone in the west of Australia, no friends with children, no meaningful friendships, no mother/dead, no father/his name cut bad memories through my mind, no family at hand/all east of Australia, besides which they were strangers to me.  Zombie-like, undernourished, depressed cold dark and reverberating, I handed Daniel to Chris when Chris rang out of the blue, suddenly available.  And I did not pick him up for three days – it wasn’t five.

As Daniel babbled about the newspaper laid out before him, I lay back on the concrete driveway and looked up at the brilliant skies of sunny Western Australia.  Heaviness descended upon me, fatigue, and sadness.  If Chris was this dedicated to not surrendering to Daniel what Daniel actually needed and Chris was capable of paying, perhaps I should just let him so be.  My energy had been eaten by the financial wrangle this past year, like tiny pincers of negativity tearing away at my qi, daily.

With looking for work, trying to stay buoyant for Daniel, manage life – washing, shopping, cleaning – and cleaning the yoga room on top of all that, let alone I wasn’t sure Daniel was in good hands when left with Chris so I had to work that out, perhaps it was better to apply my energy to daily life, not the argument of money.  Money was so hollow, so nothing compared to all that mattered.  

Yet, so necessary.  

Without money we may have to move to a less prosperous suburb than I had born Daniel into, eat less quality food, less food, live poorer: less everything.  To not be at loggerheads with Chris, Daniel and me could step down in circumstances and just focus on us, on survival – like hundreds of thousands of women who began to fight for the best for their child, had lain down their guns in the face of such kind of men.  

Money has no soul.

Copyright
Noeleen&Daniel 50/50

History in the making

There was two letters in my letterbox, the local newspaper, plus a flyer from a tradesman offering a free quote to have your house painted. 

It remained too difficult to me to get rid of someone who has given me something for “free” – first lesson free, first hour free, free quote.  I seem to be incapable of extricating myself from such lures without buying a course, pack or service.  I loathe this of myself.  It was just as well I didn’t have a house, to quote.

.

Holding the letters, I noticed one was from the Office of Births, Deaths & Marriages and the other was from the government.  I felt cold fear at the letter from the government. 

“Would you carry the newspaper for mum please, sweetheart?” I asked Daniel.  He proudly took to the task.  As we walked down the driveway to our flat, I opened the letter from the Office of Births, Deaths & Marriages.  It was confirmation that my request to amend the records of registration of Daniel’s birth had been obliged:  Chris was now recorded as Daniel’s father.

“Tell them I’m a student who went back to China,” I recalled his words, fearing being named, accountable.  “You’re lucky in Australia – the government takes care of it.”  

So easy is fun; infinitely personally challenging, consequences.

I sat at the end of the driveway, the opened letter in my hands.  It was sunny, Perth.  Daniel sat with me.  How could I express to him his father was now written in history because of me:  named as his father.  Chris was not recorded anywhere as the father of his daughter, but because of me he was declared, inked, recorded as Daniel’s father.  

I wondered if Daniel would ever be allowed to know his half sister, or would want to.  For now, it was clear Chris didn’t want me in touch with “the other mother”.  I sensed he feared I would tell this Asian woman that in Australia, she didn’t have to alone bear all the costs of her union with Chris.

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History can be written, and it can be not written, I reflected, watching Daniel spread the newspaper on the ground, and open it out as if we were going to have a reading session there at the end of the driveway. 

As we each live, impacting other lives, how so much is lost to memory – unless crumbs of those lives, their moments, are swept up and collected by someone inclined.  When all players centre stage have exited and the lights are turned off, those inclined creep back in to collect from the floorboards accidentally kicked to the edges to be forgotten, or trampled during violence or passion of living, or swept under some rug: the facts.  Fact collectors cannot help but take record, photographs, and write the drama as it pierced their life.  Anne Frank and countless others caught history because they could not help but record their existence.  They could not help but say. 

And so, I had written history – or recorded it true.  Still I knew, written in history is not the same as written in heart.

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Copyright Noeleen&Daniel 50/50

Decisions I needed to make

My boss wasn’t happy when I said I can no longer work.  You get that in life:  people not happy with a decision you need to make.  But it remains a decision you need to make.

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My boss said she didn’t think she could put me on any more assignments if I was likely to “pull out like that”.  I looked down, troubled:  I had never before in my life been unreliable in work – and that’s since age 14.  I wished I could explain to her that the reason I had to decide this was that I didn’t feel good leaving my son with his father – the father says he wants to see Daniel, and enable me to work, but then leaves Daniel with his sister or girlfriend because he says he needs to keep feng shui appointments, but being his own boss I don’t know why he doesn’t make appointments in the times he doesn’t have Daniel; and Daniel looks so unhappy sometimes when I pick him up, and I have this feeling but I don’t know, and my doctor says it’s because I’m a first time mum; all first time mums feel like that, he said; and Daniel told me I was bad the other day and calling him ‘bad’ isn’t in my vocabulary, so I don’t know where he got that from – let alone the word ‘fuck’.

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I was sitting at my writing desk.  Daniel was asleep.  It was 9.47 p.m.  In the land of bliss Daniel lay blithely, while I hunched over my desk with the weight of both our lives on my shoulders.

I chilled to recall my cherubian boy, 16 months old, standing alongside my bed with a ruler in his hand.  I came in to discover a strange look on his face, like dark anger.  He slammed the ruler down, striking the bed hard, twice, and bellowed, “BAD!  You’re bad!  Bad, BAD!”  He eyeballed me steadily, and the strength of his voice surprised me.  I tried to take the ruler from Daniel, but he had a strong hold of it.  I sat on the floor to look into his face, his eyes, and tell him that I am not bad.  I reflected, then added, “And nor are you.”  I said he was a good boy, at which his grip lightened. He seemed to be seduced by my talk, for when I said he was a wonderful boy and I loved him very much, he let go of the ruler and I took it from him.

“Sweetheart,” I said, “Why would you say that?”

Daniel of innocence, had not an answer.  He just looked at me.   Like a pet that witnesses the burglary of your home while you sleep, his eyes bespoke intelligence and information, but he did not talk his mind.  His mind, his formative mind.  I was bewildered.  I did not understand what had just passed.

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“Perhaps I can’t stay with this work then,” I told the woman who had hired me.  I did not want to say that.  I did not want to become that social pariah “a single mum on benefits”, but nor did I want to leave my son in the hands of people I did not know.  Why couldn’t Chris just say, “I’ll take care of Daniel,” and then actually take care of Daniel?

We agreed that I would stay in the job until she found a replacement.  This was the least I could do.  It had been enormous fun being an actor for Police recruits, but I could no longer keep the job.  I had to let that whole opportunity for work slide away from my life, because acting work was notoriously irregular.  An office for me it would be, and childcare for Daniel. 

~ ` ~ `

Sweet Daniel

Last night your father rang and suggested custody to himself, saying Tracy (his girlfriend) could take you on.  Wednesday, the night before, Chris was aware that I had been with a man.  I am normally very private, having sensed that your father would be jealous and withdraw his babysitting support of you.  He normally has you Friday nights, you see, but won’t tonight because he told me (suddenly) he doesn’t want to see you for a week.  He said, “I want a break.”  That’s how easily he gets a break; I cannot.

I try always that Chris not know I am ever with a man, but this time he was aware because I was late back to collect you and he seemed to know.  Then the next night, Thursday, he suggested custody.  Your father, I am sure, does not want me to see men because that implies he maintains a control over me – my freedom – and so is supposed to hook me into need of him, emotionally if nothing else.

 

10.58 p.m.  

I left my writing desk, went to look upon Daniel in his cot.  Completely surrendered to his need of sleep, he lay wholly protected by me, safe.

Chris had frightened me when he told me of his plan to gain custody of Daniel once he was out of nappies.  That was a year ago, but he seemed to remain dedicated to the plan. 

Deep, is my fear that Chris would expose my lone circumstances to government agencies, and they would decide I am not mentally strong enough to raise Daniel, and they would take him away and hand him to Chris. 

Deep, is my fear that anyone might learn of my depression.  I never discussed it with my doctor after I’d left the marriage, the whole three years I was single.  Why he offered to enable an abortion at 16 weeks “because of the detriment to your mental health”, he’d said, I still cannot fathom – but my mental state was my secret, I believed.  Mum’s mental illness, dad’s mental illness, my sister’s mental illness – all my quiet secret.  I could not let any service, agency, doctor or even family in Melbourne know my inner anxieties, for it would become pin the tail on this donkey (too).  And more, I must not let Chris know.

I want to give you every opportunity to grow in life, Daniel

 

I wrote into the night, capturing my son’s life lest, lest we forget.  11.17 p.m.,

- to discover your own self-empowerment.  I want to give you all.  I will fight for custody of you, my beloved.  I will at no cost concede to custody.  It is in my arms, I believe, that you will be given the best upbringing. 

You have so much potential, my darling. 

You are a winner in the making and a winner in the moment. 

God bless you.

xxxxxxx Mama/Noeleen

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I closed my journal.

So quiet is the late of night, so lone my life, so echoes does my childhood in my head, so tired I do feel.

 

I cleaned my teeth as we are taught to do.  I washed my face like we did in the orphanage.  I put my shoes neatly aside like Aunty Betty showed me the way.  I turned off the light.

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Sex.  I had had sex with my old lover, Stuart.  And Chris had sensed it.  I was sure he had.  I sighed askance as he flaunted various lovers in front of me.  They each, I could tell, thought like I did when we were together:  that a relationship was in the making between them.  One by one, they would discover he was in a relationship already.  I did not care.  It was Tracy who needed to care.  But me, I kept my life as private as I could for I knew, just knew Chris would react badly if I had a lover, or fun, or didn’t need him any more – the respite he could give me, the saving of my sanity.

After sex was written all over my face, whereas Chris had at first been available, suddenly he was not.  I had to find a sitter for my next shift at work.  The stress ripped me up.

On top of that, he reinforced that he would make a path to take custody of Daniel.  Would a Magistrate give him custody, if he is wont to become unavailable for weeks at a time?  What about the month he withdrew from Daniel’s life, when I first mentioned child support?  That had so broken my back.  No one had ever needed me my whole life (in fact, I needed) – but Daniel needed me so totally, on some days it buried me.

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Quiet, quiet,

still,

the night.

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I have to not rely on Chris, was amongst my last thoughts before I stepped into the stream of consciousness which roams free at night.  If I did not count on Chris in any way, I could not have the rug pulled from under me by him,  sending me off into battle alone, to stand 24/7 sentry for our son, provider single, exhaustion, sleep deprivation.  It’s punishment, I thought to myself.  He was punishing me for having been free of him, momentarily. 

Was this me being too mental again, thinking like that? I am so, so mental.

Was I making this up of Chris or was it real, this powerplay I perceived?

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The  tide, gentle, lifted me off my feet and I lay back, surrendered, to the stream’s will to carry me away for the evening.  I would be strong and not need Chris’ help, I decided as I felt remnants of dreams brush by my arms:  flotsam and jetsam of other days. 

I would establish some boundaries – I would cease to be available whenever Chris fancied, and he might value his time with Daniel – make no feng shui appointments in that time, plan an occasion in that time.  But I had decided that before, but I had not been resolute.  I wanted Daniel to know his father.  If that meant being available whenever it was that his father could make room for Daniel in his life, that was what I should do, wasn’t it?…

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Images surreal, Mozart floating, stars shimmering.  I lapsed.  I fell to sleep. 

But a new thought,

direction,

way

penned itself into my Manifesto For Daniel before I was carried along the stream into the ocean of dreams:  I would become stronger each time Chris played a power game; not weaker.  This was a decision I needed to make.  It would be a decision Chris would not like, but remained a decision I needed to make.

Copyright, Noeleen&Daniel 50/50