Author’s note; I have been imagining that it must be difficult for some to read some of the stories presented in my book. They were very difficult to write, so I can of course understand. Some may ask why I would include such personal accounts of my past and what they could have to do with “finding home”. The reason is quite simple.
I found the answers in the patterns both in my visions and dreams as well as my experiences in life. As I still come to terms with my past, in writing this book, I began to see, as I hope you will, a pattern of failure from the very systems we all must rely on for help. Those systems failed me time after time for reasons I cannot comprehend. What my children could not understand at the time, and what they do not want to face now, is the decisions made for most of our lives together were done to protect them. Patrick and I were playing a game of “cat and mouse”, only we did not have the rule book, nor did we understand the why of it. We just understood we had to play if we wanted to keep our family together.
Understanding
Discovering the truth of my identity has set me on a path few could comprehend, bringing into question the validity of our society as we know it, and how I thought it worked.
I am continually disillusioned by circumstances when confronting situations I feel should be more easily resolved. Many TV shows present situations where law enforcement and the judicial system are faced at some point with honouring the truth and to mete out fair justice. However, in the reality of my life this has not been the case; the truth continually covered with layer upon layer of lies, leaving me to ponder just what it is our society considers justice.
It seems more about political positioning and monetary gain on some level, with those of us on the bottom losing to these failures of the system, time and again. A system on some levels designed to promote precisely that: vulnerability and victimization.
When I divorced both my first husband and the family to which he was intimately connected on every level, him taking profit from both the marriage and the divorce and participating in the destruction of our children’s peace of mind, in particular our daughter Rheann, I believed it was my duty to protect them at any cost.
In the end, after all the hands were played, my own children did not know how to love me or care about who I was, the life I was living or how I lived it in order to nurture and protect them. They were bated to seek comfort in the web of lies they had been fed from both my adoptive family and their biological father.
As I now understand it the hard truth was that our son Lucas was the one in need of protection, it was his life under threat. My efforts at keeping this family together became an inevitable act of pitting one against another, with Lucas being cast aside by his siblings without any comprehension of why.
I realize the love for our children often blinds to the truth of who they are and where their loyalties reside. I believed the love I had for these three would be enough to bind them to the morals and integrity by which I lived and made every effort to instil in them. I must now accept I was wrong, and in this way I have failed. As they have alienated me I must continue my journey without them.
The reality I must face is I gave birth to four children, but I am the mother of only one.
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