Category: marissasurgery.wordpress.com

Letter to Melissa – Part Two

August 12, 2024

A Mom Without Her Kids, Broken Heart, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

Miss,

This is part two of the March 20th letter, where I referenced that I heard two songs on Country Radio. I told you about I Loved Her First, but now I need to tell you about Don’t Take the Girl. Don’t Take the Girl is Tim McGraw’s song about a relationship between a boy and a girl that began when the boy didn’t want his dad to take the neighborhood girl with them on the guys’ fishing trip. He asked his father to take any one of his friends, but to please not take the girl. The song continues ten years later, with the boy and the girl dating, only to be held up at gunpoint. Bargaining with the robber that he can have his watch and his money, he begs him please not to take the girl.

Miss, the end of the song, which is so sad and powerful and which takes your breath away in the awful meaning of the word, has the couple married and the woman in labor. The doctor comes out to tell the man that the baby is just fine, but the wife is going to die. He drops to his knees and begs God to take him, but to please not take the girl. I’ve been there.

Miss, I used to pray every night for God to inflict me with Marissa’s illness. Telling him how nobody deserved the pain less than Marissa, I bargained with him throughout every hospital stay, every flare-up, every blockage, and every surgery to have us trade places. The agony of seeing my little beauty suffering so was gut-wrenching, and the hours waiting for her to get out of every surgery were torturous. Mount Sinai had the names of those in surgery on a board in the waiting room, and one time, after about 7 hours, I no longer saw her name on the board. It had said her name all along, and then her name just disappeared. I ran as fast as I could until I found her, terrified that something had happened to her.

Miss, when Marissa’s colon was removed during her first surgery, and she woke up with an ostomy and a bag at the ripe old age of 20, it wasn’t easy for her (to say the least). For an entire year, until she could have a reversal, she would have bowel movements in a smelly bag attached to a stoma. This gorgeous and sweet child, who had been so emotionally strong, began to melt down. She was, understandably, horrified, and it didn’t get easier. I don’t want any accolades, but I was her cheerleader. I kept her going.

One of Marissa’s college roommates was celebrating her birthday down in Atlantic City about a month and a half after Marissa’s first surgery. We encouraged Marissa to go, and she picked up a friend from Marlboro on the way down. About an hour after she picked up her friend, while driving,her bag exploded all over her. It was a nightmare, and she didn’t have extra supplies with her. She called me hysterical, inconsolable, telling me she couldn’t do it anymore. I talked her through it, packed up her stuff, and, facing her father’s disapproval, raced down the parkway to meet her. She was a literal and figurative mess, but I helped her clean up (she had stopped at a local hospital), and I encouraged her to keep going. I ALWAYS encouraged her to keep going.

God didn’t take the girl from me literally, thank Goodness, but on February 24th, 2014, he took her figuratively. That was the day she walked out of my house for good. I’ll tell you about it tomorrow.

I love you,

Me

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J.D. Vance

August 12, 2024

Abandonment, Grace and Kindness, Healing, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

When Donald Trump chose J.D. Vance to be his running mate, I was frightened. The only thing more scary than a madman making draconic and ferocious threats is having somebody by his side to carry those threats out. What is it called when the devil makes a deal with the devil?

J.D. Vance made some very unkind, untrue, and ungracious remarks about women who don’t have children. He called them cat ladies, purporting that their goal was to make everybody else miserable. For those out there who don’t have children, I apologize on his behalf. And, I apologize to ALL of you, unlike his wife, who said that he only meant it about those who actively made the choice not to procreate. Truth be told, I could almost hear him and Trump hurling classless insults and appearance jabs at women who never married. “Who would marry or tap into that? Who would want to make a kid with that?”

I have 3 children, but they don’t speak to me. Am I childless in J.D. Vance’s eyes? What about the moms who face tragedy far worse than mine and have to bury children? Are they childless in J.D. Vance’s eyes? Is the mom who delivers a stillborn childless? What about the woman who selflessly gives her baby up for adoption? Is she childless? What about the surrogate who so munificently agrees to carry a couple’s child because they can’t conceive on their own? Oh, wait, that wouldn’t even be an option if Mr. Trump and Mr. Vance were elected.

My oldest, Marissa, went through hell and back with such advanced Ulcerative Colitis, eventually losing her colon. All of the details are here – www.marissasurgery.wordpress.com. It was such a real and tangible possibility that having children for her would be nearly impossible, but, with the help of IVF, she is now a mom to two beautiful daughters. I’ve never seen them, not even a picture, but I know that they’re beautiful. I know that they’re beautiful because their mom is positively gorgeous.

Mr. Vance, just stop. Stop with the toxic vitriol. Stop with the name calling. Stop with the unsupported speculations. Whatever the reason for a woman not having children in her life, she is hurting. And, it hurts enough without you augmenting, exacerbating, and compounding the pain.

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The Lottery

March 27, 2024

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Barbara Starsky, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce

The Powerball and the Mega Millions, as of last night, were collectively worth over 2 billion dollars. Chances of winning one of these jackpots were 1 in 300 million, but somebody did win. Somebody in New Jersey actually won, but people haven’t even checked their tickets yet and nobody even knows where the ticket was sold. Could it have been me?

The odds of what happened to me, in terms of losing my kids, were greater than 1 in 300 million. People are convicted of murder, corruption, extortion, drug dealing, sex trafficking, embezzlement, robbery, and many other heinous crimes, yet their kids still talk to them. I didn’t do any of those things (though Jay probably told them I multitasked and did every one of them on a weekly basis), and I have been given a lifelong sentence of suffering and agony that mutilates and incapacitates my entire stamp.

My mother abandoned me when all of the vicissitude began, so afraid of being jettisoned herself. But, one of the last things she said to me was, “Any other family … If it was any other family, this would never have happened.” Though seemingly ambiguous, I somewhat understood what she was saying. My sister threatened her, controlled her, scared her, and basically ordered my mother to have nothing to do with me. The once powerful and independent Barbara Starsky became a pathetic pawn on my sister’s toxic and monochromatic black chessboard.

My mother had also twice mentioned, “Even a criminal would have been pardoned by now.” She knew how deeply I was hurting, and I don’t think she ever fully understood (who can?) why I was eliminated from the hearts of the kids I loved and still love so completely. She was a coward, and, whether her hand was forced or not, she did make a choice – Sophie’s Choice.

After Zack left me so suddenly, my mom reached out to him. Always the softest of my 3, his behavior puzzled her the most. Aware that Jay’s attorney had told my attorney that my divorce wasn’t progressing because Zack still talked to me, and recognizing that Jay’s lawyer confidently and contemptuously added, “But it won’t be for too much longer,” my mother did, supposedly, reach out to Zack. And, after he did abruptly discard me and she did call him, her words to me were, “I swear to G-d, he has been brainwashed.” (I would sit for a polygraph to attest to the validity of this conversation and the words that still permeate and pierce my vandalized heart).

What will they tell my grandchildren? Will they say I’m dead (easily disproven, thank G-d). Will they say I’m crazy and that I’m away in some sort of facility (easily disproven, thank G-d). Will they say I’m in prison (I guess I am in some sort of proverbial prison).

What won’t they tell my grandchildren? They probably won’t tell them that I’m a respected and beloved teacher. They probably won’t tell them that I am funny, kind, benevolent, charitable, concerned, and so deeply passionate and compassionate. They probably won’t tell them that, when they were growing up, my talons would automatically sharpen if anybody or anything ever hurt them. They probably won’t tell them that, when they were sick, I was always there, never letting them be alone and scared. They probably won’t tell them that I called them my heart, my soul, and my lungs. They probably won’t tell them that I loved them so much that I stayed in a marriage that didn’t make me happy. And, they probably won’t tell them that I loved them more than I loved myself. I still do.

May we all win the lottery, whatever the lottery looks like to us. Whether it’s the Powerball, the Mega Millions, or our children and grandchildren’s presence in our lives, may that winning ticket be in our reach.

Marla

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Goodbye, England’s Rose

February 11, 2023

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Healing, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Parental Alienation, PTSD

The kids are writing a letter today to somebody they’ve lost. After I played Elton John’s, Goodbye, England’s Rose for them, I prompted them to write about somebody no longer in their lives. Assuring them that this didn’t need to be a full-blown tearjerker about every stage of Grandma’s cancer debilitation, we talked about all the forms of goodbye. Perhaps a best friend moved away, a teacher retired, or even a sibling left for college. Goodbyes are hard in any form.

As I was watching Elton John’s video and subsequently explaining their assignment, I started crying. Usually more stoic than that, I couldn’t help the flow of tears when I explained that sometimes we lose somebody even when we are both very much alive. Hoping that I didn’t wake a dormant curiosity in them about why I don’t ever mention my kids or grandkids, I guaranteed them that they would feel so oxymoronically cleansed yet vulnerable when they were finished.

How could I share with them that all of my kids left me, one at a time, with nary a goodbye? How could I share with them that my mother died, and nobody told me? How could I share with them that this energetic burst of happiness who greets and teaches them every day is irreparably broken and emotionally gnarled?

It’s important to note that I try to write with the kids whenever they write, as I need for them to know the intrinsic and therapeutic reward of putting our thoughts to paper, regardless of our age or position. When I began this yesterday, I had no idea that the day would turn into another emotional day of relentless turbulence.

I received a phone call from a woman named Maria Fletcher at Mount Sinai. As you all know, Mount Sinai is where Marissa endured 8 surgeries and where we spent over 10 weeks of our lives. She told me that she was from the Financial Department and that she would be sending my overdue account to Collections. I informed her that I was never a patient there, but that my daughter had been for many years. She then told me that Marissa was there in 2022, that there was an unpaid balance, and that I was the guarantor.

My body’s all-too-familiar pose of shaking like a leaf took effect, and I just struck a deal with God. I told him that, if he would let Marissa be okay, I would pay the bill. My panic paralyzed me, but I decided to reach out to my two besties to ask them if they knew anything. They both know that, if there is ever anything I need to know in terms of the kids, I need to hear it from them. Neither one knew anything, but, before too long, one of them learned that Marissa had a C-section in January and the visit to Mount Sinai was probably just for a minor complication. It broke her heart to have to tell me that.

From the fear that something was wrong with Marissa, to the relief that there wasn’t, to the sadness that enveloped every cell in this body upon learning that there is another grandchild I won’t see, I am running out of glue to even temporarily fill these chasms in my heart. Grateful that my daughter was able to give birth a second time after all she has been through, I marvel at how miraculous life can be. I also know so well how cruel and inhumane life (and people) can be.

The bottom line is this. My daughter had an ostomy bag for a year of her life. What that poor child endured, nobody should ever experience. Caring for the stoma was no easy feat, and I was the one who took care of it with her. Of course I was, as I was her mom. I helped her clean it, care for it, deal with all of the yuck that came out of it, and, when her bag exploded, I was the one who always went running. I was the one who told her she’d make it through. I was the one who promised her that she’d be a mom one day.

As for my ex-husband, he gets to enjoy grandchildren. For me, well, I got the literal shit and I get the figurative shit, too. All of the pain and none of the pleasure for me. It hurts, it stings, it burns, it lacerates, it bleeds, it mutilates, and it crushes. I’m not okay.

For those of you who want to help me, please don’t tell me I’m a warrior and you admire my strength. Please,, please,, please don’t tell me again that if it was you, you would have killed yourself. Please don’t tell me that I don’t deserve this persecution. I know I don’t deserve it. There is no humanity here, only a level of brutality that is taking my last trickle of energy. Just tell me you’re here, that you love me, and that you’re not leaving.

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Princess Diana and Princess Marissa

August 24, 2022

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Healing, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Parental Alienation, Princess Diana, PTSD, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

Next Wednesday will mark the 25th anniversary of Princess Diana’s death. I can remember the moment that the world found out, as Marissa had the worst case of Chicken Pox and I was up all night with her. She was seven and delicious with nary a complaint, and I held her extra tight when programming was interrupted to say that the world’s Princess had died. The paparazzi had been chasing her, as they always did, to get pictures of her with her rebellious beau, Dodi Fayed. She was 36, her boys were 12 and 15, and she could never outrun her demons. Beautiful, beloved, and benevolent, she, like I, didn’t have much self-love. And, to further compare, we were each married to somebody who used that deficiency to his advantage.

That awful case of Chicken Pox would prove nothing compared to the health issues Marissa would eventually face. This beautiful warrior endured 8 surgeries, 13 hospital stays, and 85 days and nights in the hospital from the Ulcerative Colitis that would eventually claim her colon. She wore a bag for a year, including her junior year of college, and though there was exponential physical pain and emotional pain, my Princess, whose side I never left throughout the entire 8 year nightmare, graduated from college, went on to P.A. School, got married, and is now a successful Physician Assistant with a daughter of her own. I only saw the college graduation and the first 6 months of P.A. School.

I am attaching the link to the blog I wrote during Marissa’s hospital stays. It was the perfect way for me to communicate with everybody how my girl was doing. Marissa wrote it with me, often providing the medical details, and she so looked forward to hearing what everybody wrote. After her third surgery, when her bag was removed and her j-pouch connected, she even asked me to take her picture pointing to the spot where the bag used to be.

The link to the blog is http://www.marissasurgery.wordpress.com

My first blog post was on July 1st of 2010, and my last was on February 4th of 2014. Marissa left me for good on February 24th of 2014. My ex-husband told the judge that I published the entire blog without Marissa’s permission and that I violated her privacy.

I’m not sure much more needs to be said about my ex-husband …

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A Letter to My Daughters on Mother’s Day, 2022

May 23, 2022

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Healing, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Parental Alienation, PTSD, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

My Dearest Roo and Boo,

First of all, Happy Mother’s Day to both of you, and thanks be to G-d for gracing the both of you with the most rewarding title in the world. It’s as if life actually begins the day one becomes a mom, as though every other accomplishment just immediately pales. For me, I finally felt worthy, validated, vindicated, and so very hopeful.

Before I really begin telling you both about how much and why I prayed for both of you to be physically able to conceive your babies, I need to tell you that I have never even seen a picture of either of your daughters. I don’t know their birthdays, I don’t know what or whom they look like, and, Rebecca, I don’t even know your daughter’s middle name. I honestly only know her first name and that Stephanie is your “Boo” because I saw it in Grandma’s obituary. Marissa, I only know that Emma is your “Roo” because a former friend was voyeuristic and independently chose to snoop around.

As you probably know, I have no social media, as the pain would be too paralyzing. I am told that your Facebook page is open, Marissa, as people have asked if I wanted to see pictures of Emma. I told them that I just couldn’t, but that I would bet the farm that she was gorgeous. My G-d, if she’s even an eighth of the beauty that you were when you entered this world, I’m sure Louis is already figuring out his “keep the boys away” approach.

Roo, it’s no secret to you that, with all of your surgeries, I was afraid that conceiving a child would be difficult for you. Even when you were a teenager, before you were so sick with your Ulcerative Colitis, we went to Dr. DeGraaff for your presumed polycystic ovaries. I remember asking her if you would have trouble conceiving, and she said that we wouldn’t take any chances. She told us that she would start you on Clomid the second you were ready to start a family. Little did we know then that Ulcerative Colitis and all of the surgeries would be further barricading roadblocks to the destination you desired most – motherhood.

I’m sure you remember when Dr. Kornbluth, of whom I know you are not enamored, introduced us to Michele in his office. Michele, too, lost her colon to UC, but she was able to get pregnant and bring her baby into the world. Gosh, were we hopeful. And, when we were at Mount Sinai after one of your blockage surgeries, we found the doctor who specialized in helping women without colons conceive. I nearly became his stalker, taking note of his name and already so grateful for his existence.

When my former friend told me about Emma, she told me that Louis had posted in-vitro needles in the shape of a heart to announce your pregnancy. Though I wasn’t surprised to learn that you needed some extra support in conceiving, I was so relieved that you were successful in your journey. You had shown Herculean strength throughout all you endured, and nobody deserved her olive wreath more than you.

Boo, do you remember when you were about 16 and you went with Erica and Josh Gendel to the doctor? You were all so gracious in helping the Gendels out with Josh and his tragic myriad of special needs, but on this particular day, Erica took you to the doctor with them without even telling me. I was concerned when I didn’t hear from you, panicked actually, and it turned out that she had taken you with them to Josh’s doctor in Bergen County. Josh needed to have an x-ray, as he so often did, and Erica didn’t want to go in with him, on the odd chance that she was pregnant. Instead, she sent you in with him. She sent a 16-year-old young lady in with him, to hold him while he was x-rayed, without my or your dad’s knowledge. Clearly, she was not worried about your reproduction, only hers, and I was enraged. It was selfish, unmindful, and thoughtless of her, and from that day forward, I prayed constantly for G-d to allow you to conceive your own child when you were ready.

G-d has answered my prayers for both of you.

I love you,

Mommy

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Marissa’s 32nd Birthday

November 27, 2021

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Marissa’s Birthday, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

Today is my Marissa’s 32nd birthday, and the scar is unbearable. I’m not talking about the scar from my C-section, though my 3 scars there are constant reminders of my emptiness. I’m talking about the scar in my heart that won’t heal, won’t close up, won’t ease, and won’t stop impeding my ability to completely move forward.

My normal writing is more formal, but, for today, it will be more of an impromptu stream of consciousness. I actually think impromptu stream of consciousness is redundant, as stream of consciousness is automatically impromptu.

When I posted two years ago, I had written that “perhaps Marissa is a mom now herself.” Well, I found out from a former friend that Marissa is a mom. Emma Charlotte was born about a year and a half ago, and, according to this former friend, Marissa needed IVF. I’m not surprised at all about that, as, with all of her surgeries and the removal of her colon, her insides were definitely agitated. In fact, from the time we first went to the gynecologist, when she was a teenager with polycystic ovaries, Clomid was discussed as a possibility for when she was ready to have a child. Then, with her 8 grueling surgeries and knowing that the road to children might be arduous, I lined up a doctor for her at Mount Sinai who specialized in helping women without colons conceive children. I even blogged about it (marissasurgery.wordpress.com).

This former friend, who had no business stalking my children and no business telling me of her findings (hence the word former), told me that Louis had made a heart out of used in-vitro syringes to announce that they were expecting. I wouldn’t have thought the daughter I knew would have announced her pregnancy in such a personal way, but I never thought the daughter I knew, and with whom I thought I had an unbreakable bond, would leave me without even the slightest glance in the rearview mirror.

I have never even seen a picture of Emma. I sent her a rocking horse, actually a rocking rabbit, with her name on it, but I have never seen her. I signed the note, “GM,” though I’m not sure what I meant by those initials. Of course, more than anything, I wanted the “GM” to mean Grandma Marla, but, left to interpretation, they could have also meant Grateful Mom. Yes, I was so grateful that Marissa was able to have a child. She had been through so much, and she deserved to be rewarded for her valiancy.

I kind of deserved to be rewarded for my valiancy, too. I was so young when I started my family, and I stayed in an emotionally abusive marriage where gaslighting was Mr. Jaffe’s modus operandi. Giving birth to Marissa at 23 and being one of the youngest moms around, the probability of my being a young grandmother was strong. Unbeknownst to me, however, the probability of my being a young grandmother who wouldn’t know her grandchild, was also strong.

There is much more to say, and I will say it when the tears dissipate. For now, however, I want to wish my daughter, Marissa, a day of love, health, hope, peace, and clarity. I love you, Roo.

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My Post on Marissa’s Birthday, Two Years Ago

November 27, 2021

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Marissa’s Birthday, marissasurgery.wordpress.com, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis

My time machine is getting all revved up to travel back in time 30 years, and I’m not sure if I’ll be better or worse for the journey.

Marissa turns 30 today, and even seeing the number in print feels somewhat surreal. Both pregnant with her and delivering her at 23, I was a young mom whose life and purpose began at 7:21 a.m. exactly three decades ago.

I’m not going to dwell or perseverate on my loss; instead I will say that, albeit for too short a time, my 24 years with Marissa brought me more joy than some people get in a lifetime. Her illuminating smile, her fastidious work ethic, her subtle and gentle way of getting what she wanted, and her unwavering strength and tenacity during an unrelenting illness have permanently earned her a secure place on the Supergirl mantle.

I’m still numb from the trauma of losing her, and I pray that she is happy and healthy. Perhaps she’s a mom herself now, and, if so, I hope she might pause and think of me. Though her dad has rewritten history, may she revisit reality and remember who I was. Most of all, however, may she feel my love and know that, no matter what has transpired, that love will always be hers.

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