Category: Tragic Divorce

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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My Happy

December 3, 2021

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Healing, My Mishamooey, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce

The kids, in their masks, are working on an assignment right now, and I, too, am doing the assignment. The assignment is to write about what their happy looks like. In this crazy world of school shootings and this unrelenting pandemic, can these 14-year-olds completely own their happy?

My happy has me seeing my kids again and meeting my grandchildren. Emma, Marissa’s daughter, is running towards me in her pink jumper and black Mary Janes, while Marissa, glowing and gorgeous and miraculously expecting her second child, hugs me with the intensity that conveys every missing second of the 8 years we’ve lost. Rebecca, holding her daughter, Stephanie, immediately dons her comedic role and quips, “Oh, M-ray, it’s good to see that you still haven’t discovered sleeves.” Her husband, Scott, quietly reaches for my hand and introduces himself.

With all of the power one can impart on another, my Zack approaches with an embrace that immediately and magically lifts every ounce of pain from my body. It’s as if he has given me back the years that I’ve lost and brought me to nirvana. I just hold him and stare at him simultaneously, completely immersed in the moment. I don’t look back and I don’t look ahead; I just am.

They’ve come to visit me at my small house on the lake, which is where I do my meditation and my writing. The years have gone by quickly, and they have taken their toll. Never losing my faith, I’ve tried to live a clean and honest life. Choosing kindness over anger, I’ve listened to so many tell me how strong I am and how they couldn’t have survived what I’ve lived through. I wish I could tell those people that words like that don’t help me, but simply hearing, “I’m here for you” would be restorative. Holding on to Cicero’s quote, “While there’s life, there’s hope,” I must reconcile the loss of my mother and how I wasn’t afforded the chance to say goodbye to her.

A couple of people so dear to me were talking a few days ago, and they were commenting on my insecurities. The conversation went something like this:

“If she lost what you’re not supposed to lose, what is supposed to be forever, how could she believe in anything? How can she believe that the rest of us won’t go?”

“We’ll just have to keep proving to her that we’re not going anywhere.”

I’ve come so far, but my story’s ending is still unwritten. My happy, in the form of my kids, my grandkids, my sons-in-law, and hopefully a future daughter-in-law, is, right now, a dream on paper for which I pray daily. But, I will never discount, minimize, negate, or take for granted my happy with my “sisters,” my friends, my guy, my job, my health, and the grace with which I have carried myself throughout this cataclysmic ordeal.

May you all find your happy.

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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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Thanksgiving Truths Part One

November 27, 2021

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Parental Alienation, PTSD, Thanksgiving, Tragic Divorce

My intent on this blog is to have an outlet to share my painful story, and I hope I can do so with humor, with honesty, with self-deprecation, and with compassion. My writing has been on hold because of fear and because I don’t want to cause my children any pain. Ironic, right? They have completely abandoned me and publicly humiliated me, but I only want them to be happy and healthy. You know what that’s called? That’s called being a mom.

I’d like to address my username and the title of this particular entry. Throughout my twenty-four year marriage, if my husband and I were having any sort of disagreement, he would say, “You’re kuh-razy. You’re kuh-razy.” He would say it in front of the children and in a diabolically calm way, the way he said everything in order for people to believe that nothing could ever be his fault. “No, not Jay Jaffe? Jay, who speaks so softly? Jay, the one who goes to synagogue every Saturday?”

Jay’s maternal grandmother lived in a psychiatric facility before we even started dating; he said she was bi-polar and crazy. She wasn’t kuh-razy, she was apparently just crazy. Shortly after Jay and I met in college, he planned on introducing me to his parents on Family Day. He told me that his dad was a great guy, but that his mom was crazy. He shared that, when he was young, he and his brothers used to beg the dad to divorce the mom because she was crazy. Clearly, Jay had his prevailing word of choice for any woman who was even the slightest bit challenging …

When my parents moved to Florida in October of 1993, I was 6 and a half months pregnant with my son. My dad had just turned 60 and my mom was only 56, and, like most grandparents, they missed us terribly. My parents paid, like they always did, for the 4 of us to fly down on Thanksgiving, and, knowing that Jay’s parents were in Florida also, my mother was going to make a reservation for everybody to go out to dinner. Jay’s mom, who was difficult and with whom Jay was not very close, said that she would make dinner in their condo for everybody. This, believe me, would not be a gesture without consequence, so my mother and I were keeping to the original plan of going out to dinner.

About a week before Thanksgiving, very late in the evening, I heard Jay on the phone with his mother. “Mom, we’re going to have to keep the plan of going out to dinner for Thanksgiving. Ever since Bobby and Al moved down to Florida last month, Bobby has been making Al’s life a living hell because she misses the kids so much. She’s crazy.”

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Dr. Richard Fain

September 23, 2021

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Dr. Richard Fain, Forgiveness, Healing, Tragic Divorce

It is no secret that a woman’s relationship with her male gynecologist is nearly sacred. Having absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he touches parts of her that are usually reserved for a romantic partner, this is the man who takes fastidious physical care of everything venerated on her body. He brings her children into the world, and he emotionally understands her on a level that nobody else can.

My gynecologist has been on leave for over 8 months now, and his absence is palpable. It also isn’t the first time he has left the stage, leaving hundreds, if not thousands, of adoring fans concerned. A few years ago, he had taken an unwanted sabbatical due to something medical, and he returned 6 months or so later, thin but energetic. We didn’t mention his absence, as it was his story to tell if he chose to do so. I was just so happy he was back.

Last week, I had no choice but to see Dr. Fain’s colleague, Dr. Tara Abella. She and I had met during Dr. Fain’s last sabbatical, when I had dropped a weight on my boob and found myself with a lump and a bruise. Probably expecting to see an athlete and not a chubby chick in her early 50s, Dr. Abella knew just how to assuage my fear that something was wrong. Thank Goodness, the ultrasound proved unremarkable, and my lionized Dr. Fain would be back in time for my yearly visit.

This time around, however, Dr. Fain won’t be back. Dr. Fain had a stroke back in January, and, from what I understand, it was brutal. I know that there is no such thing as a pleasant stroke, but I do know that some are more cataclysmal than others. Months of rehabilitation and learning to do everything all over again, including drive, have propelled Dr. Fain on the road to a fine quality of life, but he won’t be returning to the job that meant the world to him.

Dr. Fain is only 74, with a head full of salt and pepper curls. His “joie de vivre” is, pardon the topical reference, of pandemic proportions, and his gentle and calming demeanor can temporarily quell even the tragic damage left by a pernicious ex-husband. Countless were the times he talked me off of the proverbial ledge, offering invaluable and mollifying advice and support. We would have this banter where he would say to me, “And your therapist probably says ….” He was ALWAYS right.

Dr. Fain did not bring my children into the world; another beloved OB/GYN of mine did. But, Dr. Fain brought ME back into the world. He listened tirelessly, focused on my today and tomorrow, distracted me from my yesterday, and took me seriously when, almost 6 years ago, only weeks after I turned 50, I told him that I wanted to have another baby. He gave me names and phone numbers, and though my dream didn’t become reality because the 5 in front of my age made it prohibitive, there was a man in my life who didn’t call me crazy. It was restorative, as I was called crazy throughout my entire marriage – in front of my children, in front of my family, in front of my friends.

Dr. Fain, may you know just how much you have meant to those of us who were lucky enough to call you our doctor, our therapist, our sounding board, our tranquilizer, our hope, our heart, and our friend. We will miss you.

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November Numbness

November 27, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Thanksgiving, 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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Gathering

October 29, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Tragic Divorce

The word gathering offers multiple uses, with the root of them all involving some sort of meeting or assembly. Whether talking about a family celebration or simply a disciplined collection of thoughts, a gathering is the literal or figurative place where “stuff” happens.

I learned last night from a dear friend that my mother was diagnosed with Chronic Leukemia. Some internet searching told me that, while not ideal or glamorous, one can live quite a while with the disease and even be asymptomatic. May my mother be one of those people.

My mother has lived a full life. She has seen and experienced joy that I will never see. From the moment my oldest, her first grandchild, arrived just about 30 years ago, my mother rejoiced in all of the magic that comes with being a grandmother. An active and welcomed participant in my kids’ lives, my mother’s favorite role was grandma to my 3 kids and my sister’s 2 kids. The Fab Five were flawless in her eyes.

My ex-husband and my mother didn’t always see eye to eye, and Jay’s happiest moments were when he could slam me in front of my mother and my sister. Their dismay at his not-so-subtle verbal abuse caused significant problems for me, as more than once I would have to beg him to agree to see them again. His narcissism was only exceeded by my pathos.

Now, they all break bread together, without me.

I was hoping that once I got divorced I would get to spend lots of time with my mom. She and I shared a similar sense of humor and a matching energy. Whereas my sister was always hard on my mom, I was the one offering her endless mulligans. After all, she was my mom, and, in my book, that comes with unconditional love.

Make no mistake about it – Barbara Starsky was flawed and could often be selfish. But, this Elizabeth Taylor lookalike could also be so fiercely charming and generous. Brilliant beyond description and comprehension, she, like I, spent her life camouflaging her demons. To this day, neither of us fully knows the other’s story.

My mother has seen college graduations of her grandchildren, weddings of her grandchildren, and the birth of at least one great-grandchild. Her life, which will hopefully continue for a decade or longer, has rewarded her with countless blessings. I’m only sorry she didn’t consider me one of those blessings.

I wish my mother well and Godspeed as she faces this challenge.

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That Damn High Road

October 7, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Shana Tova, Tragic Divorce

It’s Sunday, and this was supposed to be a Marla Tells All. I was supposed to cleanse my soul, throw all caution to the wind, seek validation, expose my ex-husband, and share every mile of my paralyzing journey. Pages of cathartic and disturbing revelations now just sit, while my residence on the High Road seems like permanent housing.

A night with my girlfriends is guaranteed laughs, tears, and therapy. We vent, we confide, we tease, and they share about their beautiful children. I love hearing about the accomplishments and relationships of their peanuts, and they know that, more than anything, I wish that I, too, could share about mine. Recognizing my raw wounds, they offer advice when I look like my proverbial Mah Jongg tiles are coming off of the rack.

Our recent gathering was a smorgasbord of love, lox, and deep discussion, and my proposed, purging blog entry came up. It was just about unanimous that I should keep going high as they continue to go low, citing that those who know me have witnessed firsthand the backstory and the emotion behind my written words. Those who know me and who have stayed aboard the S.S. Gaslight are not jumping off of it. I’ve certainly reached a ten-lifetime quota of abandonment, but I can extract peace from the loyalists who remain.

I’m waiting for a call telling me that my MRI and MRA have been scheduled. The facial numbness remains and is both off-putting and terrifying. I told a dear friend that I’m not ready for further testing of my strength, so this lady who has lost her faith needs to find some ASAP. Perhaps the High Road is the right place to look.

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Shana Tova

September 30, 2019

A Mom Without Her Kids, Abandonment, Broken Heart, Crohn’s disease, Dr. Philip Bruder, Forgiveness, Grace and Kindness, Healing, Parental Alienation, Practice What We Preach, Rosh Hashanah, Shana Tova, Telogen Effluvium, Tragic Divorce, Ulcerative Colitis, You Can’t Make This Shit Up

As I sit here and prepare my Yom Kippur blog, I am preparing you for a cleansing of my soul. For too long now, I have remained quiet, and I have gone high when they have gone low. I have feared the worst, but I now realize that I have lived the worst. In losing my children, I have experienced a mother’s greatest nightmare. With that being said, I am still here to tell the story. That story will be released this coming Sunday.

Just to keep you updated on my health from the last blog, I am thrilled to report that, just as Dr. Phil Bruder said, my hair is growing back. I am no longer shedding, and, while the Rogaine is requiring me to visit my aesthetician weekly, it is working along with my natural regrowth in bringing back my hair. I am so grateful to Dr. Bruder for assuaging my concerns like nobody else could.

A week ago Friday, as I was putting on my make-up and rejoicing that my follicular situation was improving, I noticed that I was numb in my lower left side of my lip, my left side of my tongue, and my left eyebrow. Catapulting back to my three C-sections and smiling at the numb tugging I experienced as they pulled my delicious Beanie Babies out, this numbness resonated. “What could possibly be happening now?” I inquired of my trusted confidantes. “Could this be part of the gift that keeps on giving, meaning my daughter’s father-in-law who twice dropped those drill bits down my jaw when he was performing root canals on me?” (This will be a part of Sunday’s cleansing).

A visit to my current and capable dentist told me that my teeth seemed okay, all things considered, but that my symptoms mimicked a problem stemming from the trigeminal nerve. She, quite out of character for her, told me that people kill themselves from the pain of trigeminal neuralgia, so she was hoping it wasn’t this. She agreed with a dear friend of mine that I should see my ENT, as my two invasive sinus surgeries have rendered me completely into permanent sinus inflammation, pain, and nerve pressure. Perhaps this is indeed the case, or, pardon my French, perhaps I haven’t been fucked with enough. Perhaps this is a brain tumor, MS, or the beginnings of this suicidal neuralgia.

This Wednesday, October 2nd, which is the birthday of my Daddy (of blessed memory), I will, yet again, be taking a day off from work. I will start the day at my ENT, continue on to my Primary Care Physician, and dance from there to a neurologist. Yes, neurologist, which, after oncologist, is probably the doctor people fear the most. I will hold my head high, as the warrior and not the victim, and I will pray that I will indeed be inscribed in The Book of Life for another year.

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