On The Train
I’m not sure why I haven’t written in a while. I’m sitting on a train while the sun pours through the windows as we glide through northern Niedersachsen. In just over six hours, I’m supposed to see my son sans supervision for the first time in over a year and a half. Why the supervision was there in the first place and why it continued for so long are stories for another time. Suffice it to say that it was not my favorite experience. On the one hand, at least I got to see my son, but on the other, one of the weirdest feelings in the world is spending time with your child while constantly being watched.
The train is on time so far, which despite the mystical concepts of German efficiency or punctuality, is not a guaranteed occurrence. In fact, it feels like a small present every time you show up to the station and see that your departure time still matches the time printed on your ticket. The train is relatively empty so far, but I imagine in Hannover it will fill up a bit. The lady next to me needs a tissue or something. Every five to ten seconds is:
Sniff
Sniff Sniff
Sniff Sniff Sniff
SNIFF
Just. Blow. Your. Nose. Stop abusing us with your constant sniff sounds! Especially in Germany, where you can blow your nose in public and no one bats an eye. I would almost go as far as to say that blowing your nose in public is encouraged. But sniffing? SNIFFING?! This is an affront to the senses and a personal attack launched directly into my ear canals. There are already enough unwanted sounds throwing themselves directly into my eustachian tubes every day, and your sniffs are the audible rotten maraschino cherry on top.
I just sniffed.
Yes, I am a hypocrite.
I really hope my visitation happens today. There’s an iffy feeling in my gut. Seeing how the social services sausage is made here and being subjected to having the privilege of being part of it has been a protracted, arduous cycle of being filled with hope, only to have it slowly drained out of me over an ever-increasing period of time. Then, just when I’m sure that all is lost, getting a letter or a phone call that shocks hope back into me. I am apprehensive to say the least.
What if my ex-wife doesn’t show up with my son? She claimed yesterday that she did not receive the email from Mr. Social Worker, where he stated that supervised visitations were now over. This despite the fact that her email address was in the carbon copy list. I forwarded it to the same address just in case, but I’m sure she got it. I think she’s playing the fool so that she can have some sort of plausible deniability when visitation does not happen today.
But maybe I’m being too negative. Maybe somehow she truly did not receive the email and she’ll be there with my son right on time this afternoon. It’s hard for me to believe, but sometimes you just have to take a leap I guess. Look Mom, I’m leaping! One of the realities that most disappoints me about the whole justice system/social services experience here is that nobody seems to communicate with each other, at least not very well. When I went into this, I thought (naively) that I was dealing with a coherent system. where each part is connected to the other and information flows freely from one cog to the next.
I’m not sure if I’ve ever made more of an asinine assumption in my life.
In hindsight, I should’ve realized that the justice and social services systems are filled with gasp people and that these people also suffer from many of the same problems as you and I. They themselves are trapped by the system, trying to do good in their tiny corner of it, but unable to move the behemoth in a meaningful manner by themselves. It’s just that this behemoth can influence and/or enforce my ability to have a relationship with my son. While the behemoth sleeps or moves as if stuck in molasses, my son gets older and time escapes that I can never get back.
Still I press on. Still we press on. We who just want to be with our children. Because I know I’m not alone in this. Not even close. There are so many of us that there exist support groups just for people going through similar situations.
I’m looking forward to our next meeting.