Our Love has Nowhere to Go

Recently, I read a post that said grief is just love that has nowhere to go. I have seen this truth from every angle, whether the separation is from death or simply moving on. I have loved and lost. I have loved and left. I have loved and been rejected. Grief is not a stranger to me, but I have never had the grief my husband now faces.

No one died. This isn't a spoiler. It's just a fact. No one died. Everyone in the family is still alive. But the two boys are no longer living with us – they went to go live with their sperm-dad. One by choice, the other because of his choices.

While I love both of the boys, my journey in their lives has not been very long, so my grief here is minor compared to Tommy's and B's. Theirs, theirs breaks my heart daily.

Everyone who hears what happened has reached out in ways to show up for B. This, to me, is a testament to the strength of my Found Family. She deserves so much love and has been adopted as family by all of my people who matter. This is beautiful.

But unless I point it out, everyone seems to have forgotten what this is doing to Tommy. We, as a society, have too long ignored AFAB parents' pain. This is no exception.

The reality is Tommy has the most to grieve.

My husband, who gave birth to and raised these boys, was almost killed by his oldest son. Every time I see the stairs in our house, I am reminded that it was here, he almost died. I cannot imagine what that is doing to him, to have to walk in the same space every day.

But it wasn't because of the assault on Tommy that E was removed from the home. It was because E first assaulted B.

He was being held accountable for his actions and rather than accept any responsibility for his choices that got him where he was, he decided the consequence he was being given was not a result of his choices but rather because B was the favorite. So he attacked her.

E had no remorse. He felt like being punished for his assault on B was more evidence that she was the favorite so clearly it was deserved. The fact that consequences were increased enraged him.

In a fit of anger, when Tommy was going up the stairs arms laden with things, E attacked him from behind in a manner that I cannot unsee as the danger it was. Tommy could easily have died. If any one of a million things had gone even a tiny bit differently, Tommy could have died. As is, he sustained several injuries, some of which are still affecting him.

But Tommy is an AFAB parent, so no one cared about him in any of this.

Instead, Tommy had to show up for his son, over and over, between stopping him from self harming literal minutes after the attack to going to family therapy and working with doctors and social workers.

Everyone agreed: E could not go back into the home with B, at least until we could be sure she'd be safe. And we cannot assure that B will be safe if E will not accept any level of accountability for his choices. He still expresses no remorse.

A suggestion from the social worker was that Tommy go live with E separate from everyone else, leaving the other kids with me. Her thought was we could find a temporary place for them to live separately to see if a combination of intense DBT and family therapy could help E learn to be safe in our home. Tommy simply asked if they were going to help fund this idea because the reality is we cannot afford a second place. The social worker quickly backed down because there is no government funding to keep kids with their families, only to remove them from their homes.

In all of this, there was no thought for Tommy.

Tommy's 14 year old son had almost killed him, and he was being asked to go live alone with that child.

The thing is: Tommy would have. Had that been a viable option, Tommy would have done it. Because despite everything, he loves his son.

In the end, the children's sperm-dad came to take E with him back to Europe. The middle child, M, who is old enough to have an opinion about where he's living, chose to go too.

So now it's just the three of us: Tommy, me and B.

B is reeling from being assaulted by her brother. She loves him dearly and is devastated that he's gone. She's also angry at him and hurt. The longer he's been gone, the more she's been sharing with us what he said when we weren't around. For her, him leaving is the end of an abuse cycle. As much as she loves him, she's also so relieved that he can't be mean to her anymore.

She is also grieving the loss of her other brother, her best friend. M and B were two peas in a pod. If there was children's laughter, it was usually them sharing an adventure together. They spent hours together every single day. Now he's gone. She's alone. Her love has nowhere to go.

Tommy, Tommy has the most complicated feelings of all of us. What do you do when your child is removed from your home after almost killing you? How do you even begin to sort those feelings?

Worse, this is not a temporary removal. The nature of such an international custody split are so complex that there is no easy switching back if things don't work. We also don't have the ability to travel back and forth between here and Europe regularly. But the options for E were long-term foster care or he could go live with his sperm-dad in Europe. The choice was clear.

As for M, the 13 year old, going to Europe too, while I have my own personal opinions on whether he should have left, I firmly believe he should actually have some ability to choose which parent he wants to live with. If there was a clear reason to not send him, that would be one thing, but he wanted to go and his sperm-dad is capable of taking care of him. The social worker did not have concerns about M being in the same home as E or with him going to his sperm-dad. When I'm in a situation where my brain is clouded, I always trust the professionals. And in this situation, my brain is clouded.

There's so much more to this saga, from daily meltdowns and crises occurring more and more frequently, to police intervention in our home almost every day preluding to the attacks. I'm still reeling from the emotional hell we've been through. I remember carrying E in my arms to save his life in Arizona. We changed everything to save him. And now he's gone, half a world away and I feel angry at the pain he caused to my little family. Even still, I'm grateful he's going to a more trans-friendly country than the US. We still saved him from that.

Tonight, B was having another anxiety spiral and I used a tactic that I've been using with her a lot lately. "The most likely scenario is you are going to fall asleep in the next 30 minutes. You'll wake up in the morning and you'll still be right here in this room. I'll be sleeping in the other room with (Tommy). You'll have breakfast and play for a few hours and then at 11 am, your friends will come to visit. That's the most likely scenario."

I do this to help her ground in our reality now. The secret that she doesn't know is this is what I do for myself to help my own nervous system calm.

The most likely scenario is that tomorrow, none of us will need to go to the ER. The police will not come to our home. There will be no screaming or cursing or violence. The most likely scenario is if I do go to Costco with our friends, I won't get any text messages updating me on situations at home that necessitate me leaving early.

The most likely scenario is tomorrow will be much like today. While we will be safe, it doesn't change that two members of our family are far, far away. Our love for them has nowhere to go.

So we grieve.