I hate St Patrick's Day

I hate St Patrick's Day.  8 years ago on St Patrick's Day I brought my son to child protective services for an interview with a police officer and a social worker.  It's one of the moments that I really want to share with people when they go on about what they would do if their child were sexually abused.

First off after I called intake and before the interview, I had to send my son on a day visit with his father.  Around my son, I had to pretend that everything was normal because I didn't want to fuck up the evidence.  What I really wanted to do was grill him until I KNEW what was going on because it was still pretty vague.

At the interview, My mother and I were not allowed in.  We sat in the waiting room, thank God there weren't many people going in and out but there were a few.  I almost wish that they did like at the hospital where they give you a pager.  It was so hard waiting in the room. 

When I'm under stress I go over all the possible outcomes of an event over and over and over again.  I couldn't stop myself from thinking that my son would clam up and there wouldn't be enough evidence and I'd have to continue going through the hell that I was in.  What could I do if that happened?  The only thing I could think to do was get back with my son's father although he was definitely a crack addict at that time.  If I ran and got caught my son's father would get custody.

Anyway the time passed infinitely slowly.  When my son came out, he stayed with my mom in the waiting room and I went in.  All my patience and self control had paid off big time.  My son had come through like a trooper telling them absolutely everything that had happened or at least enough for his father to be charged and later convicted.  That was because I kept my head and didn't freak out, he thought that it was normal and okay to talk about it.

Then I made a mistake that I still regret to this day.  The cop asked if I could go up the street to the cop shop for an interview and I agreed to go without seeing my son first.  I should have gone to him and hung out with him first.

After an interview in which I felt like a criminal, my son and I went to stay with my brother.  My son's father was supposed to pick up my son for a visit the next day and I had no way to contact him to give him some reason why it would be off.  The police were supposed to contact us when they had served a search warrant and an undertaking against my son.  We couldn't go home or to my mom's house.  My mom and I went to a hotel and they called us around 7 that night.

When all this happened it was the first time that my heart has ever broken.  I felt disconnected from my son because the pain was so intense.  It took about a year for that bond to reform.  It is hard to believe now 8 years later that he has turned out to be such a great kid.  That time was such hell for him, my mother and I.  Now it is good to have the normal pre-teen problems of homework and housework.

The thing that hurts me the most about it now is the shame of not being able to talk about it.  Especially when I hear idiots and assholes talk about what they would do if their children were abused because they have no idea what it's like.  I'd still like to go and put a bullet in my son's abuser's head, but that wouldn't move anyone towards healing.  Me being in jail would not help my son become a healthy adult.  Other than preventing other children from being abused, I doubt that it would even really make me feel better.