Echoes of Silence: Letters to a Drug Addicted Mother from the Woman Who Took Her Place

By Gwen Miller

Gwen Miller is a woman who is approaching the independence of middle age as the last of her children completes college. Suddenly, faced with the most difficult decision of her life, she is forced to choose between her own freedom and saving three neglected and abused young children. With their lives at the mercy of the foster adoption system, the choice was made and Gwen's moment of parental liberty vanished as she and her husband, Charley, took custody of her niece s children.
Gwen unfolds a story of hope and heartache as she attempts to connect with her drug addicted niece, Melissa, to help her find her way back to her babies. As time passes, more and more discoveries are made of the horrors and abuse inflicted upon her children. Hope turns to despair as Gwen is overwhelmed by the task of healing these traumatized youngsters. Her appeals to the mother fall on deaf ears as the words come tumbling back leaving nothing but Echoes of Silence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gwen Miller
• Release date: Jul 5, 2015

Book preview

LOOKING BACK

For many people who live on the East Coast, Hurricane Sandy brought devastation, damaging their homes, towns, and beaches. For me, the hurricane heralded the onset of a different kind of turmoil. At the time of the storm, I’d become fully aware of the plight of my great nephews Tyler, eight years old, and Zachary, one year old, and my great niece Isabelle, three years old. They’d been removed from the custody of my niece Melissa in the summer of 2012. I was the youngest of my siblings and therefore the only one young enough to step up.

After numerous failed attempts to reach Melissa, I contacted her caseworker. Due to issues of privacy, the caseworker wouldn’t divulge information about the case without Melissa’s permission. Then I was told that, if Melissa ever showed up for a scheduled appointment, the caseworker would request a release. I was also warned not to be overly optimistic; she hadn’t made it to an appointment in months. The only other information I could glean was that Melissa had refused to submit to any drug testing and was not following her case plan for reunification with her children.

I learned later that Melissa had been serving a jail sentence on various drug offenses and that the children had been removed from her custody at the time of her arrest in the summer of 2012. Following Melissa’s incarceration, the children remained in protective custody due to a history of abandonment and neglect during previous years. However, she fairly consistently had weekly visits with her children. During these visits, Melissa would promise them this was all a terrible mistake, and she was doing everything she could to get them back. She’d promise they would be with her by the end of the summer . . . and then Christmas . . . and then Easter.

In reality, she was doing nothing at all. It had become obvious to the caseworkers at Child Protective Services she didn’t intend to follow the steps required to regain custody. In fact, because a baby was involved, Child Protective Services and the children’s attorney were moving quickly toward termination of parental rights. They needed to search for a permanent solution for her three children.

At that time, I thought I understood what was going on with Melissa. We’d grown up in the same abusive and dysfunctional family. I married my high school sweetheart, who thankfully provided an incredible source of strength and support. We had moved away to the other side of the country and created a beautiful family. My family was the center of my life; our children—Ian, 25, Sam, 23, and Olivia, 21—were my world.

I believed whatever had caused Melissa to spiral out of control to the point of losing her children could not be greater than the ever-enduring love of a mother for her child. Absolutely nothing was—or so I thought. I intended to swoop in without judgment and give Melissa a little hope, love, compassion, and understanding. I believed that, with my nurturing care and help, she could recover and get her babies back.

I see you shaking your head, dear reader, but yes, that’s what I thought.

After months of failed attempts to contact Melissa, I decided to travel across the country to try and reach out to her in person and also meet the children. Upon arriving, I fell head over heels in love with these beautiful little creatures. Unfortunately, Melissa eluded me throughout my entire weeklong visit except for her two hours of visitation, which I was allowed to moderate. Of course, I couldn’t have any serious discussion with the children present.

Understanding the challenges of finding an adoptive family willing to take three traumatized children aged one to nine, I felt heavy-hearted. I ultimately returned home facing a difficult, life-altering decision.

My family’s history of abusing its children has been the platform from which I’ve stood as a campaigner for truth and justice. Over the years, I’ve refused to live in silence instead of keeping our secrets while protecting the criminals and predators who fed upon our shame. I was determined to stop the cycle of abuse.

Up to this point, it had been fairly easy to stand up against the exploitation of our children as an advocate. I could do that from the safe bubble I’d created thousands of miles away. Suddenly, I found myself facing a monumental decision. Three tiny, lost lives had crossed my path with open hearts and outstretched hands. They had been abandoned, rejected, and abused. Could I risk walking away, therefore allowing our family’s cycle to continue its destructive course?

Hell no. I was ready to take in these beautiful little souls and engulf them with love and protection. But would this be a permanent solution? At the age of 49, I couldn’t fathom that. But our home could be a temporary safe haven until their mother regained her health and demonstrated enough stability to take them back and—voila! They’d be healthy, productive members of society.

Again, I see you shaking your head. But, yes—that’s what I thought. At that time, I believed I was fairly well prepared to take in these beautiful little souls. After all, my husband and I had raised three beautiful, healthy kids and felt proud of the adults they’ve grown to be. Sure, I had messed up in places along the way, but history offers lessons if we’re open to learn from them. This could be my second chance to get everything right.

In taking on raising these children, I anticipated challenges. But in no way could I have comprehended the magnitude of this undertaking. I couldn’t foresee the drastic changes as our family adjusted to accept these abused and traumatized little ones. It was impossible for me to imagine how much of my soul would be required—how deep I would have to dig within myself—to administer first aid to their wounds. I couldn’t have predicted the multitude of ways the trauma would manifest itself.

As you will see, dear reader, I became the brave soul who jumped into deep water to save lives, only to find myself drowning instead. I had to find ways to keep myself afloat before I could ever truly teach them to navigate life’s waters.

So I wrote letters to Melissa. Sharing my thoughts and feelings became cathartic. Writing became my outlet—most often in the middle of anxiety-filled nights. I struggled for solutions to all the complex issues we were facing with the children. On rare occasions when I wasn’t kept awake by my nagging stress, the quiet moments of darkness were the only ones in which I found a shred of peace.

Some of the letters you’ll read I did send to Melissa; some I didn’t. Some she may have read; some she probably never did. Most of the time, I had no idea if she ever received them. Yet even those she may have read were answered with echoes of silence.

I’m sharing my letters to Melissa with you, dear reader, because you, too, may not have escaped the fallout of abuse. My letters might unfold the story of your son or daughter, sister or brother, mother or father, aunt, uncle, niece, nephew, cousin, or your best friend.

As you’ll see, it’s a story of finding strength in your weakest moments and feeling hopeful when everything seems hopeless. It’s about hanging on until nothing remains to hold on to and, when necessary, finally letting go. It tells of choosing to accept your dark past and not hide in shame but boldly use your past as a springboard of wisdom—or simply a milestone to gauge your progress. It’s a story about forgiveness, not just when you’ve been wronged beyond repair by others, but when you, yourself, err and fail.

I gathered these letters together during the summer of 2014. Although they were intended for my niece, I hope they are of help to you and, perhaps those you love. Through our reflection of the past, my children, my family can move forward.

October 8, 2012

Dear Melissa,

I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since the last time I spoke to your Aunt Charlotte. She gave me the name and number of your caseworker, and I called her. Even though the caseworker wouldn’t give me any information or a phone number for you, she said she’d give you a letter if you showed up for a meeting. I’m sending this to her in the hopes it will find you.

I want you to know I love you and I’m here for you. I know you must be going through a terrible time right now. I’m sorry I’m so far away. I miss you and think of you often. How I wish I’d done a better job of keeping in touch with you. I thought you, like me, had escaped from all the baggage of our childhood and were doing well. I’ve come to realize we don’t really escape anything. We may be able to push it down for a while, but unless we face the turmoil simmering inside, it will eventually explode.

I understand that things can happen; we can make mistakes and find ourselves in terrible circumstances. Picking up the phone may be the hardest thing in the world right now, but I believe in you. I know your heart. You can get through this. I want to help you. Please let me.

I love you, Melissa.

Aunt Gwen

December 10, 2012

Dear Melissa,

For several weeks, I’ve been in contact with the foster mother, Toni, who has your children. She promised to give this letter to you during your next visit with the kids. I’m sure they’ve told you I’m calling to speak to them every night. Well, I talk to Tyler, anyway. Toni told me a while back that he’s quite behind in reading, so I’ve sent him a Kindle. Now