Can You Keep a Secret? (23 page)

The (Alternative) Book of Benjamin

The title of this post is ‘Our House is Haunted’ – and no, I’m not referring to Halloween. I’m Australian, as some of you know, and we didn’t celebrate Halloween in Australia when I was growing up. It was seen as a very American thing. My first experience of it was in Manhattan after 9/11. We had been banished from our apartment and were living at the Hilton. I was struggling with my fear of flying and wondering what would become of me, how I would ever get home. There were quite a few children staying in the hotel and some of them came and knocked on our door and I gave out some candy, but it was all fairly low key.

The following year we moved to this house in Larchmont, but that was the year we lost our baby and I suppose I didn’t notice much of what was going on around me. I do remember that Colby went to a Halloween party as one of the Living Dead, with a white face and torn clothes, like a ghoul. I hadn’t felt up to it and, gee, didn’t Summer – that’s my husband’s colleague who he’s a bit too close to
for my liking – take advantage of that! I saw the photographs afterwards, and she’d gone as some kind of sexy witch with a miniskirt and fishnet stockings and a broomstick between her legs (sorry!) and she was really playing up to Colby in some of the shots I saw.

I’ve seen quite a few Halloweens since then, and I have grown to love the celebration. All those little children coming up the hill to our house, dressed like fairies and goblins, all so shy, and amazed by the wonder of it all. I coax them up to our front door with a bucket of candy corn and some of those hideous jelly body parts for the older teens. I have cobwebs spread over the front hedge and a plastic skeleton set up on the porch in the rocking chair. It’s marvellous, and of course I’ve thought about the day when I’d have a little one of my own to take around the neighbourhood.

I have a clear memory of thinking, ‘That’s one thing I’m going to love doing. I’m going to love watching my child get dressed up for Halloween, and I’m going to love taking him trick-or-treating around our neighbourhood.’ I also remember how much I loved getting dressed up as a child. I was pretty much barefoot every day of my life, but I had some kind of angel costume – a tulle skirt, with wings on the back – that I loved to wear when I was running on the beach, or scrambling over rocks, or even in the water.

I really wanted Benjamin to enjoy his first Halloween, dressing up and going trick or treating, but I guess I also knew in my heart that it wouldn’t be the experience I’d dreamed about. I was very careful to take things slowly. I didn’t want to overwhelm him with a lot of choices. I didn’t want to say, ‘Would you like to go as a Power Ranger or would you prefer to go as a vampire?’ Too much choice can set him off, so I got him a Superman suit. There wasn’t much to
it. It was just a body suit, with the big S on the chest, and a cape, and I thought, ‘Okay, this is going to be a first for us, and this is going to be fun. I’ll put Benjamin into the suit and I’ll take him by the hand, and we’ll be out in the street with all the other kids, trick or treating, and we’ll be just like any other American family.’

But who am I kidding? We’re not just like any other American family. We have a very strange child. First up, Benjamin wouldn’t wear the Superman suit. How did I guess that would happen? I tried my best to coax him into it, but he wanted nothing to do with it. He doesn’t want to do anything that other kids do. He won’t go to school. He won’t go to the playground. He doesn’t want to talk. He won’t let me hold him. He won’t let me kiss him. He never calls me Mom. He never says Dad. He never says anything! He is maddening.

I know I’ve said this before, but I can hardly believe I tried for all those years to have a baby and now I have a child who hates me.

Some of you will say, ‘I’m sure he doesn’t
hate
you. Hate’s a big word.’ But what else would you call it? What else can you say about a child who refuses to get into his Halloween costume, refuses to help put the candy in the bowl, refuses to be led out of the house to do the trick or treating, refuses to enjoy any of the many decorations that the neighbours have put out, refuses to come with me to the door when other children knock?

We may as well not have bothered.

I switched all our lovely novelty toys off – the skulls with the flashing eyes – and blew out the candle in the jack-o’-lantern and ran the bath for him. He’d been crying so hard his face was stained. I had him under the armpits, trying to get his feet into the water, and he was thrashing around, and when his feet touched the water
it was like he was blistered. I’d tested the temperature. I knew the water wasn’t hot. The water was just right. You’d think I’d tried to scald him.

Then he started throwing up. He’s become expert at that. I can’t remember when it started. All I know is that he can now projectile vomit across the room. So, there was that to clean up, too.

I know, I know: all he needs is love. Well, I’m trying to love him, but I can’t get rid of the feeling that he really, really hates me in return. I know that I sound bitter and that’s because I AM bitter. It was my big idea to take an older child. I dragged Colby screaming to the adoption table. Now I’m in a situation where we have a child who cannot stand to be around us – and I’m going to be honest, I am
exhausted.

I am exhausted not only from the endless demands that Benjamin makes on our home – the screaming, the hitting – but I am also exhausted from all that I’m being asked to give, and because I get nothing back in return.

Not a word, not a smile, not a look of gratitude, nothing.

I know, I know, believe me, I know, I have heard from mothers of autistic children, and from children who have all kinds of diseases and syndromes and conditions, who tell me that their child has never looked at them, and never acknowledged them, and will never say ‘thank you’ or ‘I love you’.

But we didn’t sign up for this!

There was none of this on the paperwork we got from the agency. Where did it say: your child will destroy your house? Where did it say: your child will tear at your face and try to poke your eyes out? Where did it say: your child will smash every nice thing you have, not in rage, but in pure indifference to how you might feel about it?

And also – when will anyone other than me be allowed to admit that my child is different? That all of these adopted children are different? That they aren’t like other kids?

Don’t get me wrong, I want to connect with Benjamin. I have tried so hard to reach him. I am reading everything I can find about children who come from orphanages and they can’t connect. You have to repair the attachment. All the therapists say we need to show more patience.

I’m not sure how much more patient I can be.

Apparently I’m supposed to create a sense of joy around Benjamin. But how on earth am I supposed to get something like joy out of a child who is as cold and distant as Benjamin?

Comment (1):

Oh, Caitlin, that must have been so disappointing! Halloween is one of the best nights of the year and you must have been looking forward to it so much! I just want to reach out and hug you!

Comment (2):

You shouldn’t blame yourself. You should blame the orphanage! They are sending kids to live with American families even if those kids are really damaged! Yours is not the only case! There was a mom at the nursery school where my child went who had adopted a baby from Russia and he was like a zombie – all day long he would rock backward and forward, backward and forward. She was a good mom! You sound like a good mom, too! I think that what you are saying is actually correct: there is more wrong with these children than we want to admit. Don’t beat yourself up about it. The fault is not with you.

The (Alternative) Book of Benjamin

Well, what can I say?

Benjamin has been living with us in the United States now for seven months and I have been one-on-one with him every day.

I’ve sought the opinion of four doctors and/or therapists, and they may well be confused about what is going on, but I am not.

I have formed the view – based on my observation of my own son over seven long months – that there is actually something wrong with Benjamin and it’s going to take a radical intervention to put it right.

I mentioned in an earlier post that Benjamin had figured out how to get out of the house. That’s now become a habit, too. I’ve had to put deadlocks on both doors downstairs and I’ve taken to carrying the keys, because obviously it’s dangerous being deadlocked into your own house. What if an intruder comes through a window and you can’t get out? What if the house catches fire???

Anyway, it hasn’t stopped Benjamin. Our house is an old
Colonial. It has very high ceilings. Benjamin’s room is upstairs in the converted roof space. He’s got two lovely attic windows with timber window seats, and blue-and-white striped cushions. I had them made. I used to dream of sitting there, under the glow of the moon, reading to Benjamin. I’d thought about Colby sitting there with him, maybe pointing out the stars with a telescope.

Both of those windows are now nailed shut. Benjamin was flipping the latch, gripping the pane and swinging himself up to get onto the roof. He’s still very small, but he’s no longer weak. Blame the Sustagen! He’s wiry and muscular, like a greyhound. He was getting out on the roof and climbing down the verandah posts and creeping off across the lawn, through the forest behind the house.

I have tried to explain how dangerous it is. I have said, no, no, and I’ve made him sit on the floor in the room while I nailed the windows shut to reinforce the message.

But it’s like he quite enjoys seeing my torment.

One of Benjamin’s therapists said, ‘It’s because he sees you as a symbol of everything he’s lost. And maybe it’s also a way of protecting himself from further loss. He was three when he was taken to the orphanage, wasn’t he? How does he know that you won’t take him back there one day?’

I was so exasperated. I said, ‘I’m a symbol of everything he’s
gained.’

She said, ‘Not in his eyes. You took him out of the orphanage. The only home he ever knew. All those people who cared for him, gone.’

I could hardly believe it. I may have failed at getting Benjamin to love me, but he is definitely in better shape – better physical shape, I mean – since I took him into my home. All those months
he wouldn’t eat at the table, I still got food into him. He’s more muscular, and he’s taller. He’s not going to win any beauty contests, but his skin looks better, and his hair. His legs have lost that bow shape. His stomach has lost that bloated look. There’s more colour in his cheeks. He doesn’t look quite as grey. He still spends most of his time looking down at his shoes. But there’s no question that physically he’s better off for living in America.

Benjamin’s problems aren’t physical. They are mental, emotional, psychological – whatever you want to call it. And no, it’s not autism. It’s not Asperger’s. Believe me, we’ve had those tests. This is something else, something more serious.

And so maybe that therapist was right. Maybe whatever kind of life Benjamin had in the orphanage, it was the life he wanted. Maybe the orphanage was home, and as far as he was concerned, I have taken him away from his home.

So, what to do? Well, having said all of that, I want to make this plain: I am not giving up.

I went into Benjamin’s room last night. He’d spent the early part of the evening tapping his head on the floorboards – just gently, but still – over and over again. Then he must have decided that enough was enough, and he was curled up in a ball on the mattress I’ve put on the floor, where the pile of blankets used to be. He wasn’t asleep. His eyes were wide open, staring at some mark on the wall.

I reached out and rubbed his back in a round circle. He didn’t stop me, so I did it again, and then over and over again, just rubbing my hand in a gentle circle, until I realised that he’d fallen asleep.

I thought, ‘Okay, I’ve soothed him to sleep. I’ve soothed the savage beast!’

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

Comment (1):

Hi, Caitlin, long time reader here but first time commentator. I just wanted to say that I think you are amazing how you have adapted to this situation. I have been reading your website pretty much since you started and I know what your dreams about your family were, and the way you keep going and trying to make things better is an inspiration to me. I just wanted to say, you go girl, because you are doing a great job and in my opinion your husband could be doing a lot more to help.

Comment (2):

Plus ONE! I totally agree with the comment above. It sounds like you’re doing all the hard work and your husband has just washed his hands of the situation and that is not acceptable in this day and age. I really think he should be doing more to help you because you are doing all the heavy lifting and adopting a child was a decision that the TWO of you made, not just you alone.

The (Alternative) Book of Benjamin

The title of this post is ‘My Life Is Falling Apart’.

I’m sorry I haven’t written for a while. I’ve had a bit of a shock. It’s okay. It’s not about Benjamin. He’s fine. He’s the same.

It’s me that’s not fine. I’m a wreck. Colby is having an affair.

I realise that’s not going to surprise some people. I realise I’ve hardly talked about him, and my regular readers – bless you all – will know that almost everything I do with Benjamin I do by myself, and that’s because Colby lost interest a long time ago. To be honest, on some level I suppose I’ve known for some time that there must be another woman. I just couldn’t afford to face the truth. I didn’t
want
to face the truth.

Now the truth is staring me in the face, I guess I can’t avoid it anymore.

I won’t say the woman’s name because I suspect that she reads this website. It’s just a feeling I get from some of the nasty comments that get left. But it’s somebody from Colby’s work. I know, right?
Who would have guessed? Like, you didn’t see that coming? They were both working at Carnegie during 9/11, so they’ve known each other for years. She was actually very good to me in those weeks after 9/11 when I didn’t know anybody in Manhattan except Colby (we had another friend, Robert; he was killed). She helped find a counsellor for me when I was supposed to be going home but I couldn’t get on the plane.

I wonder why she was so keen to see me get on that plane!

I remember after 9/11, she told Colby she was going to go back to her home state, Maine. Her parents were very worried about her, and wanted her to find a job out of the City. It was around the time that anthrax was turning up in the mail, or maybe I’m wrong and it was around the time the sniper was working in Washington DC, shooting people in Home Depot car parks. It was something like that. I mainly remember that Colby talked her out of it. I was a bit suspicious at the time and he told me not to be so ridiculous.

I was trying to think this week how old she is. I’m pretty sure she’s older than me but I don’t really know. I do know she isn’t married and she has her own apartment in the City. She’s all very
Sex and the City.
The conversations I’ve had with her over the years have tended to be how she loves work and she loves shoes. Well, good for her. Now it seems that she loves my husband.

Like I said, I have been curious about their relationship for quite a while and I’ve actually asked Colby a few times in the past whether he wasn’t getting too close to her. This was when I had suspicions and he was telling me not to be stupid. He told me he felt this loyalty to her because of what they went through rebuilding Carnegie after
9/11. Loyalty! I remember saying, ‘Well, promoting her into a job where she earns about $200,000 a year, isn’t that loyalty? I mean, a salary like that is amazing when you realise that she’s never been to business school.’

You’re probably wondering how I found out about the affair. Or, more accurately, how I had my suspicions over many years confirmed. It’s the oldest story in the world. I found out from his cell phone.

I mentioned a little earlier that Colby has started coming home even later than usual. I have tried not to make too much of that. I realise that our home isn’t exactly filled with happiness right now. Life with Benjamin is extremely challenging. But I was a bit suspicious. So, I asked him what he was doing and he said, ‘Oh, things are frantic at work,’ but sometimes I could smell alcohol on his breath. On those occasions, he’d say, ‘It’s no big deal, Caitlin. I just had a few beers with some colleagues after work.’

I suppose that could have been true, but I don’t know, I just didn’t believe it. So, when I saw the message alert on his phone go off one evening while Colby was in the shower, I checked his phone – and there was all the evidence I needed.

There were ten messages, maybe more, from this woman, and that’s only counting the ones I was able to flick through before I heard Colby turn the water off.

Clearly, she thinks they’re in love.

I didn’t have time to check his end of the messages – the Sent folder – but, once you know you know. What more do I really need to find out?

I can’t say it surprised me. Thinking back on it, this woman has
been a thorn in the side of my marriage for quite a while. I remember when we first started the process of adoption, I was looking through Colby’s email for something – a document I needed – and I found one of his emails to her. I can’t remember exactly what it said, but it was something like: ‘I don’t know what to do. Caitlin is adamant that she wants to adopt, but there’s no way we can do it. Things just aren’t good enough between us.’

This woman had replied, saying, ‘Well, what are you going to do about that?’ And Colby had said, ‘I’m encouraging her to stick with her counselling. But she won’t listen. She just says, “Oh, no, everything’s fine.”’

I was furious with him, firstly for discussing our plans with somebody who is a stranger to me – and who was probably already trying to undermine me – and also for running me down. And I made what was probably a critical error, in that I didn’t confront Colby with that email. I just pretended I hadn’t seen it, and pushed on with our adoption plans. I couldn’t see how the problems we were having had anything to do with this woman, but if he wanted to confide in her, what could I do about it?

It was harder to ignore the messages on his cell phone.

There was nothing explicit, but there was enough there, believe me, to confirm my suspicions.

I’ve been thinking about whether to confront him. On the one hand, I want to know everything: how long it has been going on, and where they have sex. Every single detail. I’ve had some horrible dreams about them having sex in Colby’s office. How romantic! I wake up feeling like I’m going to throw up.

I suppose they talk about me.

I can imagine Colby saying, ‘Oh, I’m in love with you, but how can I leave Caitlin?’

I can imagine this woman saying, ‘Just take your time, we’ll figure out a way.’

My problem is, what am I supposed to do now? I really can’t see myself saying, ‘Okay, tell me about this stupid woman at work that you’re seeing behind my back?’ Because what would that do? All that’s going to do is open the can of worms. It’s going to give Colby a chance to say, ‘Caitlin, you’re right, I’ve been cheating on you, and maybe I should leave.’

Which is what he wants. He wants to leave. So, why should I confront him and give him the excuse he needs to walk out on me?

Some of you are probably thinking, but you can’t just ignore it. What kind of marriage is that, based on lies? I understand – but look at it from my point of view: Colby has done the wrong thing because he’s not happy at home. And why is he not happy at home? Because we adopted Benjamin. As tough as it is to face, that’s the truth of it. And I have to take some responsibility for that. I was the one who really wanted this. And I intend to face up to my responsibilities, even if Colby can’t.

Comment (1):

What terrible news! I can hardly believe what you’re going through. Excuse my French but your husband must be a bastard! He must be able to see how hard you are working with Benjamin and now he gives you this to deal with as well! I could smack him. I hope he’s reading this!! Then he’ll know for sure that you are a woman of decency and he’s just a jerk!

Comment (2):

I’m in awe of you, Caitlin. You are so brave and so strong. Plenty of people would cave under the pressure you’re under and you keep looking for solutions. Keep going!

Comment (3):

No, I’m sorry, but I cannot believe how selfish you are. This is not about Benjamin!!!! This is about YOU and your marriage. Have you stopped to think that your husband might actually be in love with this other woman? What if their relationship is the real thing? You seem to be suggesting that he should remain unhappy forever because of a stupid decision YOU made to adopt a child. But why should he have to live his life for YOU? Do you really think it’s appropriate to put all your personal details online? Don’t you understand that this is the World Wide Web – and ANYONE in the WORLD can read what you’ve written – including all your husband’s colleagues and clients and his business partners, his family, his friends and his mistress too???? I can hardly blame him for wanting to get away from you!

Comment in Reply (posted by Caitlin):

Well, you seem to know quite a bit about us, but I notice you don’t give your name. I’m used to that. It comes with blogging on the internet. But maybe now I should ask: who are you? Why don’t you leave your name? Is it because you are too scared – or maybe you know more than you are letting on. Maybe I know you! And maybe you know me? I bet I’m not wrong …