Friday, February 3, 2017

Ambiguous Daughter

Though time passes on
My clock sitting still
A void much too strong
I simply cannot fill

It's been ten years
Since I last held you close
In an effort to breathe
This poem I'll compose:

My ambiguous daughters
you were just under three
I was the best mommy
that I knew how to be

There sadly came a day
I thought never would be
On my knees I would pray
You'd come back to me

In a tiny cramped room
I held you for an hour
I said that I was sorry
I'd lost all my power

The social worker warned
I had to walk away
our time was over
They wouldn't let me stay

Gabby rushed to her coat
it was purple with fur
Never will I forget
the aching cry from her

Mommy she cried
I want to go in your car
Her young spoken grief
left an ageless scar

Falling to my knees
I held her secure
I promised her soon
for this I was sure

Maddy still young
yet smart and aware
cried with her sister
helpless wimpers of despair

Never had I known
Children so sad
my daughters were alone
A corrupt systems' fad

A mom at eighteen
with flaws I confessed
Not given one chance
with a truth they suppressed

Time has passed slow
eleven years of grief
I vow to my daughters
my promise to keep

Twelve and Thirteen
your pictures bring me peace
Behind a laptop screen
My love cannot cease

Wherever you are
any hour, day or time
I want you to know
this is more than a rhyme

I carry you with me
through the sunshine and stars
I'll forever hold on
to what's rightly only ours

Whatever you've heard
or perhaps may have not
what you might remember
or have even forgot

I must reach out
in any possible way
even if you'll never
come back to me one day

You are loved beyond love
You are missed beyond time
to myself you're a part of
Far beyond just a rhyme

Sunday, January 22, 2017

Book Review - Second Firsts



Second Firsts: Live, Love and Laugh Again


I listened to this audio book recently, as I was suffering from one of my frequent bouts of insomnia. I've lived my life for the last 15 years...completely empty and suffering. Long Blue Line: Based on a True Story is my own personal memoir and it doesn't have an ending with closure for the reader, and the same has been true for my life (as the author).

Society has responded to my pain by telling me that I have depression, anxiety, and pretty much any other mental illness you can think of. Frustrated and exhausted, I was laying in bed and browsing on audible hoping that I could find something - anything - to help me find some sort of answer or relief.

For the first time in my life, this book gave me solid answers that made sense. Also, for the first time in my life, I was able to accept and understand that I have not been able to move beyond my grief, many years later.

I have been sitting in the "waiting room" as the author calls it, and I have not allowed myself to transition from my previous life into my new life. The author points out that many of us are living in the "waiting room", mistaking this for our new life. It's living in a gap that's in between transitioning, and this gap is a constant state of misery and lifeless existence.

The author points out some very common, yet unhelpful views that our current society has on grief. Time does not heal all wounds. Consciously being aware of our grief yet having the ability to remain in the present, instead of mentally re-living the grief, is a good step forward.

Some of us have profound loss in our lives that society does acknowledge, but others also have "invisible losses" where there's deep sadness within a person but it's not spoken of (divorce, for example).

I truly believe that anyone could benefit from reading this book. The author comes from a place of educational knowledge, practical knowledge as well as deeply insightful knowledge as she has experienced her own loss, first-hand.

Whether you want to find comfort and insight for yourself and your own grief, or want to have the ability to help others in their time of need, this book is for you and  100% a must-read!

Thursday, December 15, 2016

What's it Like to be Mentally Ill?

What's it Like to be Mentally Ill?

An agony
A void
No single hope can fill

Warfare dances rampant
Every thoughts' corner-shelf

Conflicted at the enemy
Reflecting from myself

This polar perception
Sees life not all the same

Or have I simply waned
To your mendacious claim

Perhaps it is you
A neurotypical cult

Hiding from yourself
Unable to exult

My illness is a lever
To feel deeper than deep

To register each moment
A lesson that I reap

Unafraid am I
To release what I deem

As you repress your life
While I'm alive to dream

Perhaps the true illness
Was created by you

My intellect transcended
Far more than you knew

You spend your numbered seconds
Only breathing to be right

An illness, indeed
That never came to light.

E.L.








Termination of Parental Rights

What's it like to lose parental rights?


Or...some may ask what it's like to go through a child custody loss.

Here's my answer based on personal experience:
It's excruciating. 
You don't think it will actually happen, until a judge makes it happen
If I can offer a few pieces of critical advice to any parent who is stuck in the family court system and possibly facing the termination of parental rights, it's this:

  • The system is NOT on your side! 
  • The system does not care about what is best for you or your child. 
  • Your case is another number. The system wants to close your case as soon as possible because they have too many cases to handle. 
  • The system knows that it's going to COST them money to offer rehabilitation services to you (the parent). 
  • The system would much rather adopt your child out to a random family. There are millions of dollars available in "funding" to not only pay the CPS, but also to pay the family who supposedly wants to adopt your child. THEY ARE FUNDED UNTIL THE CHILD TURNS 18. They want the funding, not your child.
  • The CPS case worker is probably going to make a biased judgement on the first meeting they have with you. They are going to judge you by the first impression and they will immediately decide if you are a good or bad parent. 
  • If you come across as weak, they'll see you as another number who'll be easy to "deal with". They'll never be on your side and they'll report to the judge that you're an unfit parent.
  • If you come across as strong, your odds of reunification are much better. This is what strong should look like: Confident, firm, and willing to go through the bullshit to get your child back AS SOON AS POSSIBLE. Strong is having the ability to effectively communicate with the necessary people and resources, as well as having the ability to contest lies and false statements  in reports (which will be vast). Strong is being emotionally stable and standing up for yourself as a parent and standing up for your child as a dependent. This is what strong should NOT look like: Erratic, emotional, unstable, sob-story, "poor me" attitude, helpless, scared. If you are unsure about giving a statement to a case-worker, or if you feel that you are being attacked, DO NOT SPEAK TO THEM, PERIOD. Tell them that you are uncomfortable and want an attorney to witness and mediate the meeting. 
  • The best thing that you can do to get your child back as soon as possible is to regularly communicate with your attorney or public defender, and do everything that your attorney, the CPS and the court asks you to do, even if you don't feel like you should have to. If you don't show up to take a drug test because you are "offended", they'll think that you're either using drugs or that you're putting your own ego ahead of the welfare of your child. 
  • This is NOT the time to have an EGO! If you want to ever see your child again, you will suck it up and go through every burning ring of fire for however long it takes. Lay low, don't socialize, don't go anywhere that you don't have to go to, don't talk to anyone about your case who isn't directly involved, and get ready to roll up your sleeves.

I am sharing an important chapter in my new memoir for every parent going through this battle to read. 

This is what it's like to hear the judge's final ruling
This is what it's like to begin the journey of  trying to survive an unimaginable ambiguous loss.
This is what happens when you don't fight with every ounce of your soul and sometimes, even when you do.
This is what it's like to hear a judge tell you that you will never see your children again.
This is what it's like to say goodbye to unfulfilled memories and milestones that you'll never be a part of or have the chance to witness.
This is the result of an incompetent system that seeks to destroy the lives of capable parents and innocent children every single day because their agenda and financing are more important. 

Long Blue Line

Chapter 43


I returned home and told Derrick all about the visit. I couldn’t help but cry and worry about what would happen. I was so sad that I wasn’t as connected as I had always been with my girls and mad that, in spite of my poor judgment and mistakes, any one would have the right to take that away! I lay on my bed and cried for two hours. The first hour I cried for Chloe and Zoe, knowing that I hurt them and knowing that they must be so incredibly confused. I know that kids always blame themselves, but I hoped that they didn’t ever think that any of this was their fault. The second hour, I cried for our new baby. I cried because I was preparing for the worst, and the reality that CPS might take my baby away from me was a real one. Everything was sinking in and I would be forced to face the pain of it at some point.

Before the Court Hearing for Chloe and Zoe, I wanted answers from the CPS, and I wanted them in person. I was sick of hiding my pregnancy. I wanted to find out if they could tell me what could be done about Chloe and Zoe and what I had to do to get them back with me. I was getting scared and desperate. I wanted it to be clear that I would do whatever it took. The day before the Court Hearing, I walked down the street and crossed the highway. Derrick was working, and he didn’t know what I was doing. I walked into the lobby and asked the receptionist to see if a caseworker could speak with me for a moment. Five minutes later, a short man with dark hair in his fifties called me to the back where his office was. We sat down, and I was shocked at the first thing he said to me. 

“When is your due date?” he asked. I made up a date that was a few months off, trying to confuse them and make it difficult for them to plot to hurt me even more. “Look,” I said. “I just need to know what I need to do to keep my parental rights. I will do anything that you ask of me. I would even leave Derrick if I had to. I lost time to do these things when I was arrested, and I need to show to you and the Court that I’m serious about taking care of my daughters and fixing the situation.” “I can’t say with confidence that there is anything I can do for you, Elizabeth. I’ll speak with my supervisor and look into it, but most people who make those decisions already have their minds made up.” He was useless. He didn’t even try to give me the information I needed. He didn’t even act like he cared about anything except trying to be nosey and scribble down notes about my pregnancy. I left after he said he would give me a call later in the week. I knew that he would not. It was all a waste of time, and I was even more worried. I prayed and prayed for God to help me get through this and to allow the Judge to see my progress and desire to fix my life and the lives of my girls. I told God that with me being so pregnant, I didn’t think I could handle losing my babies forever. The night before I had Court, I fell asleep with a bad feeling, and I cried until I started dreaming.

My alarm went off at eight in the morning. Derrick had taken time off work to take me, because he knew that I would need him if everything went bad that day. He was convinced that it would be okay. The few other people that I discussed it with were also sure that it would turn out in my favor - simply because I had completed every possible self-improvement class on the planet! I wanted to believe that it would be okay, but I wasn’t able to get my hopes up.

We drove down the icy highway and managed to find a parking spot only five minutes before the hearing began. We waited in the lobby along with ten other couples that were probably suffering through the same thing that I was. I was surprised when my name was called first. I wanted Derrick to go in with me, but it was a confidential hearing because it involved minors.

The seats were maxed out with what looked like Social Workers, Police employees, and other people wearing badges around their necks. If it’s so private, why the hell does it look like the media is here, I was thinking. I had no clue who they were and wanted them the hell out of the Courtroom. I told my Lawyer this, and she managed to get the Judge to kick half of them out. That was when I noticed that I had never seen the Judge that was currently before me.

I asked my Lawyer where the other Judge was. He had handled my case since the beginning and was actually qualified and knowledgeable enough to make such a huge, not to mention final, decision in my life. “He is sick today so this is a temporary Judge,” she said. She saw the look of frustration and anxiety on my face. “I can’t tell you what is going to happen, but I'll fight to get this postponed, okay? It’s not a promise that I can even do that,” she said. She had that same look of sympathy on her face. She looked like she didn’t even want to be there. The Judge called the case number and had the Recorder document everyone in attendance. Mary was there. When I heard the Attorney for CPS mention this, my heart shattered because I knew what was going to happen.

My Lawyer was fighting as hard as she could even though the circumstances were entirely against me. She mentioned every single accomplishment that I had made since I left jail. This included twelve weeks of parenting classes, thirty days at a rehab facility, six months at an Intensive Daily Outpatient Center, nightly Narcotics Anonymous meetings, counseling sessions, and weekly drug testing. The Probation Department had written a letter stating my compliances, and it seemed that the pile of certificates I quickly obtained would have shown my desperation to be with my children. My Attorney had the Bailiff give the Judge the documented proof. 

During the time my Attorney was fighting our case and saying everything possible to delay the hearing, I heard the whispers of the employees of Social Services, the Court, and the CASA workers behind me. To them, I was nothing more than a drug-addicted liar who never was, and never would be, a good or capable mother. Now, it was I who was one of those pathetic women that I used to shake my head at in shame. It was all business to them and the closing of another case that they would be free to shake out of their hair.

When the Judge began to speak, the people behind me became silent and still. The Judge said a few sympathetic words of praise acknowledging the completion of my recovery classes. Not once, though, did his eyes directly meet with mine. I was silently begging him to just look at me, as I held my head up with a determined desperation. I wanted him to look at me, and I wanted God to let him see through me and just give me a fighting chance. When I realized that he was not going to look at me, I dropped my head in defeat. Please, God, please just give me a chance. I’m so sorry for making so many mistakes and I’m begging for your mercy. Please God - just don’t let this happen. I silently prayed.

As he was speaking his final ruling, I flashed back to the best days of my life - the days that my girls were born. I endured pain that I was never really prepared for. Their lives depended on this pain. The pain was just as real as they were, which made it painfully beautiful. The moment that I saw their faces and heard their first cry singing into my heart, I knew that I could go through the pain a hundred times over again. Nature pumped endorphins and serotonin through my body, and I was elated with joy. To hold in my arms the most perfect and pure gift that anyone can ever receive is what makes life and all of the pain it can cause, completely meaningful and perfect.

My gifts were about to be taken away forever. I managed to hold onto my dignity as I was hearing the most feared statement of my life, which was being ordered by the Judge, as permanently and painfully as anything could possibly be. 

“The State of California and the county of El Dorado are granting the motion to terminate all parental rights of the biological mother, Elizabeth Jeter. The minors, Chloe and Zoe, ages three and four, will remain in the custody of the state until final orders for placement have been determined.” 

The Judge was slamming his stamp down to certify the orders as if it were a signal to the Clerk to hurry through the paperwork and get on to the next, I felt it slamming intensely into my chest. It burned, ached and scarred. I was branded - branded as nothing more than a “birth-mother.” When the stamp from my punishment rose, it stole the flesh of my heart with it. I felt as if they died. They were gone. I would not see them again. I wouldn’t have any more visits, and I wouldn’t know where they were at all times. 

Their first cries, smiles, laughs, words, teeth, steps and sweet pieces of artwork brought home to hang on the fridge were gone. I would have to hold on to these memories as tightly as I could because when I would inevitably become broken with pain in the long years ahead, I would no longer have the privilege of holding my daughters for any comfort or to uphold my responsibility of comforting them. Though Zoe was so young that she may not remember me down the road, I held on to the hope, and prayed to God as hard as one can pray, that Chloe would have just one first memory of me holding her, laughing with her, and loving her.

Please God, just let her remember how much I love her. Please don’t let her forget. She can tell Zoe the truth when no other will. Please…

Just don’t let her forget…

It was done. I sat with my head in my hands and my face soaked with the consequences of my punishment. I didn’t want to get out of my chair. I just knew that the crowd of big shot Social Workers was gleaming with pleasure. They took joy in my pain. I wondered if Mary did too. I didn’t want to believe that it was over and there was nothing else that I could do. My Lawyer reached over to lightly rub my back in sympathy. I looked up at her and thanked her for the fight. As I hesitantly turned toward the isle leading to the exit, I kept my head down, not wanting to give my audience any more gratification from seeing my tears. I slightly glanced up to the left, and for a split second, I made eye contact with the woman who was taking my babies home with her to be their new mother. The only thing I hoped to accomplish through this brief exchange of eye contact was to etch into her mind for the rest of her life the broken soul that I became from losing my daughters on that sad day in 2007. I wanted her to always be hesitant to say any negative words to my Chloe and Zoe as they grew older. I wanted her to see my true tie to them, induced by instinct and nature, which we would always share - in spite of all the orders, separation and words. According to me, and even more importantly God, Chloe and Zoe were my children. Not hers.

A woman I had never been introduced to that was in charge of the Family Drug Court followed me out of the Courtroom and stopped me to offer a hug. 

“Sometimes, the hardest thing in life is allowing one’s self to let go. I’m so sorry for your pain.” 

Out of an entire community made up of Counselors, Social Workers, Probation Officers, Attorneys, Law Enforcement, teachers and every citizen who had a role with the objective to help those in need, Olga was the only one who showed me true compassion. She thought I was worthy of comfort, and her hug may have been the tiny spark that kept my flame of hope and faith ignited - as it would soon be blown away…. again.

As I sit here in reflection and ending this chapter with tears in my eyes, I am grateful to see the beauty in this pain that now has purpose. I do not have tears from reliving the devastating experience. Today I have tears from feeling the tremendous joy in knowing that humanity is capable of empathy, compassion, and forgiveness. If only we could all be more like Olga.

I will always love and miss my little girls, and I still hold onto the hope that one day we will be united again.


Preview: Long Blue Line 



Saturday, December 3, 2016

Canvas Destroyed

Once upon a time
She was only 13

Her cookie cutter home
Grew grass always green

Quiet and reserved 
She followed her heart

Her intellect was wild
Like an abstract art

She invited a boy 
To her cookie cutter home

When he was with her
She felt less alone

He quickly showed her mind
How to dance with her heart

He was her new canvas
Her abstract art

As fast as hello
He had to say goodbye

She spent 15 years
Wanting to die

She never found another
Who could ignite her heart

Her canvas was empty
There was no art

Love was only real
For a very short time

She took what she could 
On the drop of a dime 

Dimes turned to pennies
Pennies became void

Her art is now dead
Her canvas destroyed


Friday, September 30, 2016

Romeo and Juliette


Roses are red
Thorns are green
I lay in your bed
My heart goes unseen

If roses were green
And if thorns were red
I'd still be Thirteen
And you'd love me instead

Roses aren't blue
Not purple or black
But if they were green
You may want me back

I can't make them green
I've tried every way
Roses are red
The true shade they'll stay

Seasons will change
And the petals will wilt
But some things survive
They are fatefully built

I searched for the rose
The rose that was red
Like a lost memory
It was green instead

I tried to see my rose
In every spring petal
I was blinded by grief
Unable to settle

Roses are red
Only one shade
You are my red rose
My only crusade

This Red rose
Is simply Inscribed
When Romeo was still
Juliette died

The pain of this poem
My rose colored red
Is that your still sleeping
As I lay in your bed

If Juliette hadn't hurried
To Romeo's side
Could she still live with meaning
If she hadn't died

If she hadn't died
from a broken heart
Romeo would be alive
But they'd still be apart.

E.L.









Sunday, September 25, 2016

I was There.

I was there, for 29 years.
you laughed and you cried
you gave me your fears

As a child, a sibling
and even a friend
I was there from the start
and I'm here to the end

I'm here without condition
I'm here not to judge
I'm here at your will
to never hold a grudge

I'm here when you're up
I'm here when you're down
I'm here to bring air
when your starting to drown

I'm here by choice
I love you to a fault
make no mistake
I don't love you by default

If I loved you by default
I wouldn't be in pain
I'd be like a dog
Simply playing your game

I'm still here, at 29 years.
I've laughed and I've cried
I've suppressed my worst fears

I'm here when I'm up
I'm here when I'm down
I was there when I fell
when I thought I would drown

You weren't there by choice
you loved me by default
Humanity is sinful
yet I'll never place fault

I'm here and I'm there
and here I remain
you come and you go
Merely for your gain

Today I was here
Awakened by my Soul
who has been your subordinate
your damage control

Admittedly my Soul
opted-in to embrace
to be there when you called
your pain you could place

I'm here and you're there
memories at rest
I'll soundly let go
and cherish the best

For life is a memory
set deep in our core
I'm here
and still here
my soul demands more

To sin is human
to be human is a sin
we're willfully refusing
to explore deeper within

Choose who you love
this choice is a slate
Choose wisely and aptly
they're memories you'll create.

E.L.

Monday, January 11, 2016

Healing Begins with a Question

Having the revelation, and coming to terms with the fact that you've been setting yourself up for failure and hurt - for your entire life - is not one that sinks in nicely. This leads me to wonder...

Does time really heal all wounds
I can't say it does.

and...

Does time at least ease the pain of those wounds? 
It builds scar tissue. It creates a barrier of tough skin which is meant to seal the wound shut, but evidence of the wound is still going to be there thirty years down the road.

The intensity of the pain lives in stages. When looking at heartache, trauma, losing a loved one, or any devastating event that takes place, the pain is very comparable to an external wound.

When the event initially takes place, one of two things will happen;
It's either going to hurt like you've never hurt before...
or
It's going to be such a deeply penetrating, incomprehensible trauma that you become numb and feel nothing.

Some would prefer to take the lifeless, numb rout. Personally, I'd rather feel the pain in all of its glory. I never got to really feel the pain initially, and as a result, the delay in healing is one that seems never-ending.

If you're lucky enough to feel the pain at the time of the trauma, at least you know that because it hasn't killed you, it has to eventually get better. You can move on and eventually look back, being grateful that you aren't stuck in that moment. It allows you to live the rest of your days with a much deeper appreciation for the small things in life, and to see the beauty of the world that goes unrecognized by most others. You have a gift. You know that you are blessed and your life is lived with clarity and peace. It may take weeks, months or years to come to this point, but when you arrive, you wouldn't have had it any other way.

Sometimes, as a defense and survival mechanism, our own psyche must protect us from ourselves. Our inner spirit knows that if we are able to feel the pain of the newly inflicted wound, either the pain itself will physically kill us, or we'll intentionally kill ourselves.

Everyone has a different threshold to different levels of pain. This is why we all react differently to pain, and there is no "right" way to respond. Some levels of response are more long-term beneficial than others.

The most detrimental level of response, is to have no response. Having no response may temporarily cover up the wound, and add Lidocaine to the sore spot, but when that numbing agent slowly eases off, the pain begins to ease on. The pain can come on months or years after-the-fact.

At first, the pain may not feel as if it is a direct result of the wound. It might begin with an annoying itch, a tingling sensation or just a feeling that something isn't right. In my case, the pain reared its ugly face in the form of panic attacks. After I had "normalized" my horrific, dangerous living situation and circumstances (which is also known as Stockholm Syndrome), my psyche must have felt that it was safe to begin the healing process.

My inner spirit knew that I could not begin the healing process, though, until I first felt the pain of the initial wound. This is where the symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, or PTSD began kicking in. I eventually developed agoraphobia, a condition that makes it nearly impossible to leave your home out of the fear of having a major panic attack, or from having experienced a major panic attack. I was frustrated and I didn't understand why I was getting these panic attacks.

The pain got worse, much worse, before it began to ease.

The most painful events, which are also consistent with PTSD, are when anniversaries, birthdays, or specific dates come around.

In my case, it was Birthdays that hurt the most. I was forced to ask myself why the happiest, most loving and awakening memories of my life were causing so much pain. I'm referencing to the birth of my daughters. Their Birthdays hurt me.

Their Birthdays hurt me because I no longer got to celebrate them, with them. My daughters, then two and three, were taken from me by the system when I was only eighteen, after a horrific sequence of events happened (narrated in my memoir).

The symptoms of PTSD eventually helped me to get out of the dangerous situation that I was living in. But the problem with the fact that I was so numb to the initial wound for such a long time, is that I never got to fully understand the root cause of the wound. This made me susceptible to similar wounds occurring in my future. I was living in "survival mode" for such a long time, striving to have just my basic needs met.

I wanted a "decent" man in my life and children that I could love and cherish. I was sure that would be enough to meet my basic needs. If I had slowed down enough to just ask myself the simplest and basic of all questions, I would have, for certain, prevented future wounds from causing more destruction.

Why? 
Why don't we ever ask ourselves why?

If we backtrack, we will quickly realize that all of the painful aftermath could have taken a lighter, more bearable course if I had only asked myself that very basic question.

I am amazed that I had this revelation from simply asking myself the most basic question. Why?

By accepting, understanding, and forgiving ourselves and others, it is possible to begin healing to a point of being able to live again. Usually what seem to be the most difficult of answers, are revealed with the most basic of questions.

Why. 


Thursday, November 19, 2015

First True Love (and my only)

I was only thirteen years old, and I quickly discovered what it meant to feel the pain of loss. It was my first substantial dose, and to this day I can still recall every detail. 

In my memoir, Long Blue Line, I write about the day leading up to this loss. I felt the pain emotionally and physically. I felt strong jolts of energy pulsating through my arms and out of my finger tips. I sobbed for night after night. I felt empty and incomplete. I felt as if a part of me left. 
The better part of myself who I had grown to love and accept was gone. 

Long Blue Line 

Chapter 1, Page 7

"My First Time: How I cringe! I mainly cringe because I was just so young. He was my first boyfriend, and his name was Andy. Even though we were just kids, I still believe to this day that we were truly in love. Clearly, we wanted to move much more quickly than we were really ready for, physically and emotionally. We were together constantly for about a year. He lived with his grandparents, and his grandfather picked up a job out of town about four hours away. Eventually, he had to move. On moving day, my mom dropped me off at his house to help him and his grandparents pack. Another friend of ours, Jesse, was there too. The few hours I spent watching him pack his life away was utter heartache and torture. I had a lump in my throat and it took everything that I had in my soul not to break down and cry. I was too embarrassed at that age to show emotion, and for Andy, it had so much depth to it. We were both each other’s firsts - first in everything in the romance department. He was my first true love. When my mom returned to pick me up, Andy pulled one of his childhood stuffed animals out from a box about ready to be taped shut. He then doused the bear with his cologne that I loved. Standing in front of his empty garage, with my mom and twin waiting to take me shopping down the hill with them, I had to make the goodbye as fast as possible before I broke down in front of everyone. Andy and I gave each other our last ever hug and a quick kiss with definite plans to be together again. For the next week I cried myself to sleep hugging and smelling the stuffed bear which was all that I would ever have left of my first true love. It took me about three months to realize that we couldn’t be together. We were too young, and having to wait for four years is a long time to a teenager."

Adolescent love for a small 15% is much, much more than what some would call puppy love. It leaves an imprint in the mind of the individual(s) for years to come, if not for the rest of their lives.

I don't talk about the details of what happened after Andy left in my book. Looking back now, this was a turning point in my life. There were several things about my relationship with Andy that I didn't have the mental capacity of understanding. We were just kids, so of course the adults in our lives weren't taking what we had built together seriously after he moved away.

When Andy and I found each other, we were both in a state of innocent vulnerability. We just didn't know it. What we had was so unusually powerful for many reasons, but the fact that we had these commonalities made it even more significant:

1) We were our first for everything; sex, love, emotional bonding
2) We had both never had our hearts broken prior to being together

These two variables alone have been proven in psychology to increase the likelihood that an emotional imprint would be left with both of us to live with if we were ever separated. And we were.

Now, fifteen years later, we are reunited and can't help but look back at the past and wonder how things could have been if we were not separated. 

In an article published by Psychology Today, written by Carl E Pickhardt Ph.D.
Surviving (Your Child's) Adolesce, there are points made, that are all too familiar.

"It is a merged relationship — so each one feels part of the other, not quite whole when they are not together. They are highly sensitized to each other — so both are alert to subtle interpersonal signals and are easily hurt by small slights from each other. The intimacy is deeper than with anyone else. Too feel so deeply known and deeply knowing makes other relationships seem shallower by comparison.

There can be a sense of a desperate attachment — so the joy of having each other is coupled with the fear of losing each other. And there are conflicts of a painful kind as they wrestle with issues of freedom and possessiveness, honesty and deception, trust and jealousy, togetherness and separateness, satisfaction and sacrifice.

It’s important for parents to be mindful of these tensions in order to appreciate the complexity with which their son or daughter is dealing. In-love comes at a price of periodically being very unhappy when harmony is temporarily lost or obstacles are encountered.

Break ups of in-love relationships in high school are particularly painful for the one who is broken off and feels hurt, helpless, betrayed, abandoned, or rejected. Sometimes the response to being jilted in an in-love relationship seems to be sex-linked.

Young women often grieve pain from loss and may respond more depressively. Allowing themselves to feel deeply saddened, they are often able to reach out for social support to help them though a hard passage. At worst, they are at risk of doing themselves harm. "I can't live without him!" "I'll never be loved again!"

Young men, by contrast, who are more accustomed to toughen up, suppress hurt feelings, and go it alone, may respond more aggressively. They may be more inclined to manage pain from loss by turning it into anger. They may decide to do something about it, responding to get the woman back for hurt received, to reassert control, to save social face, to get even. At worst, they are at risk of doing harm to the other person. "She was just out to hurt me!" "She'll pay for this!"

Often young men seem to fall in-love harder perhaps because they are more starved for emotional intimacy than young women who often have enjoyed it with close female friends over the growing up years. Young men may not have been used to opening up and emotionally sharing with anyone, least of all with male friends. In high school, young men in love who are jilted can be more deeply hurt than they let on, less likely to seek emotional support, and more prone to retaliation too.

So the guideline for parents is: take falling in love and in-love breakups seriously with your adolescents. Don’t dismiss them as just the rough and tumble of “puppy love.” If your son or daughter in high school is jilted in an in-love relationship, you should put that young person on a watch for any signs of a depressive or aggressive response."

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