A Kidnapped Mind Read online

  A Kidnapped Mind

  A Kidnapped Mind

  A Mother’s

  Heartbreaking Story of

  Parental Alienation Syndrome

  Pamela Richardson

  with Jane Broweleit

  Foreword by Dr. Reena Sommer

  DUNDURN PRESS

  TORONTO

  Copyright © Pamela Richardson, 2006

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (except for brief passages for purposes of review) without the prior permission of Dundurn Press. Permission to photocopy should be requested from Access Copyright.

  Copy-editor: Patricia Kennedy

  Design: Jennifer Scott

  Printer: University of Toronto Press

  Though this story is based on actual events, some names have been changed to protect the identity of the persons involved.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Richardson, Pamela

  A kidnapped mind : a mother's heartbreaking story of parental alienation syndrome / Pamela Richardson.

  Includes bibliographical references.

  ISBN-10 1-55002-624-0

  ISBN-13: 978-1-55002-624-5

  1. Parental alienation syndrome. 2. Richardson, Pamela. 3. Mothers and sons--Canada--Biography. I. Title.

  RJ506.P27R52 2006 618.92'852 C2006-901335-7

  1 2 3 4 5 10 09 08 07 06

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts and the Ontario Arts Council for our publishing program. We also acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program and The Association for the Export of Canadian Books, and the Government of Ontario through the Ontario Book Publishers Tax Credit program, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

  Care has been taken to trace the ownership of copyright material used in this book. The author and the publisher welcome any information enabling them to rectify any references or credit in subsequent editions.

  J. Kirk Howard, President

  Printed and bound in Canada.

  www.dundurn.com

  Dundurn Press

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  Contents

  Acknowledgements

  Foreword

  Chapter 1 — Torn Apart

  Chapter 2 — The Disappearing Boy

  Chapter 3 — Crushed

  Chapter 4 — Armed and Dangerous

  Chapter 5 — In the Belly of the Beast

  Chapter 6 — Bringing in the Troops

  Chapter 7 — Winged Angel

  Chapter 8 — Sabotage

  Chapter 9 — A Final Statement

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  This book could never have happened without the spunky and talented young writer Jane Broweleit. She rolled up her sleeves and dug into the stacks and stacks of legal briefs, letters, affidavits, and documents that had absorbed twelve years of my life, taking my burning passion and driving force and getting it down, making it a reality. Jane co-wrote with me for over two years, lending her valuable intellect, her compassion and warmth, her humour and tears. For this story, Jane became me. It is my voice you have here, my heart, my despair, my tears and joy, but it is her conjuring that brought it to the page. It is a credit to her and her alone that A Kidnapped Mind is not a story only in my head and heart, but a book. We are forever bound because of that time — so much time — spent huddled in my library with endless cups of tea and coffee, or on the phone or e-mailing each other from all parts of the country, at all times of the day and night. Jane’s commitment to this book was overwhelming. I give her this very special thanks.

  There were many others. I know that I could not have endured writing such a deeply painful, honest, and ultimately cathartic book without the help of Ann-Marie Metten, an insightful and gifted B.C. editor, who worked with Jane and me throughout. She was more than just our editor, she was our “third eye.” With Ann-Marie’s crucial help, guidance, and tenacity, we sought — and I think found — the balance required to set the story free. Beverley Slopen, my agent, was consistently positive that she would find the right home for our work. She did, and I cannot thank Kirk Howard, Tony Hawke, Beth Bruder, Alison Pennels, and Barry Jowett at The Dundurn Group enough, with special thanks to the keen and meticulous eye of my editor, Pat Kennedy. My friends Sandy, Joan, Lois, Molly, Dithy, Teresa, Catherine, Susan, and Leslie were always close, always encouraging and patient, and became the backbone I needed so often to stay strong. Dave’s parents and mine were deprived of a beloved grandson, but cherished the times they did share with Dash. My brother Dave and his wife, Beverly, held me, both physically and emotionally, in their strong, loving arms during my years of struggle to see Dash and during my years of struggle to put it all on paper. My sons, Colby and Quinten, saw me sitting into the night on too many occasions, writing, editing, ankle deep in legal papers, totally immersed. And my husband, Dave — as throughout our life together — has been the solid rock I could not think about living without. Amy Thomas, our beloved Mimi, who looked after all of us and nurtured the nurturer. I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  As A Kidnapped Mind illustrates, many people turn the other way. I want to thank those of you who stood behind your words and allowed your names to be included in this book. Parental Alienation Syndrome (PAS) touches tens of thousands of people in this world, and none of them get off lightly. They — we — all feel the fallout. This is a nonprofit book, with all proceeds going to The Dash Foundation, formed to help increase awareness of the damage that can be done by alienating a child from a once-loved parent. It is child abuse, and it can kill. I also wrote A Kidnapped Mind as the last gift to my wonderful, brave, brown-eyed son, Dash.

  This, my darling, is for you.

  Foreword

  by Dr. Reena Sommer

  Children enter this world completely dependent upon those — usually their parents — who are entrusted with their care. Parenting styles and the ability to parent may vary, but most manage this important life task quite successfully. Nevertheless, some children are failed by parents who are incapable of childrearing.

  Mothers and fathers who are limited by physical or mental disabilities, poor health, alcohol or substance abuse, criminality, poverty, war, or other problems, often lack the ability, and at times even the desire, to invest in their children’s upbringing. Children in these situations are either left to fend for themselves or are cared for by family members, friends and neighbours, or social agencies.

  But another class of parents has also been found to fail at appropriately protecting, nurturing, educating, and guiding their children. Mothers and fathers in this relatively new and emerging group do not fit the stereotype of the deficient and ill-equipped parent. Instead, these parents are generally articulate, resourceful, and competent in all other aspects of their lives — except in the realm of parenting. In fact, these individuals might easily be mistaken for ideal parents, except to the properly informed, because they profess love and concern for their children. What sets these individuals apart from other dysfunctional parents is their overwhelming commitment to meeting their own needs first. In doing so, they destroy the relationship their children have with the other parent — at whatever cost.

  A Kidnapped Mind by Pamela R
ichardson chronicles her son Dash’s painful emotional descent, which ultimately culminated in his suicide. This is an extremely sad but powerful account of the circumstances involved in Dash’s struggle to survive in an environment in which his father placed his own selfish need to punish his ex-spouse ahead of the needs of his dependent child. This was an environment in which Dash was held psychologically hostage for nearly eleven years of his sixteen-year life.

  A Kidnapped Mind is more than a story about a mother’s struggle to win back custody of her son following an acrimonious divorce and custody battle. Rather, it is a story of the emotionally damaging fallout that occurs when a child is robbed of his right to love and be loved by both his parents. It is also a story of the court system’s ignorance toward children’s needs and its unwillingness to look beyond the legal infrastructure in order to examine why a once healthy, happy, and well-functioning child, who experienced warm and positive relationships with both of his parents, systematically and without cause rejected one parent and denied himself the love and nurturing that would sustain him.

  While Dash’s experience represents the worst possible outcome of “Parental Alienation Syndrome,” an increasingly common by-product of contested custody cases, it must be realized that countless numbers of children are suffering on an ongoing basis while they are in the care of parents who place more value on getting even with their ex-spouse than they do on the happiness of their child. More importantly, these same parents are deliberately and without cause consumed with destroying the bond that exists between their child and the other parent. Although Parental Alienation Syndrome remains controversial due to its politicization by special-interests groups such as Justice for Children and the National Alliance for Family Court Justice, which have a vested interest in proving it does not exist, it is nevertheless a phenomenon that professionals have observed with increasing frequency ever since the 1980s, when the courts considered joint custody as a better option following divorce.

  I believe that A Kidnapped Mind will provide important insights into the needs of children of divorcing parents in a way that the theoretical or empirical contributions of academics have not been able to achieve. For this reason, A Kidnapped Mind should be required reading for all family-court judges, family-law practitioners, and anyone involved with divorcing families.

  I applaud the strength, perseverance, and commitment that Pamela Richardson showed throughout Dash’s life, and which endures now in her efforts to ensure that his death was not in vain. I am truly honoured by the opportunity to contribute to this excellent book.

  Reena Sommer, Ph.D.

  Divorce and Custody Consultant

  Chapter 1

  Torn Apart

  In June 1990, in Vancouver, on a perfect day of twenty-three degrees, sunshine flooded bustling West Tenth Avenue, the street I knew so well. A breeze played with my hair and floated up and under the crisp linen shirt I wore. I was five months pregnant and holding the hand of my soon-to-be husband, Dave Richardson, as we walked with purpose toward the Cactus Club Café. West Point Grey wasn’t my neighbourhood any more, but it had been for seven years, during my passionate but ultimately doomed marriage to Peter Hart. The marriage had become abusive, but from it had come my beautiful son Dashiell. It was along this active street just outside the gates of the University of British Columbia that I had pushed Dash in his stroller and, later, walked with him as a little boy. Every part of the neighbourhood was infused with him: story mornings at West Point Grey library, the bakery where we stopped for jelly doughnuts and fresh bread, buying tea towels from the country-fabric store. Dash smiled at everyone.

  On our homeward route was Trimble Park. “Mommy, can you go under and send me to the sky?” he’d squeal from the swing, grabbing the chains and squeezing his eyes shut, bracing against the momentum as the swing flew high in the air.

  “Is this high enough, Dash?” I’d laugh.

  “No, Mommy, higher!”

  As Dash rose high on the swing, I would stand in front where he could see me. I’d raise my arms and tell him I loved him by touching my two forefingers together and curling them inward while pressing my thumbs together to create a little heart. Dash and I had been saying “I love you” and “Goodbye” with that little heart since he was two years old. I’d made him heart-shaped sandwiches with a cookie cutter, and he loved them so much that I began making the heart shape with my hands. Soon he could curl his hands into the shape, too.

  “I love you too, Mommmmmy!” shouted Dash.

  It felt like another life, an eternity away. Dave glanced up at the cloudless sky as we walked along. “You know, if this weather keeps up, we should go away this weekend. To one of the Gulf Islands maybe. Do a bit of fishing, have dinner out on the deck.”

  “I love it. Which island?”

  Dave laughed. “Whichever has the shortest ferry lineup!”

  “God, let’s avoid it altogether and stay home.”

  “Yeah, we’ll go in the fall instead.”

  I laughed. “I have a feeling somebody doesn’t know how busy life is going to get when the baby arrives in September.”

  “No more freewheeling weekends away?” Dave faked shock and horror.

  “I’ll let you see for yourself. You know, Dash is going to love Lake of the Woods this summer, Dave. Seeing your parents. The fishing, the diving and swimming.”

  “Do you think Dash is old enough to start learning about boats? We could start with the knots for tying up!” Dave added, his chestnut brown curls glinting gold in the sun.

  Dave was boyishly exuberant about my son. They had touched each other deeply, the moment they first met. A few months after I fell in love with Dave, I asked him to come and join Dash and me for the evening at Whistler. We had been skiing there since Dash was four and a half years old, just after the separation. It was a great excuse to get out of town and a fun thing to do together. On our ski weekends Dash and I shared a room in a log cabin owned by friends of my father’s. I rented the room for the season, and Dash and I went up whenever we could. Dave shared a cabin with friends that season, too. The evening they met, Dash had had an early dinner and I had given him his bath. He was in his cozy snowflake pyjamas when Dave knocked on the door. “Oh!” I exclaimed to Dash. “That must be for us! He’s early, Dash!” I scooped him into my arms and walked over and opened the door.

  “Dash, this is Dave Richardson. Dave, this is Dash.”

  Dave leaned over to greet Dash, and to my astonishment Dash turned and, without saying a word, put his arms straight out, to be taken into Dave’s embrace. As Dash snuggled in, Dave said, “Hello there, Little Buddy. It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mom.”

  Dash smiled. “You have?”

  “Yeah, and you know what?” Dave said warmly. “I’m going to tell you something that may surprise you. None of my nieces and nephews call me Dave.”

  Dash took the bait. “They don’t?”

  “No, they don’t even call me Uncle Dave.”

  “What do they call you then?”

  “They call me Big D.”

  “Big D!” Dash repeated happily. Then a giggly, “Why?”

  “Well, I don’t know if you noticed when I came in the door … but I am BIG!” Dave stood up to his full height, lifting Dash with him to six feet four-and-a-half inches. “And ‘D’ is the first letter in ‘Dave,’ my name.”

  “Do that again!” Dash squealed.

  Dave crouched all the way down and shot up tall again. Dash was jelly by then, high-pitched and happy. “So, if you like, you can call me ‘Big D,’ too.”

  For the first time since he’d fallen into Dave’s arms, Dash looked at me. His big brown eyes sparkled. “Mom? Can I?”

  “I think that would be wonderful, Dash. ‘Big D’ is a great name.”

  Dave walked over to the couch with Dash still clinging to him. I heard Dash say, “Hello, Big D,” as if he were trying it out.

  “Hello, Little Buddy,” D
ave replied.

  “Do you like to play Snap?” Dash asked.

  “Do I like Snap? I’m known as one of the best Snappers in the West!”

  “Well, let’s play!”

  “I may be a bit rusty. Is that okay?”

  That night Dave fell in love with Dash as though he were his own first child, and Dash became enraptured by this big man with the gentle voice, the natural teacher.

  “Let’s see if we can fly this kite as high as the clouds, Dash!”

  “Big D! Big D! The kite’s starting to dip!”

  “Oh-oh. Okay. Wait a minute, Dash. Hold on to it!” And Dave ran over and slid like a first-base runner onto his knees next to Dash, grabbing the line and manoeuvring the kite back into the wind.

  “You got it!” Dash cried.

  “That was a close call, Doodle. Do you see how, if you have the kite in the right position, the wind will do all the work for you? Shall we let it go now? Yep, give it some line. That’s it. There it goes. It’ll be all right now.”

  As we walked along West Tenth Avenue, Dave’s hand was strong and comforting in mine, but my unease nagged me.

  “Penny for your thoughts?” Dave asked.

  “I’m thinking about this meeting with Peter. Do you think it will do any good?”

  Dave lost his carefree expression. “Well, it’s not like he’s responded to any of your faxes, and calling sure hasn’t produced any results. We need to know when he wants to see Dash this summer, so we don’t really have any choice but to meet with him, do we?”

  “I thought that this way — meeting in a public place, with you along for support — Peter and I could decide how to split the summer.” Mired once more in the stress of dealing with my ex-husband, I felt weighed down, unsure of myself. I lowered my voice. “Isn’t this what he wanted? Custody? To be able to tell me where and when I see Dash? Why is he so nasty if he got what he wanted?”