HELP 9 yr old Victim beaten by dad
Donation protected
A 9-year-old boy, my great nephew, is fighting for his life two weeks after being severely beaten by his own father. He needs funds for medical care and for his mother to hire an attorney. His mother has been struggling for some time now to regain custody of her son. Each attempt a failure which has led to his admittance into ICU, where he has remained until this day. It is a heartache that no mother, father, grandparent or family member should ever have to face.
As seen in the news report, two weeks ago Elijah was severely beaten by his father and arrived at Mary Washington Hospital “dead”. He was revived, transported and has been at the VCU Medical Hospital since then. His father (a Spotsylvania resident) has been arrested, charged and will go to court in July. The other catastrophe is that my niece has been to court several times fighting for full custody of her son to no avail. She had even written several letters, made phone calls and cries for help to the Stafford CPS and court systems due to suspicions of abuse to Elijah by his father. Below you will see the links to the recent news articles pertaining to this horrific incident and a heartbreaking letter written by my niece s she sits in the ICU watching over little Elijah. The local CPS system ignored her pleas for help. Your donation assistance with sharing this information would be greatly appreciated.
http://www.fredericksburg.com/news/local/spotsylvania/court-filing-spotsylvania-boy-was-near-death-in-emergency-room/article_19e7ee6f-04cd-544a-b8d3-db4d45cf2647.html
http://www.wusa9.com/news/local/virginia/deputies-say-dad-nearly-killed-son-in-beating/215082688
Va. mom pleads for CPS to change after alleged child abuse
http://www.wusa9.com/news/local/va-mom-pleads-for-cps-to-change-after-alleged-child-abuse/225036886
To those who don’t understand,
It hurts. No mother, no child, no son nor daughter should ever have to go through this pain. No one should get such a call nor hear and see such details that they change their psyche and belief in the world. But that is what happen to my son and myself. Let me start in the beginning. There were little signs, not confirmed, but little things about his father that made me uncomfortable. I should have listened and watched those signs more closely now that I think about it over and over. When my son was born, he was my world for a number of years until my contract job ended and I was left with a decision. My decision was going back to school and creating a better life for my son and I. Yes, his father was there in the background but had no objection at first to my plan to move out of state. Then suddenly he was asking for a chance, just a chance to prove he could be a father to our child. Then he threatened when he didn’t get his way. He threatened to call the police and seize our son if I didn’t give him the chance. I didn’t want to, but I thought it was selfish of myself to do so. I didn't want our son to go through something so traumatizing without actual justification. So I caved. We went to court, did it officially after I submitted a letter to the court that this was a temporary arrangement only. Little did I know what would happen in the two and half years to come. If someone had told me, no don’t do it. I would have listened. If someone had pulled me aside and said in a years’ time, I would go through a cycle of disbelief, terror and unimaginable strife from the very system set up to protect the innocent, well, I’m sure I would have said that is insane.
I went to school but it nagged me. Before when I was able to communicate freely with my son, I was suddenly faced with a breakdown in communication. When I asked for information about medical decisions, school involvement, and other important factors, meet a wall of silence. The fights, arguments, and everything started. Then little signs of my son’s changes in personality, as well as demeanor, made me uneasy and I left school and came back to get him back. But guess what happen? I was ignored each and every time. My son grew more anxious and afraid to go home. Each time I went to court, I was told it was just him missing me and not being used to his father. Each time I pleaded with the appointed Guardians Ad Litem, each time I pleaded with the judge to just listen to me, they sided with his father. Why? Because our son had a routine, did not want to interrupt his schooling and so forth. But here is my son, changing into a shell every time while the judges ordered me to just get along with his father. A father who took the custody agreement and ran off with it by creating his own definition. A father who each time was taken to court came out looking cleaner than ever. And each time a son who stopped talking stopped being his happy self because the authority figures stopped believing us. Because the courts had sided with his father so many times, his father became arrogant and gloated on my repeated losses. The law couldn’t touch him. They couldn’t see what I saw, what my family saw, what was really happening. There was no follow-up, just dismissal so many times. The system failed my son. The system failed to act appropriately. The system let this happen by not acting.
Last year, I rushed my son to the ER when bruises started to show up on his body. He would explain away the bruises with excuses to both doctors and myself. But I knew better. I knew that the father that was supposed to love him, protect him and care for him was doing something never imagined. His father was abusing him. The doctors believed it, the local CPS in my own city believed it. They all reassured me that they would recommend for me to have custody. But I was let down again by the CPS in Stafford and the court there. I was disappointed and frustrated for my son once again after begging, after pleading, and after asking why so many times. I still remember writing, calling and complaining so many times to both my son’s school, CPS and anyone who would listen to me. I kept calling all last year that my son is afraid of his father, please watch him, please check him over, and please call me. I still remember breaking down and crying so many times in my car after calling CPS. Did you know they closed his case, even after photographic evidence of the bruises, about four times? Did you know I had to write the head of Stafford CPS and ask them to reopen it? To ask them to communicate to me? To ask them why my son has to suffer because no one would listen to me? Would no one listen to him? They, again, chose to believe his father and fiancée over my son and me. They chose him over me because they believed the father was the better parent with a more stable home life. It didn’t matter what I did, it didn’t matter that I was never in trouble with the law, I didn’t drink nor smoke. I didn’t matter that I had a place for him, room for him, and a steady source of income. It didn’t matter what I did or did not do. I never hit my son, I never left bruises, I wasn’t the one creating fear and terrorizing him. No, nothing matter because the image his father had was so much better than mine. His service in the military meant respect. His apologetic demeanor and promise to find another way, like the judge asked for, was enough to convince them. I was told repeatedly by officials that we needed to get along and that me taking him to court so many times was detrimental to co-parenting and that Elijah was in a good place. I remember turning to the guardian and crying, just crying and telling the court that I don’t want this to happen again. I don’t want him to suffer through this again. I just remember sitting in the car and promising myself to take my time, build the case again and again after each lost. Because what good would it do to run away, be caught and spend time in jail, possibly losing my rights and never seeing my son’s smile again? What good would it do? Even with evidence, even with so much staring at their faces, they sided with his father. They all discredited me, thought I was just making trouble or that maybe I was jealous. I wonder if they think so now after the news came out. I wonder if they still do not believe my cries, my pleas while my son sat silently, unable to trust anyone anymore. I often said that his father had two faces, one for public and one hidden away. People, friends, said he is a good man, a good father and that he would never intentionally harm our son.
I sit now, watching my son (MY SON) suffering in a hospital bed because his father beat him again. He beat him so badly that he died. My son fought and came back. He fights each day and I am proud of him. I am proud that in spite of his father trying to break him, he is here and breathing. A testament to the love, spirit and bravery he has. I still remember the day I got the phone call. My heart dropped and stopped. I drove like a bat out of hell to get to him crying. Why did so many people not believe me? Why? I still remember listening to the detective, CPS and staff at the ER explaining to me what happen to him. I thought: why? I remember his father sitting there with his fiancée pretending to not know why this was happening. I remember the pit feeling in my stomach that my worst fears had come true. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, I wanted to hurt someone. Instead, I told the story. I told the story of my son to the detective and CPS worker. And when they asked me all those questions, I let them know everything. The fear, the disbelief, and the constant doubt I faced each day. The relief that someone finally believed us. I still remember his father acting as if he did not do anything wrong while I sat clueless for hours about what had happened. I sat in the hospital waiting on word on my son’s health. I still remember his body lying there before they transported him. I still remember telling him to hang on, please hang on, because we have so much more to do. I prayed the whole time in the car, I prayed for his late grandparents to watch over him and guide him. I shouted that I would not lose my son, he would not leave because he still had time on this earth. When I first saw him, I cried for hours. I wanted to hold him in my arms but had to settle for his hand. I whisper to him every chance I get. I tell him he is safe now, I tell him he is a warrior unlike any other and I thank God every day he is still on this earth. My son deserved to have officials who believed and defended him. He deserved to have a guardian truly look out for his best interests, who double checked and did their jobs. He deserved to have people in his life that would help him when he asked. That’s what he needed. I hope that when they hear the case, see the news and read it, they remember. They remember his face, my face and how they failed. I hope they remember how his father acted, how they believed him over me despite the evidence in their own face. I hope they feel guilt. I hope they feel just an ounce of pain, helplessness and fear that my son felt. That’s what I hope for now. Am I angry? Yes, I am an angry mother who despite doing all she could legally to ensure her son’s safety, was failed on so many levels. I am an angry mother who now watches over her son, watching him make progress each day and night. I am a mother who lost her mind in 24 hours. I am a mother who cried out once learning of what my son went through. A mother with nightmares, a mother afraid, a mother who wondered why no one believed her in the first place. A mother who has a future to look forward to with a son who is now alive. A mother who is so grateful and thankful for the staff at Mary Washington and VCU for their hard work and dedication to his care. For these people who sacrifice so much, work so hard, to make miracles happen. To people who saw the signs and believed us this time. To the officers, lawyers, and justice system that finally, finally, are making sure justice is served. To the preachers, prayers, support and others who understand this pain, I cannot give enough thanks. To the family who stands once again by my side and celebrate in his journey towards health. I cannot explain the whole encompassing feeling of gratitude. To all the people who now fight, support and understand what a battle my son has gone through. I don’t fault those who didn’t know before. How could anyone predict what was to happen last week? I don’t fault people for assuming and thinking they know what happen. I don’t. My son has a long recovery, one that is now my priority in life. One that I will take with him to ensure a long happy life for him. Justice will be served for silencing his voice. Justice will be served on those who stood by and did nothing. Justice will have its day soon. And I will keep holding my son’s hand, happy and joyous that he is alive. He is breathing and he is now in a safe place to never be hurt again.
Do you know what it’s like to shout and not be heard? Do you know when your voice is silenced because no one wants to listen? And it’s not just this time. No, there are many more people, parents, who go through the same thing. There are others who have walked this before, who taken up the mantle and shoes of defending their children against abusers only to have the court pretend to act in the best interests of the child. Courts who have made the other side believe they are unfit, when they truly aren’t. Even after following their suggestions on how to get your child back, they still fail and lose. Why is the system so screwed up that it punishes parents in these situation? Why do they fail the children? Why did it take my son’s near death, abuse, and silent pleas to get the help he deserved? Why did his father choose to pervert what a father is supposed to be? Why did the adults in his life turn a blind eye? I don’t fault anymore more than me. I don’t blame anyone but me. I keep thinking that if I shouted louder and longer. If I didn’t let that judge’s words about working together with his father more and stop taking him to court after last year’s abuse case hurt me so much. If, if, if and what ifs that rack my mind in the middle of the night when I wake in a cold sweat. SO many things. Now, all I want is justice. Justice for the silent children, the tired parents who try, those who run away because that’s the only avenue they have left. I want to fight for them. I want to fight for the silent unheard people who keep shouting for someone to believe them. The fathers and mothers, the grandparents and guardians. All of those people who keep trying without ending, without giving up, without surrendering. To the families who sit and wonder why, who fight each day, who try their hardest only to feel nothing but pain. I know those people, I was one of those people, and I want to fight for those people. No one should have to experience this pain. No child should have to feel that level of distrust in the system. NO child should know abuse, pain and suffering at this level. There are some children who will never get to breathe again because the system failed them. There are families who are grieving today and think they failed despite trying their hardest to set things right. To the media and people who think they know and assume the facts, do you even know? Do you know the struggle? Do you know the truth? Did you see the years of struggle, turmoil and tears cried trying to get the system to work? It is because of this that I fight. That I smile for my son, comfort him, and wipe his tears from here until the end. It is why I chose to finish my studies as I sit and watch his heartbeat. He is my world, my rock, my warrior who will never give up. He will one day be able to sit and watch cartoons with me, beg for second and third helpings, run like there is no tomorrow. He is a testimony, a statement, unlike any other. He is my son, Elijah. He will stand one day on his feet, show his strength and be in spite of what his father did. He is a survivor. He is my world and we will carry the fight as many times as needed to get the system to change. Our kids deserve to be more than a piece of property. They are life, they are love, and they are everything.
Thank you
AB
As seen in the news report, two weeks ago Elijah was severely beaten by his father and arrived at Mary Washington Hospital “dead”. He was revived, transported and has been at the VCU Medical Hospital since then. His father (a Spotsylvania resident) has been arrested, charged and will go to court in July. The other catastrophe is that my niece has been to court several times fighting for full custody of her son to no avail. She had even written several letters, made phone calls and cries for help to the Stafford CPS and court systems due to suspicions of abuse to Elijah by his father. Below you will see the links to the recent news articles pertaining to this horrific incident and a heartbreaking letter written by my niece s she sits in the ICU watching over little Elijah. The local CPS system ignored her pleas for help. Your donation assistance with sharing this information would be greatly appreciated.
http://www.fredericksburg.com/news/local/spotsylvania/court-filing-spotsylvania-boy-was-near-death-in-emergency-room/article_19e7ee6f-04cd-544a-b8d3-db4d45cf2647.html
http://www.wusa9.com/news/local/virginia/deputies-say-dad-nearly-killed-son-in-beating/215082688
Va. mom pleads for CPS to change after alleged child abuse
http://www.wusa9.com/news/local/va-mom-pleads-for-cps-to-change-after-alleged-child-abuse/225036886
To those who don’t understand,
It hurts. No mother, no child, no son nor daughter should ever have to go through this pain. No one should get such a call nor hear and see such details that they change their psyche and belief in the world. But that is what happen to my son and myself. Let me start in the beginning. There were little signs, not confirmed, but little things about his father that made me uncomfortable. I should have listened and watched those signs more closely now that I think about it over and over. When my son was born, he was my world for a number of years until my contract job ended and I was left with a decision. My decision was going back to school and creating a better life for my son and I. Yes, his father was there in the background but had no objection at first to my plan to move out of state. Then suddenly he was asking for a chance, just a chance to prove he could be a father to our child. Then he threatened when he didn’t get his way. He threatened to call the police and seize our son if I didn’t give him the chance. I didn’t want to, but I thought it was selfish of myself to do so. I didn't want our son to go through something so traumatizing without actual justification. So I caved. We went to court, did it officially after I submitted a letter to the court that this was a temporary arrangement only. Little did I know what would happen in the two and half years to come. If someone had told me, no don’t do it. I would have listened. If someone had pulled me aside and said in a years’ time, I would go through a cycle of disbelief, terror and unimaginable strife from the very system set up to protect the innocent, well, I’m sure I would have said that is insane.
I went to school but it nagged me. Before when I was able to communicate freely with my son, I was suddenly faced with a breakdown in communication. When I asked for information about medical decisions, school involvement, and other important factors, meet a wall of silence. The fights, arguments, and everything started. Then little signs of my son’s changes in personality, as well as demeanor, made me uneasy and I left school and came back to get him back. But guess what happen? I was ignored each and every time. My son grew more anxious and afraid to go home. Each time I went to court, I was told it was just him missing me and not being used to his father. Each time I pleaded with the appointed Guardians Ad Litem, each time I pleaded with the judge to just listen to me, they sided with his father. Why? Because our son had a routine, did not want to interrupt his schooling and so forth. But here is my son, changing into a shell every time while the judges ordered me to just get along with his father. A father who took the custody agreement and ran off with it by creating his own definition. A father who each time was taken to court came out looking cleaner than ever. And each time a son who stopped talking stopped being his happy self because the authority figures stopped believing us. Because the courts had sided with his father so many times, his father became arrogant and gloated on my repeated losses. The law couldn’t touch him. They couldn’t see what I saw, what my family saw, what was really happening. There was no follow-up, just dismissal so many times. The system failed my son. The system failed to act appropriately. The system let this happen by not acting.
Last year, I rushed my son to the ER when bruises started to show up on his body. He would explain away the bruises with excuses to both doctors and myself. But I knew better. I knew that the father that was supposed to love him, protect him and care for him was doing something never imagined. His father was abusing him. The doctors believed it, the local CPS in my own city believed it. They all reassured me that they would recommend for me to have custody. But I was let down again by the CPS in Stafford and the court there. I was disappointed and frustrated for my son once again after begging, after pleading, and after asking why so many times. I still remember writing, calling and complaining so many times to both my son’s school, CPS and anyone who would listen to me. I kept calling all last year that my son is afraid of his father, please watch him, please check him over, and please call me. I still remember breaking down and crying so many times in my car after calling CPS. Did you know they closed his case, even after photographic evidence of the bruises, about four times? Did you know I had to write the head of Stafford CPS and ask them to reopen it? To ask them to communicate to me? To ask them why my son has to suffer because no one would listen to me? Would no one listen to him? They, again, chose to believe his father and fiancée over my son and me. They chose him over me because they believed the father was the better parent with a more stable home life. It didn’t matter what I did, it didn’t matter that I was never in trouble with the law, I didn’t drink nor smoke. I didn’t matter that I had a place for him, room for him, and a steady source of income. It didn’t matter what I did or did not do. I never hit my son, I never left bruises, I wasn’t the one creating fear and terrorizing him. No, nothing matter because the image his father had was so much better than mine. His service in the military meant respect. His apologetic demeanor and promise to find another way, like the judge asked for, was enough to convince them. I was told repeatedly by officials that we needed to get along and that me taking him to court so many times was detrimental to co-parenting and that Elijah was in a good place. I remember turning to the guardian and crying, just crying and telling the court that I don’t want this to happen again. I don’t want him to suffer through this again. I just remember sitting in the car and promising myself to take my time, build the case again and again after each lost. Because what good would it do to run away, be caught and spend time in jail, possibly losing my rights and never seeing my son’s smile again? What good would it do? Even with evidence, even with so much staring at their faces, they sided with his father. They all discredited me, thought I was just making trouble or that maybe I was jealous. I wonder if they think so now after the news came out. I wonder if they still do not believe my cries, my pleas while my son sat silently, unable to trust anyone anymore. I often said that his father had two faces, one for public and one hidden away. People, friends, said he is a good man, a good father and that he would never intentionally harm our son.
I sit now, watching my son (MY SON) suffering in a hospital bed because his father beat him again. He beat him so badly that he died. My son fought and came back. He fights each day and I am proud of him. I am proud that in spite of his father trying to break him, he is here and breathing. A testament to the love, spirit and bravery he has. I still remember the day I got the phone call. My heart dropped and stopped. I drove like a bat out of hell to get to him crying. Why did so many people not believe me? Why? I still remember listening to the detective, CPS and staff at the ER explaining to me what happen to him. I thought: why? I remember his father sitting there with his fiancée pretending to not know why this was happening. I remember the pit feeling in my stomach that my worst fears had come true. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, I wanted to hurt someone. Instead, I told the story. I told the story of my son to the detective and CPS worker. And when they asked me all those questions, I let them know everything. The fear, the disbelief, and the constant doubt I faced each day. The relief that someone finally believed us. I still remember his father acting as if he did not do anything wrong while I sat clueless for hours about what had happened. I sat in the hospital waiting on word on my son’s health. I still remember his body lying there before they transported him. I still remember telling him to hang on, please hang on, because we have so much more to do. I prayed the whole time in the car, I prayed for his late grandparents to watch over him and guide him. I shouted that I would not lose my son, he would not leave because he still had time on this earth. When I first saw him, I cried for hours. I wanted to hold him in my arms but had to settle for his hand. I whisper to him every chance I get. I tell him he is safe now, I tell him he is a warrior unlike any other and I thank God every day he is still on this earth. My son deserved to have officials who believed and defended him. He deserved to have a guardian truly look out for his best interests, who double checked and did their jobs. He deserved to have people in his life that would help him when he asked. That’s what he needed. I hope that when they hear the case, see the news and read it, they remember. They remember his face, my face and how they failed. I hope they remember how his father acted, how they believed him over me despite the evidence in their own face. I hope they feel guilt. I hope they feel just an ounce of pain, helplessness and fear that my son felt. That’s what I hope for now. Am I angry? Yes, I am an angry mother who despite doing all she could legally to ensure her son’s safety, was failed on so many levels. I am an angry mother who now watches over her son, watching him make progress each day and night. I am a mother who lost her mind in 24 hours. I am a mother who cried out once learning of what my son went through. A mother with nightmares, a mother afraid, a mother who wondered why no one believed her in the first place. A mother who has a future to look forward to with a son who is now alive. A mother who is so grateful and thankful for the staff at Mary Washington and VCU for their hard work and dedication to his care. For these people who sacrifice so much, work so hard, to make miracles happen. To people who saw the signs and believed us this time. To the officers, lawyers, and justice system that finally, finally, are making sure justice is served. To the preachers, prayers, support and others who understand this pain, I cannot give enough thanks. To the family who stands once again by my side and celebrate in his journey towards health. I cannot explain the whole encompassing feeling of gratitude. To all the people who now fight, support and understand what a battle my son has gone through. I don’t fault those who didn’t know before. How could anyone predict what was to happen last week? I don’t fault people for assuming and thinking they know what happen. I don’t. My son has a long recovery, one that is now my priority in life. One that I will take with him to ensure a long happy life for him. Justice will be served for silencing his voice. Justice will be served on those who stood by and did nothing. Justice will have its day soon. And I will keep holding my son’s hand, happy and joyous that he is alive. He is breathing and he is now in a safe place to never be hurt again.
Do you know what it’s like to shout and not be heard? Do you know when your voice is silenced because no one wants to listen? And it’s not just this time. No, there are many more people, parents, who go through the same thing. There are others who have walked this before, who taken up the mantle and shoes of defending their children against abusers only to have the court pretend to act in the best interests of the child. Courts who have made the other side believe they are unfit, when they truly aren’t. Even after following their suggestions on how to get your child back, they still fail and lose. Why is the system so screwed up that it punishes parents in these situation? Why do they fail the children? Why did it take my son’s near death, abuse, and silent pleas to get the help he deserved? Why did his father choose to pervert what a father is supposed to be? Why did the adults in his life turn a blind eye? I don’t fault anymore more than me. I don’t blame anyone but me. I keep thinking that if I shouted louder and longer. If I didn’t let that judge’s words about working together with his father more and stop taking him to court after last year’s abuse case hurt me so much. If, if, if and what ifs that rack my mind in the middle of the night when I wake in a cold sweat. SO many things. Now, all I want is justice. Justice for the silent children, the tired parents who try, those who run away because that’s the only avenue they have left. I want to fight for them. I want to fight for the silent unheard people who keep shouting for someone to believe them. The fathers and mothers, the grandparents and guardians. All of those people who keep trying without ending, without giving up, without surrendering. To the families who sit and wonder why, who fight each day, who try their hardest only to feel nothing but pain. I know those people, I was one of those people, and I want to fight for those people. No one should have to experience this pain. No child should have to feel that level of distrust in the system. NO child should know abuse, pain and suffering at this level. There are some children who will never get to breathe again because the system failed them. There are families who are grieving today and think they failed despite trying their hardest to set things right. To the media and people who think they know and assume the facts, do you even know? Do you know the struggle? Do you know the truth? Did you see the years of struggle, turmoil and tears cried trying to get the system to work? It is because of this that I fight. That I smile for my son, comfort him, and wipe his tears from here until the end. It is why I chose to finish my studies as I sit and watch his heartbeat. He is my world, my rock, my warrior who will never give up. He will one day be able to sit and watch cartoons with me, beg for second and third helpings, run like there is no tomorrow. He is a testimony, a statement, unlike any other. He is my son, Elijah. He will stand one day on his feet, show his strength and be in spite of what his father did. He is a survivor. He is my world and we will carry the fight as many times as needed to get the system to change. Our kids deserve to be more than a piece of property. They are life, they are love, and they are everything.
Thank you
AB
Organizer and beneficiary
Nell Stewart Hayes
Organizer
Hampton, VA
Amy Brown
Beneficiary