The Mother You Knew

Producer & International Distributor eBookPro Publishing www.ebook-pro.com THE MOTHER YOU KNEW LEILA HILKMANN Copyright © 2023 by Leila Hilkmann 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, without the written permission of the copyright owner. Translation: Leila Hilkmann To Mickey and Nooshi Loves of my life The story is based, partially, on events and facts previously published on various media sites. The author remained true to those events and facts but allowed herself artistic freedom concerning all characters and localities. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental and the product of the author’s imagination Contents INTRODUCTION CHILDHOOD DARIEN LONELINESS BREAKING THE SILENCE EPILOGUE INTRODUCTION My son, Oz, was kidnapped in July 2000 while visiting his father in the States. My life came to a standstill. My daughter Sevan, who returned to Israel without her brother, was overwhelmed. The years that have since passed are foggy; events waned alongside mundane chores of daily life, leaving meaningless trails of incidental happenings void of any significance. Overcome with despair and paralyzed emotionally by the pain of my son’s disappearance, I merely reacted to my surroundings with indifference. Nothing aroused my interest nor left its imprint on me. Days passed blending into sleepless nights, one long slackened breath that lingered over many years erasing all other reflections in my life. Throughout the first five years of Oz’ disappearance I battled the American legal system tossing between a sense of desperate loss and a childish hope that, maybe, despite all, justice would be found within the courtroom. I clung to hope and refused to let go. I understood that without it I wouldn’t be able to go on. Sevan’s presence forced me not to give up and urged me to continue living so as not to allow her a motherless existence. Darien, her father, had already given up on her from the start when he decided to sever all ties between both children as part of his sick vengeance against me. As time went on the days seemed longer. I wished to put an end to the sorrow and frustration that threatened to ignite in me uncontrollable madness, yet I remained passive lacking any courage. My world had shrunk. I merely existed and didn’t even consider revenge, though there were moments when my inner storms threatened to spark uncontrollable savagery. I was overwrought with fears of losing my son and longings for him and sometimes I even doubted my sanity. I’d shut my eyes and listen to Oz’ voice, afraid that he might be ill or wet in the rain. I feared he’d cry or become overwhelmed with sadness but mostly I worried about the loneliness and isolated existence that was forced upon him and threatened to derail his somewhat frail mind. And the longer time passed the more I wished to guard my memories of him, and hold onto his image that clung to me day and night. I saw him everywhere, in every dimple that crossed my way. His clumsy gait appeared in front of me on sidewalks or odd places; I heard his metal like voice in strange conversations while his laughter flickered from hidden corners. I imagined him walking with his dog along the esplanade and patting it as he listened to music or had his friends over for dinner. How I wish I could rewrite the events, change the reality that transpired as a result of the kidnapping and recreate a very different one from that which crushed my small family. But my biggest weakness of all, my fear of violence, ultimately won and paralyzed me into passivity by forcing me to freeze in place. I grew up in a home with little love and the much-needed support for nurturing family ties. What happened in our house reflected my parents’ lack of understanding of my sister’s mental illness, enabling riots and madness to rule our home. Our sick home sprouted cruelty and distortions that contributed, years past our childhood, to my son’s kidnapping. As a child I was scared to breathe or voice my wants and didn’t understand how to negotiate situations or reach compromises. My sister Naomi used paralyzing violence to get what she wanted and my parents chose to ignore it. I was terrified of that constant paralysis and of always losing ground to her and carried those fears with me long after I’d left home. Those same frightening emotions also formed the basis of my marriage and accompanied me throughout the divorce proceedings. The price of the divorce was horrific culminating in my son’s kidnapping. The brutality of the act and the vicious manner, in which all ties with my son were severed overnight, caused my small family to fall apart and left me crazed with pain and worry. I’m aware of the enormous fortitude involved with hesitations especially those that decide fates and destinies. Making a choice is never easy because of the difficulty to detect that sharp moment, the precise split-second when indecision turns into a certain choice followed by consequential results that can only be judged in retrospect. And perhaps I’ll never be able to tell for certain when that split second occurred or when my indecisions took on the shape of a fatal decision. But what’s important is the end result. The enormous wave of anger stored inside me for so long finally unleashed itself, igniting a gigantic explosion that shattered my paralyzing state of passivity. And I found myself hungry for revenge. I wanted to take an ax and put an end to Darien’s existence just like he had murdered Oz’ soul and severed his past. I wanted to cause him tormenting pain and suffering, pulverize every miniscule particle in his body, toss him with great force and unleash my son from his horrid grip. I wished to save what remained of Oz’ naive world: