A Father's Love (12 page)

 

 

THE AGONY OF being torn apart from your child, enduring year after year without contact, is nearly impossible to convey adequately. Prior to Bruna abducting Sean, he and I had done so many things together. Now, as our separation endured, dragging on to become years, it was heartbreaking to think about what we were missing out on together.

I missed his first tooth falling out. I missed celebrating his birthday with him; I was robbed of being able to enjoy his first day of school, not to mention Christmas and Hanukkah seasons and Father's Days. In truth, I missed every single day that Sean was away—they were all special to me. I was unable to enjoy all the milestones of his early childhood. Most of all, I was denied the great God-given privilege of being a parent to him in the everyday details of life.

I missed his voice. Occasionally, in the beginning, I would be allowed to speak to my son by telephone, but those contacts were closely monitored. After the Ribeiros realized that I wasn't giving up and the litigation began, when I called their home, as soon as someone recognized my voice they would hang up the phone. Gifts and birthday cards I sent to Sean were returned unopened.

Little was happening during the dark years between 2005 and 2008, as our appeals were delayed in the courts. I was like a dead man walking, going through the motions of life. I felt as though my life were in limbo. I continually pressed my lawyers for information, but often there was no new information to be had. Sometimes it would be weeks before I received responses to my phone calls and e-mails. I understood that there was not much movement in the case, but every day was another day of anticipation, every day I lived with a dagger in my heart. Nothing was happening, but my determination remained the same. I just didn't know what else to do. Where could I turn to find help?

I found my solace at sea. Work continued to be therapeutic for me, and I booked as many charters as possible, but I was living my life on hold, perpetually ready to run off to Brazil at a moment's notice. If I had a charter booked and my lawyers called to inform me of a hearing in Rio, I would drop everything to go. When that happened, my partners would try to cover for me, but if they themselves were already booked, I would have to cancel the charter. Sometimes, when clients called to book a charter, I would forewarn them that there might be a chance I couldn't do the trip. Some understood and were compassionate; others chose to book elsewhere. I understood this, of course. Some people planned their entire vacations around the charter fishing trips; others came in from hundreds of miles away, and had to make hotel reservations and other travel arrangements. Others simply didn't want to risk booking their business associates on a fishing trip that might not happen. So at a time when I needed every extra penny to pay my lawyers, my business suffered.

 

 

COMING BACK TO my home was always painful. I could still see evidence of Sean everywhere I turned; I could still smell his scent. Every time I opened the door, I would recall how he used to charge out to greet me, running into my arms at full throttle. I used to look forward to coming home to his hero's welcome every day after work. Now, to enter a dark, empty house was heartrending.

I couldn't eat; I couldn't sit still during the day. I worked myself to exhaustion, yet when I lay my head on my pillow at night, sleep eluded me. I'd toss and turn, wondering what else I could do, whom else I could appeal to for help. Did anybody have any solutions? Was there something I hadn't considered that might lead to Sean's return? My mind raced constantly, searching for an answer, even when I shut my eyes and tried to sleep. What little sleep I was able to get was always fitful, and usually punctuated by what felt like electric shocks throughout my entire body, as my rest was interrupted by thoughts of Sean and what I might be able to do next in my attempts to get him back.

The television was my comfort at night. I didn't watch it, but I kept it on all night long, hoping the sound would lull me to sleep. I needed to hear something other than my own thoughts.

Our back yard “Shangri-La,” complete with the ponds, trails, and the new dock I was building, remained just as it was the day Sean left. I couldn't bring myself to walk through it, much less finish certain projects, such as the walkway we were building along the river's bank, or try to add more to it in anticipation of Sean's eventual return. Now it was a grim reminder of the fun Sean and I used to have there.

Shortly after Sean was abducted, I snipped one of the fragrant flowers that blossomed in June down by the river. I love that sweet fragrance, and I knew Sean loved it, too. I could recall him picking one of the flowers and taking it up to the house to give to his mom. Now when I saw those flowers blooming, the sweet fragrance was a pungent reminder of what once was. The first time the flowers bloomed after Sean was gone, I cut one of them, placed it a Ziploc plastic bag, and put it in the freezer so I could show it to Sean when he came home. Each year that he was gone, when those flowers bloomed, I did the same.

Anyone who has ever lost a loved one or gone through a divorce knows that horrible feeling in the pit of your stomach. My loss caused my stomach to churn even more, because there was no sense of closure. Certainly, I was thankful that Sean was still alive, and I was pretty sure that he was physically healthy and well, but we were supposed to be together. It was only with the help of family and friends that I was able to continue living, but the constant pain of Sean being gone was almost unbearable. For some reason, the pain seemed to manifest itself physically on my right side, and wherever I'd go, it was always there. Like an exposed nerve, at times when I'd least expect it, the pain would take me by surprise, sear through me, and level me.

O
CCASIONALLY I'D HEAR THAT BRUNA HAD SENT AN E-MAIL TO one of her former friends in the United States. One of her oftrepeated excuses for running off to Brazil was that she and her family were so prominent in their community. “David always encouraged me to go to New York to work in the fashion industry, but I didn't know anybody there. Here, in Brazil, in my community, I am
known
.” Of course she could easily have become known in the New York fashion world had she wanted to, especially through some of the friends and contacts I had made.

 

 

IN LATE 2007, nearly three years after Bruna had abducted Sean, Wendy received word at her company that a new person was joining their team, a young woman who would be spending some time working in the American office and then returning to the company's corporate offices in her home country. The woman was from Brazil.

Wendy wasn't looking forward to working with her. Unfortunately, Wendy's attitude toward Brazilian women had been severely skewed due to my situation. The Brazilians she had heard about most in recent years were those who had abducted Sean.

Wendy had been employed at that same company for twenty years, and although the firm had corporate offices and a strong presence in Brazil, not once during that time had she ever worked with a colleague from Brazil. Ironically, when the new woman showed up on the job, she was stationed in the office adjacent to Wendy's. It was almost as if somebody had put her there on purpose. Wendy acknowledged her presence, but didn't go out of her way to be overly friendly toward her. She noticed, however, that the new woman was bright and had a friendly effervescence about her.

One day Wendy came back to her office to find the Brazilian woman standing nearby outside her door. “Hi, Wendy,” she said warmly. “I want to introduce myself. My name is Pamela.” She stretched out her hand toward Wendy's. “I know you are really busy,” she said, “but I just wanted to say hello.”

“Oh, hi, Pamela. Thank you,” Wendy responded, shaking Pamela's hand, further surprised at the woman's warm personality. “Glad to meet you. Let me know if you need any help with anything.”

Over the next few months, Wendy and Pamela got to know each other, and Wendy often helped Pamela with unusual English words or phrases. Their friendship spilled over to after-work hours, and the two sometimes went out for coffee or went shopping together on their days off. In January 2008, Wendy opened up a bit and told Pamela about Bruna abducting Sean.

“I can't believe it!” Pamela railed. “How could she do that?”

Surprised by Pamela's reaction, Wendy gave her more of the ugly details.

Pamela was appalled. She helped Wendy discover Orkut, a social networking site similar to Facebook. Designed by a Google employee, after whom it was named, Orkut was one of the most popular Web sites in Brazil. Using it, Pamela quickly found Bruna's profile page.

The text was all in Portuguese. Pamela translated Bruna's profile information for Wendy. Under her “passions,” Bruna had listed “J.P. and Sean.”

“Who is J.P.?” Pamela asked Wendy.

“I don't know.”

“Well, it says here under Bruna's marital status that she is married.”

The women began searching Bruna's “friends” for anyone with the initials J.P. Pamela found a man named João Paulo, so the women clicked into his account. In João Paulo's profile, under his “passions,” he had listed “Bruna and my son, Sean.” J.P.'s marital status was “married.”

Pamela was reading the content aloud in Portuguese when she let out a gasp. “Oh, my God!” she cried.

“What? What!”

“Wendy, Bruna is married to this guy, and he is calling Sean his son!”

“Who is this guy?”

Pamela continued digging into J.P.'s profile, and with every bit of new information she discovered, she let out another gasp. “Oh, my! Oh, my!”

“What?”

“Do you have any idea who this guy is?”

“Of course not. I've never heard of him before.”

“He's an attorney and he practices international family law.” Pamela's shock suddenly turned to fear when she discovered J.P.'s last name: Lins e Silva. “Wendy, these are some of the most powerful people in Brazil. His grandfather, or great-uncle—I can't recall which—if he were alive today, he would be the president in Brazil. He was the head of the most powerful political group in the country.” Pamela told Wendy that the Lins e Silva family was known and feared throughout the country.

“I have to call David,” Wendy said. “Please stay here online so you can read this information to him. We'll put him on speakerphone, and I want you to tell him everything.” Wendy dialed my number.

That same day, I had driven my mom to Jersey Shore Medical Center, where she was scheduled for heart surgery. I was waiting for her to be prepped when I saw Wendy's number on my phone.

“David, I know this is a really bad time,” Wendy said, “that you have taken your mom to the hospital, but I have to tell you something.” She rattled out the story so fast I barely had time to comprehend the significance of her words. “I'm sitting here with Pamela,” she said, “and we found Bruna online on a site called Orkut, and she's remarried!” She conveyed the information as Pamela translated the Orkut profiles.

My head was spinning. With my mom about to go into heart surgery, I find out that one of the most powerful families in Brazil was now taking part in the illegal holding of my son. This was too much.

“I have to go,” I told Wendy. “I'll call you later.”

 

 

WHILE MY MOM was in surgery, I stayed in her room, waiting, pondering all that Wendy had told me.

Bruna and her family had severed all direct communication with me. My mom had tried to stay in touch with Sean by sending him notes in e-mails she sent to Bruna. Occasionally, Mom would receive a response, ostensibly from Sean. The replies were always brief, curt, and didn't appear to be the responses of a young boy to his grandmother. It was clear that someone besides Sean was responding to my mom's messages. So it was a huge surprise when, about an hour after I had talked with Wendy, Mom's cell phone rang. I answered the phone and heard Sean's voice on the line. At that point, we hadn't spoken in months. The family in Brazil refused all of my calls. Now, suddenly, as if out of the blue, he was on the phone! I wanted to shout for joy, but as always, I tucked my emotions deep inside.

Sean didn't seem to recognize my voice at first, apparently thinking that he was talking to “Pop-Pop,” my dad.

“Hey, Sean! It's Dad,” I said with as much control as possible.

“Oh, hi, Dad.” Sean sounded more reserved than usual.

“Hey, buddy, I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I was just thinking about you and me camping out back. Do you remember playing together in our backyard?”

“A little,” he answered honestly.

“I miss you, Sean.”

“I miss you too, Dad.”

As soon as someone in Brazil realized that he was talking to me rather than my mom, the line went dead.

The surprise phone call was, of course, bittersweet. I was elated just to hear Sean's voice and to be able to talk to him, however briefly, yet at the same time I could tell that his memories of life at home in New Jersey were starting to fade, replaced by the misinformation being drilled into him by his grandparents and the Lins e Silvas.
How long?
I wondered.
How long must this go on before I can get my son home?

 

 

SHORTLY AFTER THAT, my attorneys confirmed what Wendy and Pamela had already discovered about Bruna. We learned, long after the fact, that on September 1, 2007, after Bruna had somehow obtained a Brazilian divorce, she had married Brazilian lawyer João Paulo Lins e Silva, whose father was considered one of the country's premier attorneys in the field of family law, specializing in matters pertaining to international child abduction. We learned that the elder Lins e Silva had even presented a lecture to his peers as a legal authority well versed on aspects of the Hague Convention regarding international child abduction. It was astounding! Although I had no hope of ever being reconciled with my wife, I did find it strange that she could marry someone else when her divorce was not recognized in the United States. Technically, we were still legally married in New Jersey.