A Father's Love (34 page)

Tuey, our cat, came out and rolled over in front of Sean as if to say, “Welcome home.” Sean began petting her as though they were old friends, which, in fact, they were. On the fireplace mantel hung a Christmas stocking for Tuey, right next to the one for Sean.

I watched in awe as I realized this was our new beginning. It was beautiful to me, almost like a dream. I didn't have to pinch myself to know that it was real, but it felt so fantastic to see my son playing with his cat in our own home. I struggled to keep my emotions under control, because as much as possible, I wanted everything to feel “normal” to Sean—because it was! He just hadn't experienced a truly normal life in nearly six years.

Adam followed us around the house with his Flip video camera as I reintroduced Sean to our home. I took him into the guest room that had also served as his playroom and was once my office. I showed Sean the toys he had played with as a four-year-old, and some of the pictures of him as a baby.

Upstairs, he found the marks on the banister he had made with his teeth as a little boy. I had left them just as they were, along with the safety gate at the top of the steps. He got a kick out of both. Then we went into his room, the room that I had kept exactly as it had been the day he was taken to Brazil. His eyes lit up as he recognized his clothes, his bed, and the decorations on the wall. Then he noticed the one thing about the room that had changed: that the aquarium was empty of fish. They had died during a power outage when I had been away from home.

“We need to get some fish,” he observed.

“Don't worry, buddy,” I said as I put my arm around his shoulder and we both peered through the glass. “We'll get some.”

The following day, I did a brief press conference from Patricia Apy's office conference room. With the cameras and microphones everywhere, the first question was, “How's Sean?”

“He's fine,” I said. “He's home.” What wonderful words!

The more time Sean and I were together, the more I realized what a gentle and loving little boy he'd remained. Despite the horrific things he had experienced, he smiled quickly, laughed easily, and spoke articulately for a nine-year-old, especially considering that his English was a bit rusty due to lack of use. He was mischievous and playful, but wonderfully polite, well mannered, and thoughtful. Sometimes, because of the swirl of public attention with which we had lived, it was easy for some people to forget that he was still just a child. I never did. He was and is a beautiful little boy.

I had agreed to do an update interview with NBC, and they chose to do it on the
Today
show, where my relationship with them had begun. The network later took a lot of heat for supplying the “getaway plane” in exchange for the first interview. Other networks and media watchdogs accused NBC of engaging in “checkbook journalism.” This simply was untrue. We never had an agreement to that effect. I did, however, feel more obligated to NBC than to anyone else. Nobody else had seriously offered to fly Sean and me out of Brazil, or had a plane sitting on the tarmac ready and waiting to lift off as soon as we could get there—not any other network, not the U.S. State Department. And I certainly couldn't have afforded to hire the services of a private jet.

Had it been necessary to take Sean through the commercial airport, purchase him a ticket, and wade through what would surely have been a media circus, I would have been willing and prepared to do that. But I definitely didn't want to. So when NBC offered the plane, at no small expense to itself, I was totally grateful.

In one of my first interviews after Sean's return, on
Dateline NBC
, I talked about the “Christmas Miracle.” Bernie Aronson, who is Jewish, later kidded me, “You sold us out, David. It was a Hanukkah miracle!” Regardless, there was enough happiness in the moment for all faiths to enjoy.

 

 

WE SPENT OUR first few days back home simply allowing Sean to acclimate to me and his surroundings. We talked easily, and I told him, “I'm sure a lot of things have happened, and we've both been hurt a great deal. Now our job is to be father and son, and for you to be a child again, so you can learn and play and go to school and have fun.” I didn't try to make every moment a “teaching” moment, but I wanted him to know that he had my complete support and my unconditional love.

We shopped for some winter clothes, went fishing, and enrolled in a public school close by our home. The kids at school received Sean with open arms. Some of them were aware of the story and welcomed him back. For the most part, the kids treated him just like any other ten-year-old, and for that I was grateful. Friends and family members stopped by our house often, and we had more than a few sumptuous meals at Mom and Dad's. Dad especially noticed the new buoyancy in my step. In an early interview after Sean's return, he said, “David got his son back, and I got my son back, too.”

I was always surprised when Sean recognized someone from his past. My good friend Gene Quigley, the first friend I contacted following Bruna's fateful phone call, visited shortly after Sean came home. As soon as Gene walked into the house, Sean went right over to him, smiling, put his hand in the air, and gave him a high five. “Hey, Quigley,” Sean greeted him. Gene and I just looked at each other, amazed that Sean remembered him, but also surprised at Sean's unabashed familiarity.

 

 

I HAD TWO concerns during those first few days after Sean's return. First, he never cried or had any emotional outbursts. He showed no regret at being removed from his family in Brazil. Of course, I was elated that he felt so comfortable and happy with me, but I knew better. It was psychologically impossible to be ripped from a familiar environment, culture, language, and lifestyle and be dropped into a totally different set of circumstances without some sort of emotional turmoil. Add to the mix his mother's death and the traumatic details of his departure from Brazil, and he could easily have been an emotional basket case. But he wasn't—at least not externally. I worried that perhaps he had not yet fully processed all that had happened to him, or that he had developed some sort of defense mechanism that allowed him to remain outwardly calm yet inwardly in pain.

I longed for him to open his heart and mind to me, but I remained patient. In good time we would deal with Sean's emotions. Right now we'd take our first baby steps on what would be a long journey toward healing.

The second matter of concern was that Sean hadn't called me Dad since our being reunited. As he had done during the second day of our visit in Rio, he artfully avoided having to address me at all. He'd say, “Please can I do this?” or, “Come on and play with me.” But he shied away from calling me Dad. I knew that his former captors had inculcated in him how he was supposed to regard me. Sean told me that he wasn't allowed to call me Dad after our first visit in Brazil. Certainly, it hurt, but at least he was home. I called Sean “son” and “buddy” right from the start. I figured if he didn't call me Dad for a period of time, I could live with that, because he was home.

Then, on our third day home, he was out in the backyard, down by the river, when he needed my help. “Hey, Dad!” he called. “Come here and help me.”

The words were like a tonic to my soul. I pretended that I hadn't heard what he said, so I asked, “What do you need?”

He said it again. “Dad, come here.” I hurried to help him.

It was as though he had turned on a switch in his heart and mind that now allowed him to call me Dad. From then on, it was “Dad this” and “Dad that,” and every time I heard him say the word, my heart overflowed. It is still indescribably sweet music to my ears.

Within a few days of Sean's return, we began meeting every week with Dr. Charles Diament, a professional counselor in Red Bank. In addition to his outstanding credentials, Dr. Diament had family in Brazil and we thought that he would be culturally sensitive to any issues of Sean's adjustment and Brazilian identity. The counseling was expensive, but Tricia and I felt it was important. The benefit of that investment was incalculable. In addition to enabling Sean to adapt to his new life, and providing wonderful, compassionate support, Dr. Diament's insights proved invaluable when a few days after we were home, the Ribieros' lawyer began to advance their conditions for their contact with Sean.

One of the issues with which Sean and I had to deal was his lack of self-esteem. With such a whirlwind of activity swirling around him and extending to two continents, it might have been easy for him to think that he was king of the world, that everything revolved around him. Quite the contrary; in Brazil, his self-worth was based solely on what he meant to his abductors, the value they placed upon him. As the Brazilian court-appointed psychologists wrote in their extensive report, when Sean found out that Bruna was involved with Lins e Silva, he was extremely upset. He was still very sad and confused about being separated from me. But he was told that his mother could do what she wanted, and she wanted to be with this other man because he made her happy.

During the handover at the U.S. Consulate, Silvana had told me that Sean suffered from “headaches and other illnesses.” He was also a bit overweight and out of shape from his sedentary lifestyle in Brazil. He had been enrolled in a school that began in the afternoon, so he stayed up late at night and slept late in the mornings. Once home, Sean lost weight and began to feel better about himself. With an improved diet, consistent rest, a more robust and active lifestyle, and a stronger self-image, many of the “illnesses” that followed him home disappeared.

 

 

MOST OF THE people Sean and I meet nowadays express their joy that he is home and have no idea that the ordeal is not over. The Ribeiros and the Lins e Silvas are still contending for Sean's return to Brazil and have asserted their own terms of access in the United States regarding visitation privileges. In April 2010, the Ribeiros came to the United States and filed an emergency application seeking that an immediate order be entered by the New Jersey court, compelling their visitation with Sean. With unabashed audacity, the Lins e Silvas even sued me in the Brazilian courts for money. Outrageous, isn't it? They kidnap my son, then sue me for financial compensation. But no amount of money could ever satisfy them or placate their sense of entitlement. They waged a war against a “gringo,” a regular guy, an ordinary dad who loves his son, and they didn't get the results they expected, so their pride and arrogance compels them to press the fight further.

Even when they returned him to me, Sean's grandparents attempted to sabotage our relationship. They set up secret e-mail accounts in the name of “Sean Bianchi” for Sean to use to communicate with them without my knowledge. They gave him two international cell phones, one that I knew about and another that was supposed to be kept hidden from me. They created code words for Sean to use when he spoke to them on the telephone, especially if I was anywhere nearby.

I often think,
Why can't they just be normal grandparents? Why don't they stop this litigation and quit trying to get Sean back to Brazil?
Having Lins e Silva make the claim for my son was their legal strategy, although most people close to the case knew who was—and still is—driving the train.

They have never expressed remorse for kidnapping Sean, nor have they ever apologized to Sean or me for their actions and attitudes. They were international child abductors who willfully, flagrantly, and repeatedly violated court orders in both the United States and Brazil. They lied about Sean and me on national television, and attempted to disparage and denigrate everything about me before the entire world. That causes me to be cautious.

As for João Lins e Silva, to date as I write this memoir, he has not called once or sent a single letter or card to Sean since he returned home. Apparently, shortly after Bruna's passing, Lins e Silva became involved with another woman. Sean was aware of this, and was deeply hurt and disappointed by this transfer of affections to another woman, not to mention the lack of interest Lins e Silva showed toward him.

Once Sean returned home, we attempted to live a normal life. Despite repeated media requests, we remained out of the public eye. When the Ribeiros' case was filed, Tricia was contacted by the Associated Press. The Ribeiros and their lawyer had given extensive interviews to Brazilian media indicating that they were still seeking the return of Sean and diplomatic assistance for access to Sean on their terms. In an AP interview, Tricia confirmed that a case had been filed in New Jersey by the Ribeiros, and once again stated our position: We were willing to give the Ribeiros access to Sean
in time
, but we want his mental health professional involved in that process. Speaking of the Ribeiros, Tricia said, “We requested from Silvana and her husband in January that there be a process to deal with the ongoing family relationship, which is complex because David is getting to know Sean. This was not a process that they were willing to be involved in.”

During our postreturn press conference in Tricia's office, a Brazilian journalist asked how much this fight had cost me. “In excess of five hundred thousand dollars,” Tricia stated. The bills for the legal fees, translation costs, travel expenses, and a raft of other fees still coming in for both the U.S. and Brazilian litigations is astronomical. The costs have increased another $200,000 because of the kidnappers' ongoing litigations. I was not a wealthy guy to begin with—a point about which the Ribeiros were always quick to remind me—so things have been tight around our home. My family and I have shelled out a fortune, and I still owe more.

Thankfully, Tricia and Ricardo have been very gracious about accepting whatever I can pay, whenever I can pay it. They well understand the people with whom I am dealing, which perhaps gives them more patience regarding my inability to quickly eliminate the enormous financial burden. As Tricia says, “It is an ungodly amount of money,” and with the continuing litigation, the amount is still growing. Looks like I'll be on the boat for many years to come. To show my appreciation, I occasionally stop by and bring Tricia and her paralegal, Amy, both of whom now seem like family members to me, the catch of the day. Fortunately for me, they love fresh fish.