<div>My name is DeMika Ferguson 
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<div>I’m a father fighting every single day just to stay in my son’s life.
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<div>Every morning I wake up thinking about him.
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<div>Some mornings I actually wake up crying and reaching for him in my sleep.
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<div>I don’t have to be at work until 8 a.m., but I wake up around 4:30 or 5 a.m. to try and get a grasp and maintain focus for the day. This is everyday, work or no. 
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<div>Every night I pray I’ll get to see him again.
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<div>All day, I’m hoping and asking God — when will it happen?
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<div>My mind never shuts off — it’s my son first thing in the morning, and the last thing before I close my eyes.
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<div>At work, I'm a strong well liked employee I’m on a production line where I have to keep a steady pace, and I rock it.
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<div>But some days,  as more weight has been added to my shoulders, I catch myself zoning out — lost in thought.
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<div>My mind drifts to my son, our broken communication, and everything that’s been taken from us.
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<div>It’s hard to stay focused when your heart’s somewhere else — shattered and scattered.
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<div>Since November of last year, my son hasn’t spent a single day with me — not the way the court order says we should.
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<div>The order clearly states that I’m to have parenting time from 9 a.m. to 7 p.m. every other Sunday.
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<div>Me and my boy are supposed to be free to spend that time together however we want — to live, laugh, and just be father and son.
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<div>But ever since November, it’s been nothing like that.
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<div>Instead, we end up sitting at a gas station, just talking in the car or outside, and he tells me:
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<div>“I don’t want to go.”
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<div>“Why not?”
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<div>“I don’t know why… I just don’t want to.”
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<div>“Well, bud, let’s figure this out.”
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<div>“If I don’t know why I don’t want to go, then how can I tell you?”
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<div>That’s all the time we get.
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<div>We don’t go anywhere, we don’t do anything, just sit at a gas station. I still don’t have a single explanation from his mother for why this keeps happening.
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<div>The only time she messages me is about money — never about how our son is doing, never about co-parenting, never about love or support. Just bills.
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<div>To her, our son has become a paycheck and a weapon.
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<div>Love is leverage.
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<div>I used to be his hero — his world.
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<div>Now, I’m just a bank.
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<div>Loved only through condition and convenience.
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<div>I’ve documented everything: over a year’s worth of texts, messages, calendar books  and silence.
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<div>I’ve stayed composed, respectful, and done everything the right way.
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<div>But the truth is — I’m drowning.
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<div>But I don’t stop. I won’t stop.
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<div>It’s eating at me like a virus.
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<div>It’s not like I’m not trying. I’m working, picking up side work, applying myself to look for new jobs or ways to move up within my company, even trying to launch a voice-acting career (you can find me on Audible as DeMika Andrew Ferguson).
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<div>I’m doing everything I can to stay positive — for me and my son.
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<div>I don’t have a solid family I can turn to that truly understands this situation — every time I’ve tried, it’s ended in betrayal or blame.
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<div>I do have some family who’ve helped however they can — offering household items, blankets, quilts, pillows, and company. I’m deeply grateful for that.
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<div>But others treat me like an outlaw, a fugitive — from and within my own family.
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<div>So here I stand, holding the line the best I can.
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<div>Why I’m Asking for Help
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<div>If you truly know me, you know this:
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<div>I don’t ask for help. I don’t want handouts. I’m proud — maybe too proud sometimes.
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<div>But this time, I have to.
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<div>I’m asking for help to strengthen my footing in this fight — for my son, and for what’s right.
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<div>Help to keep fighting for my son — because he deserves a father who doesn’t give up, even when the world tries to make him disappear or turn him into an afterthought.
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<div>“Have you considered just signing your rights over and starting over?”
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<div>More than one person has said that to me.
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<div>But a real father doesn’t quit.
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<div>If you’ve ever had to fight to be heard… if you’ve ever been lied about, pushed aside, or made to feel invisible — then you know this pain.
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<div>I’m not asking for pity.
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<div>I’m just asking for a fighting chance.
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<div>Thank you for reading, sharing, or donating — anything helps. ❤️
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<div>— DeMika Ferguson
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Amber Kennedy

Help a Fighting Father to Stay in His Son’s Life

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