A Court Date, A DCFS Case, And A Cry For Help
“Do you know what makes you special, in a different way than the baby in mommy’s tummy?” The Guy asked The Boy Child as he pulled him onto his lap.
“I’m better at building with Legos” The Boy Child replied, apparently confident in his six-year-old understanding of how the world works.
“Well, yes” The Guy replied, trying not to laugh, before asking “but do you know what makes me love you so much?”
“Because I’m your best buddy!” The Boy Child exclaimed, throwing his arms around The Guy’s neck.
Hugging him back, The Guy explained “yes you are! You are my buddy, and what makes you so special to me, is that your brother is being born into our family, but I picked you to be mine. I met you, and I took a good long look at everything that makes you who you are, and I said to myself ‘I want to be his daddy, because that’s how much I love him.’ Forever, and ever, and ever, you’re mine, because out of all the little boys in the whole wide world, I picked you.”
When the teachers started looking through the building, and I heard one frantic office worker say to another teacher “it’s like he just vanished,” I remember thinking to myself “this is the moment where my life ends.”
Frantically texting my husband while I’m completely falling apart, I hear them repeatedly paging my son over the school’s intercom system as everyone around me begins to search.
And looking back, I know that he was at the school the entire time. I know that the danger factor was relatively low, but still, things needed to change. Although we have made great strides in the control of The Boy Child’s seizures, he is still plagued by severe cognitive dysfunctions; issues that cloud his logical thinking and disintegrate his ability to understand cause and effect.
In the last year The Guy and I have had to “baby proof” the house once again. Outlet covers, special locks on doors, securing furniture to walls, and maintaining a security system that is in place not so much for the fear that someone may break in, but the fear that someone may wander out. And every night, we hook him up to a pulse oxygen monitor so that we will know if he is seizing and in distress.
Yet it hasn’t been enough, because although he has been safe, he still flooded our house last spring and we ended up living in a hotel. Now, with his disappearance at school, even though he has an aide that is with him during the day, it solidified with us that we need more help.
In other words, he’s the same as always.
The same person who has hurt my children, and continues to do so. And all of this, has just made me even angrier at him because this worker was not the one I initially wanted to hire. She wasn’t even in my top five, but she was the one that I could afford, because my son’s medical bills are out of control, my ex isn’t paying anything towards them, and there is only so much that The Guy and I can afford.
Not that my ex cares.
So here we are, my son processing what has now happened to him twice, two parents who would do anything to help him (yet somehow keep failing), and one biological dad who after abusing my child to the point of permanent damage, is now filing petitions with the court asking that he be removed from his medical bill responsibility, because he has a new family now.
I’m so angry.
I didn’t even know that she knew a lot of those words, and it breaks my heart. I try so hard to protect her from what is going on with her biological father, but I guess I’m not doing as well as I thought, because she apparently has heard the words “child support,” “judge,” and “court” before. Do you see what’s not on there? Custody. She knows that her biological father isn’t coming back. In fact cemetery is on there, because despite what I tell her, she often asks if he has died. Funeral isn’t on there, because she has no proof that he has.
She is trying to forgive him for what he has done to her, but this isn’t an easy process to understand.
“Daddy picked me” my daughter says to me sometimes when I tuck her into bed, referring to the dad she has now. She has a little light up board on her shelf, that she draws pictures on, and it illuminates while she falls asleep. I looked at it the other day and it said “I love you daddy,” with a little smiley face where the “o” should be. She’s nine, and she knows that while someone set her down and walked away, someone else came along and picked her up.
Court is in two weeks, and by the grace of God, my horrific judge has finally retired. We will go to hearing in front of a new judge, and I am praying that this will be the turning point in a case that has dragged out way too long.
My son needs this. My daughter needs this. We all do.
I just need the judge to understand that. This isn’t about me, or my ex, this is about children.
I need the judge to look at my ex, then look back at the files, and pick my children.
Please pick them.