….continued version….part of it anyway 🙂
I now had 5 kids, 10 and under, 2 being special needs. They were sick babies. Asthma, cold, flu…they caught anything worth catching. My daughter ate EVERYTHING in her sight, whether it was food or not. She was a happy little girl and she picked up signing very very well. She struggled with communication and anxiety and there was a lot of loss and grief that she didn’t know how to process.
Our son was a chub full of love. He had rolls upon rolls upon rolls. His hair stood straight up off his head and he learned the word “mama” and he said it all the time! He would stand in his crib, in the middle of the night, screaming MAMAMAMAMAMAMAMA….I would walk in there and say Mama is here and he would hold onto me like he was trying to prevent himself from drowning. We would sit and I would sing and rock him back to sleep…there we would stay and there we would be found, in the morning.
Tragically, not every social worker is ethical or nice….ours was neither. She had an agenda, which was for her to adopt my children and she went before the court to deem me unfit. I didn’t even have a chance to defend myself (not that I needed defending), she didn’t even tell me there was court, that day. I received a call, from her supervisor and she said I had an hour to say goodbye to my precious children.
There are no words to justify the emotions and the pain, that I feel, to this day. I called my husband, in a panic, screaming they were coming to take the children away. He rushed home. They clung to us, screaming, as that social worker ripped them out of our arms. I couldn’t even watch…sat in the bathroom in what I would describe as weeping and gnashing of my teeth, as said in the Bible. It was a gutteral cry, one that I haven’t cried since and I pray I will never cry again. I felt like my heart was ripped out of my chest and that social worker was taking it away.
The pain of losing my children, seven years ago, has never left me. It is a bit like having a death in the family, yet not having the closure of a funeral or a visitation. I had lost my sweet granny in July of that year, the children came in October and they were taken a week before my son’s first birthday. A depression swept over me and I the days that followed were days of mourning and sadness. I couldn’t function. I slept, a lot. I remember little.
Their pictures still hang on my walls and they are forever and always prayed over.
I stopped, that day. I said no more…the Lord had other plans.
…………to be continued……….