Those were the first words the judge said when she began her statements. That this was the most shocking and sickening case she had seen in her 12 years on the bench.
Then she terminated both parents' rights to all of their children, even those not living with them. Eight kids in four homes just lost a parent.
And good riddance.
Theo summarized it all, after I came home and cried in his arms longer than I ever remember doing in our entire married life, that those people were not parents. We believed in reunification when we began foster care because we believed there was a family structure that'd been broken but could be put back together. We never dreamed we'd be a part of the lives of people so broken they'd never even been parents to begin with.
In one morning everything I believed has been turned upside down. I went from making photo albums, sharing emails, and planning all-family birthday parties to wanting to completely wipe out an entire family from these girls' lives.
We will stay in contact with the aunt and uncle who've been the stable figures all along. Everyone else can go. Because they cannot bring one positive thing into these girls' lives. There is not one good thing in them to give.
The judge, the head of CPS, and the guardian ad litum (lawyer representing the children) each separately pointed out that they have read hundreds of reports by the psychologist who evaluated both parents and the report on the mother was the worst write-up they had ever seen.
(I keep typing and then deleting. I just can't give the details. It's not fair to the girls privacy rights. I wish I could unhear everything the judge read from the police reports today. There's no point in putting that knowledge out there even further.)
I wish I could explain what it was like sitting in that courtroom today. The benches for the public are like old wooden church pews. People kept coming in and out and the door clanged and jarred the benches each time because these kinds of people don't have the sense not to let a door slam behind them. It was nothing like TV. There was no glaring judge, no soaring rhetoric, no shocking surprises. There were competent people rubbing shoulders with the dregs of society and just trying to do their job well enough that there would be no hassle of an appeal later. The defendants all seemed stupid. Like they'd never been that bright and now the drugs had fried what was left. Some of them couldn't even answer questions. They shrugged and then had to be reminded to give a verbal answer for the recording. Every. Single. Time.
I felt dirty when I left. But also like I wanted to write a letter and thank the judge. And the lawyers. Like when you're really grateful that the septic guy comes and pumps out your tank but you'd prefer not to shake hands all the same.
It was brutal on even the professionals. I looked around at the end as the judge was droning out the last of the procedural statements while the mother sobbed and slobbered noisily in the corner. Every person looked like they'd taken a punch to the face but now were over it. Beaten. Resigned.
I cried all the way home. Sobs just kept bursting out of me and I didn't know why. I wasn't sad, or was I? Grieving? Angry? Shocked. Horrified. Sickened. Overwhelmed. Regretting every harsh word I'd ever said to these girls who had experienced a life I didn't even know existed. Couldn't even imagine still.
I am numb. I told Theo I want to park my brain in a sensory deprivation chamber and come back for it a week from now.
I thank God the girls are so young. The worst of the abuse was against other children. Maybe they got out in time. Maybe we can save them.
Then she terminated both parents' rights to all of their children, even those not living with them. Eight kids in four homes just lost a parent.
And good riddance.
Theo summarized it all, after I came home and cried in his arms longer than I ever remember doing in our entire married life, that those people were not parents. We believed in reunification when we began foster care because we believed there was a family structure that'd been broken but could be put back together. We never dreamed we'd be a part of the lives of people so broken they'd never even been parents to begin with.
In one morning everything I believed has been turned upside down. I went from making photo albums, sharing emails, and planning all-family birthday parties to wanting to completely wipe out an entire family from these girls' lives.
We will stay in contact with the aunt and uncle who've been the stable figures all along. Everyone else can go. Because they cannot bring one positive thing into these girls' lives. There is not one good thing in them to give.
The judge, the head of CPS, and the guardian ad litum (lawyer representing the children) each separately pointed out that they have read hundreds of reports by the psychologist who evaluated both parents and the report on the mother was the worst write-up they had ever seen.
(I keep typing and then deleting. I just can't give the details. It's not fair to the girls privacy rights. I wish I could unhear everything the judge read from the police reports today. There's no point in putting that knowledge out there even further.)
I wish I could explain what it was like sitting in that courtroom today. The benches for the public are like old wooden church pews. People kept coming in and out and the door clanged and jarred the benches each time because these kinds of people don't have the sense not to let a door slam behind them. It was nothing like TV. There was no glaring judge, no soaring rhetoric, no shocking surprises. There were competent people rubbing shoulders with the dregs of society and just trying to do their job well enough that there would be no hassle of an appeal later. The defendants all seemed stupid. Like they'd never been that bright and now the drugs had fried what was left. Some of them couldn't even answer questions. They shrugged and then had to be reminded to give a verbal answer for the recording. Every. Single. Time.
I felt dirty when I left. But also like I wanted to write a letter and thank the judge. And the lawyers. Like when you're really grateful that the septic guy comes and pumps out your tank but you'd prefer not to shake hands all the same.
It was brutal on even the professionals. I looked around at the end as the judge was droning out the last of the procedural statements while the mother sobbed and slobbered noisily in the corner. Every person looked like they'd taken a punch to the face but now were over it. Beaten. Resigned.
I cried all the way home. Sobs just kept bursting out of me and I didn't know why. I wasn't sad, or was I? Grieving? Angry? Shocked. Horrified. Sickened. Overwhelmed. Regretting every harsh word I'd ever said to these girls who had experienced a life I didn't even know existed. Couldn't even imagine still.
I am numb. I told Theo I want to park my brain in a sensory deprivation chamber and come back for it a week from now.
I thank God the girls are so young. The worst of the abuse was against other children. Maybe they got out in time. Maybe we can save them.
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