I Will Never Give Up On YouWhen she was three I took a job babysitting so that I could buy her her own toy kitchen.
It made her very happy.
The high school called today; she is AWOL. The police are on it. She will need to be drug tested upon her return, and have an escort at all times--if she returns.
Five was a dinosaur birthday party. I made fossils out of homemade dough, imprinted them with footprints from plastic figurines, buried them in the large sandbox so the children could unearth them, all fossil-hunter like. Made all the favors, snacks, cake, from scratch. Games-- I hired teen volunteers to help me entertain 20 kids in my yard. That made her really happy. Me too.
She has been found, but you do not want to know where...
She wanted to be a Girl Scout in the worst way. All the troops were at full capacity. Although I had a special needs baby to care for and an older foster child who hated me, I started my own troop of Daisies--never told anyone "No," had more little girls than any of the other moms--met every two weeks in my living room for a year--followed all the rules, fulfilled my duty, as it were. They were all happy. So was I.
She's gone again, this time with the parting words, "All I need is 15 hours and you will never, ever find me." The cops are on it, again, but they are not in a very good fr
She is home again and threatening to torch the place, hire kids to jump and beat us. When I say, "We love you and care about you; please do not do this, please talk to me." I hear, you stupid ******* ***** I hate you and I hate that you are in my life.
Nine was an American Girl birthday party. All the girls were sent sc
Did you know that if you even touch a police officer during any kind of altercation it is considered aggravated assault? It is.
After birthdays became passe' (how do you top yourself, really?) it was gymnastics and soccer and softball, and dancing and basketball and karate and music... none of those things made her happy but we tried them all because she said she wanted to. Even the trying made me happy, because there was always the hope that she would smile, feel proud of herself, confident, happy.
I plead with the officers, the doctors--she is mentally ill. Detention cannot be an option. I want her committed. And so it is. And I hold her, all pierced and filthy, skin and bones in her hospital gown and she sobs, and I tell her I love her, and she tells me she loves me too, and in that moment, as the security guard looks on and eyes the restraints he has ready, I look at him and I nod that it is okay, she has calmed down, for now.
She is a prodigy, a natural artist, wowing art teachers wherever she goes. She is naturally musically inclined as well, but she will not play, draw, anymore. Maybe she cannot right now. Depression and mental illness in general have a way of zapping your creative spirit. They say that what you express outwardly is actually an ex
I have been forced to give up my job because no one else can do what I do-- and it is a full time job again now, I am in advocate mode, and I have nothing else to give strangers at this point.
I can deal with her in ways ways no one else can, because I can see the three year old cooking me breakfast, and the dinosaur hunter, and the Daisy and the colonial tea party hostess, and the softball slugger and the percussion star, and I can hear, I love you mommy as they are wheeling her away from me, just an hour before they are forced to inject her with anti-psychotic medication because she is cursing and thrashing and spitting...
and I run up to her --stop the EMT's--and I hug her one last time-- hug her almost to break her shoulders, and I grab her face in my hands and I press my lips to her ear, and in between both of our sobs I tell her clearly:
I will NEVER give up on you.
And I won't.
Quintesse 46-50, F 36 Responses 9 Sep 28, 2011