RFA
All the while Daddy was booked and arraigned, and spent weeks in jail waiting to be sentenced (he got three years), and several more weeks awaiting transfer to a penitentiary 800 miles away, Mommy was laying low at an undisclosed location.
I’m pretty sure she mostly stayed at her mother-in-law’s house. She was married, but not to Daddy, and she was in love, but not with her husband. And, apparently, the mother-in-law was sympathetic about the whole thing. At the time, she was providing a home for her granddaughter, an 8-year-old, I think, the youngest of Mommy’s four older children.
Months passed. Mommy didn’t visit Pax. Neither Mommy nor Daddy called. There were no texts. Nothing.
On the advice of Pax’s caseworker, I started attending Resource Family classes twice a week. My apartment was inspected twice for safety, cleanliness, water temperature setting; a list of things. After passing school, sitting through hour-long lectures on car-seat safety, water safety, and safe sleep, and an 8-hour course in first-aid and CPR, I became Pax’s certified foster parent.
Meanwhile, Pax’s paternal grandmother, my sister, began staying with us over the weekends, to spend time with Pax. She and I discussed “co-parenting,” and she began looking for a steady job while I began looking for a duplex that the two of us could either rent or buy. And the CPS worker advised me that, at an upcoming hearing, she would request Mommy’s parental rights be terminated, and asked if I was prepared to adopt Pax.
Yes. I never thought it would come to that, but, yes.
Pax was 9 months old by that time, and several weeks later, Mommy gave birth to fraternal twins, Wyatt and Zaya.
They were a few weeks premature, required treatment for IRDS, and tested positive for marijuana (Mommy had a prescription), but negative for any illicit drugs, as did Mommy. Nonetheless, CPS seized the twins because, from their point of view, not only had Mommy failed to resolve Pax’s case, she showed no interest in it, and because, fearing a seizure by CPS, Mommy had refused to seek obstetrics care, which CPS views as abuse of an unborn child.
The CPS worker assigned to Pax’s case was immediately assigned to Wyatt and Zaya’s. Within days, she called me to ask if I would foster the twins, wanting to keep all three siblings under one roof.
No. I’m sorry, I really do wish I could. I just can’t.
I reminded the worker that I was 67 and single, so had no help at home, and that Pax was now crawling, into everything, still in diapers and still taking a bottle. Besides, my apartment has only one-bedroom and the tiny kitchen has very little storage. There’s no washer and dryer ̶ I was washing Pax’s clothes by hand ̶ and no electric dishwasher.
I didn’t mention my health problems; liver disease and severe spinal disorders. In fact, I’d had major spinal surgery just the previous year, only 7½ months before Pax arrived at my door, and not every problem could be fixed. I didn’t mention any of this because I was concerned the CPS placement worker would consider sending Pax to a different foster home, with non-relative foster parents.
I may have been wrong about that, but after nearly a year of care, struggles, play, and cuddles, I knew him, and felt so attached and protective of him, I didn’t want to risk losing him.
By that time, I loved Pax.
I’m pretty sure she mostly stayed at her mother-in-law’s house. She was married, but not to Daddy, and she was in love, but not with her husband. And, apparently, the mother-in-law was sympathetic about the whole thing. At the time, she was providing a home for her granddaughter, an 8-year-old, I think, the youngest of Mommy’s four older children.
Months passed. Mommy didn’t visit Pax. Neither Mommy nor Daddy called. There were no texts. Nothing.
On the advice of Pax’s caseworker, I started attending Resource Family classes twice a week. My apartment was inspected twice for safety, cleanliness, water temperature setting; a list of things. After passing school, sitting through hour-long lectures on car-seat safety, water safety, and safe sleep, and an 8-hour course in first-aid and CPR, I became Pax’s certified foster parent.
Meanwhile, Pax’s paternal grandmother, my sister, began staying with us over the weekends, to spend time with Pax. She and I discussed “co-parenting,” and she began looking for a steady job while I began looking for a duplex that the two of us could either rent or buy. And the CPS worker advised me that, at an upcoming hearing, she would request Mommy’s parental rights be terminated, and asked if I was prepared to adopt Pax.
Yes. I never thought it would come to that, but, yes.
Pax was 9 months old by that time, and several weeks later, Mommy gave birth to fraternal twins, Wyatt and Zaya.
They were a few weeks premature, required treatment for IRDS, and tested positive for marijuana (Mommy had a prescription), but negative for any illicit drugs, as did Mommy. Nonetheless, CPS seized the twins because, from their point of view, not only had Mommy failed to resolve Pax’s case, she showed no interest in it, and because, fearing a seizure by CPS, Mommy had refused to seek obstetrics care, which CPS views as abuse of an unborn child.
The CPS worker assigned to Pax’s case was immediately assigned to Wyatt and Zaya’s. Within days, she called me to ask if I would foster the twins, wanting to keep all three siblings under one roof.
No. I’m sorry, I really do wish I could. I just can’t.
I reminded the worker that I was 67 and single, so had no help at home, and that Pax was now crawling, into everything, still in diapers and still taking a bottle. Besides, my apartment has only one-bedroom and the tiny kitchen has very little storage. There’s no washer and dryer ̶ I was washing Pax’s clothes by hand ̶ and no electric dishwasher.
I didn’t mention my health problems; liver disease and severe spinal disorders. In fact, I’d had major spinal surgery just the previous year, only 7½ months before Pax arrived at my door, and not every problem could be fixed. I didn’t mention any of this because I was concerned the CPS placement worker would consider sending Pax to a different foster home, with non-relative foster parents.
I may have been wrong about that, but after nearly a year of care, struggles, play, and cuddles, I knew him, and felt so attached and protective of him, I didn’t want to risk losing him.
By that time, I loved Pax.