I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this. I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living in some extrav
It’s mid afternoon, on this cool, crisp fall day. I can smell the dew on the leaves and fresh cut grass as everyone scrambles to get a final mow in before fall rapidly turns into winter. I am in awe as I look down a tunnel of trees and watch as hues of red and orange dance in the wind. My cheeks are tinted slightly pink as the wind brushes across my face. The serene landscape surrounding me is pulling me into its captivating scene. My mind is at peace. I have completely forgotten where I am. I have forgotten who I am. I want to stay lost in this moment forever. I open my eyes and I no longer see the blue skies and enthralling mountainous terrain. I only see darkness. I have snapped back to reality and I must face the circumstances presented before me head on. He is going to take me away and to where I do not know.
I am curled up in a corner on the floor of our one bedroom apartment. Not long after my dads first suicide attempt, we were forced to relocate due to our abhorrent living conditions. My face is buried into a pillow and I am petrified. I thought my father scared me but this is much more frightening. My dad is predictable, he had a routine and I am able to anticipate his every move. This is different. The unknown is terrifying. Why is this man here? Why is he taking us?
I watched as one by one my siblings were taken and put into a white van. For some reason I am skeptical about getting into the van. It reminds me of a vehicle you are taught to avoid because nothing good can come from getting in. I believe that my trust in all of humanity has been gone for so long that, that is the cause of my unusual skepticism. I am trying very hard to resist the urge to strike this man who is trying make me go with him. He doesn’t utter a single word other than “let’s go.” I don’t know why I am so reluctant to go. Could this man really be worse than my villainous father. It disgusts me to think that I am more comfortable with him than this person trying to “steal” me away from my home.
It’s slightly ironic that I am so willing to fight this stranger but I refuse to fight someone who attacks me regularly. Maybe the lack of threats that I usually get from my father, helps give me the courage to stand up to my “kidnapper.”
I am now clinging to the corner of the wall like a spider clings to its web and I have no intention of letting go anytime soon. At this point, the man is obviously annoyed. If I didn’t know any better, I wouldn’t think he cared much about the turmoil his job creates. He is told who, what, when and where and when the day is over, his job is over. Now that I am an adult, I understand the need to detach yourself from the emotional aspect of the job. As a child, this made the man seem cold and callus. I now realize that if he brought emotions into every case, it would be hard to deal with the repercussions of his job at the end of the day.
I am left with no choice, I am not going to win this battle and I know I must go. I begrudgingly release myself from the wall and follow the stranger outside. My dad just sat there. He was so casual in his demeanor and all I could think of is how cowardice of a man he is. As I write this I can feel the disgusted look on my face. Unsurprisingly, he is drunk. I’m sure his cognition is altered and as a result his reaction time is significantly delayed. I would like to think he would have tried to fight for us if he was sober. I am honestly surprised he so willing to let me go. What is he going to do now that his daily routine has had a massive wrench thrown into it. His “wife” wouldn’t be there to tentatively tend to his needs. Truthfully, I don’t know why I cared. I hated my father so much that I could feel a deep rage burning inside my soul. My siblings were with me, therefore, they were safe and my duty to protect them could be put on hold. My dad can’t hurt any of us if we are not with him.
We are on the road and unsure of where we are going but, we are comforted by the fact that we are together. Unfortunately, we knew it is only temporary. We arrive at a business office. I remember a Christmas tree in the foyer with little paper handprints plastered all over it. A giving tree; handprints are filled out with children’s names and ages on them. Someone picks one of the handprints and buys a gift or two for that child. For the past few years that was where our Christmas gifts came from. Thanksgiving had recently ended so the Christmas season is in full swing. I can see a receptionist desk straight ahead and several cubicles spread throughout the office. I see a sign that reads “Office of Children and Family Services.” I have a bit of an idea of what CPS is and I quickly realize the gravity of the situation. The strange man that I was so fearful of earlier is a CPS agent. He is not evil at all, he is actually a nice man just trying to do his job. Much like a doctor, I think his bedside manner could use some work, but, I can only imagine the difficulty he faces daily.
We sit in his office for what feels like a lifetime. He gave us snacks and something to drink. It’s dark outside, I wonder what time it is? I am confused as to what exactly is happening. I find a clock and I am shocked to see that it is now 1 o’clock in the morning. I am exhausted but, between the crying and the long arduous day, I am not surprised. My energy level quickly rises as the man tells us it’s time to go. We head back to the dreaded creeper van and wait to be dropped off at our final destination. My youngest brother is the first one to be dropped off. He will be staying at an all boys group home. It’s appears to be a nice facility but, the thought of my 8 year old brother being without any of us shattered me. I know I will worry about him constantly. Would we see him again? Would we be able to talk to him? How long will we be separated for? Tears started to well up in my eyes. I don’t want to leave him. I need to make sure he is safe.
We stay at the facility long enough to get my brother registered and we resume our trip to the next drop off location. We are now in the city and this stop is for me. I am staying with a family of 4. I don’t know how long I will be here, but, judging from the conversation I overheard with the CPS agent and the woman who answered the door. it is only temporary. Their home was just a momentary stop until a more “permanent” foster home becomes available. Here I am a disheveled looking child in dirty clothes and reeking of smoke standing inside one of the most beautiful homes I have ever seen. I’m anxious, I’m embarrassed by what they might think of me. Should I be grateful that I am here? I know I should be overjoyed by the fact that for now, I am safe. I can sleep peacefully and alone, but, I am bialy. I just want to go back to our one bedroom apartment with my with my brothers and sisters. I want to make sure they are okay. Will they be okay without me? Will I be okay without them? I suppose, only time will tell!
If you suspect a child who may be experiencing abuse of any kind please contact your states Child Protective Services Agency. To contact the National Child Help Child Abuse Hotline click the link below:
https://www.childhelp.org/hotline/
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