Christmas Day, 1998.
How can I ever forget the moments that led up to that day? Like snapshots in my mind, so clear, as if I am recalling events from last week and not years ago.... November 6th... Imagine waking up to the smell of bacon frying. In the distance you can hear your mother singing along with the radio while she cooks. In those first fragile moments you've barely opened your eyes, but your fourteen year old mind has already begun to map out what kind of day it would be. Not much later, you are sitting at the kitchen table; a heaping plate set before you. Completely oblivious to the fact that fate has been counting down the seconds to this day, and there was precious few left. Unaware, that today would be a much different day than anticipated. That I had, unbeknownst to me, slept my last night in my parents house. How could we have known that as we all took our places at the breakfast table, there were at least a dozen police officers outside, positioning themselves around our home. Who could have predicted the chaos that occurred, just moments later, when they handcuffed my mother and took her by the elbow to drag her towards their vehicle. Soon a second officer would do the same with my father. We didn't get to say goodbye. They just took them. The other officers began to pour into our house, walking through our bedrooms and going through our belongings. In vain attempt, Jane and I hid in the kitchen. A strange lady found us and told us she was going to take us away. She instructed us to pack our bags. How can a fourteen and twelve year old know how pack a bag to leave with a stranger to an unknown destination for an unknown length of time? She asked us to hurry because she was getting ready to go into overtime and she wanted to deliver us to the children's center on time...
November 8th... After staying the weekend at an emergency placement home, a new social worker transported us to our "permanent placement". A scary word- permanent; used so loosely. It would be like camp, she kept saying, we would have so much fun. Just think of it that way and it won't be so scary. It's not like we were going to Kalamazoo, she said. I had never been to camp, but I imagine that children aren't randomly selected and forced to go on the drop of a dime. I can't speak from experience, but I am sure the adults don't meticulously go through your belongings declaring everything either "acceptable" or "unacceptable". I am most positive that they don't place your initials on all of your clothing. And although I can't completely swear to it, I could bet you that at the end of camp you are allowed to go home. Once we arrived, I saw that the "camp" was really a cluster of "homes" located at the base of a large mountain in the middle of nowhere. The social worker called it a "group home". Jane would live on one end of the campus in the girls cottage, and I would live on the other end in the boys cottage. The adults in the house were deemed "house parents". Over the next few days we would learn the house rules, some of them reasonable enough, others were downright ridiculous. For example, the administration at the group home was concerned about how often Jane and I asked to speak to each other. They created a rule that stated Jane and I could only visit with each other twice a week, for fifteen minutes each visit. The reason: a young boy and a young girl had no business wanting to spend that much time together unless there was something inappropriate going on...
I kept telling myself that this was all some huge mistake. That we would only be here a few hours and then they would come back and take us home. My hope soon turned into panic as hours turned into days, and days into weeks. Every evening, right before dinner, the sun would dip behind the mountain range and a shadow would fall across the campus. The administration that worked in the main office building would all walk out at the same time as they finished up for the day. They would chat amongst themselves as they walked to their cars. Discussing what they would have for dinner, or of an event they would take their kids to that evening. One by one they all left. They all went home. Every day, I knew that at that time the world of lawyers and social workers had also stopped turning, as they too were most likely on their way home to their families. Every day, as the sun dipped behind the mountains and the shadow stretched its giant fingers across the homes below, my heart would sink just a little further as I knew that we would spend one more night away from home.
Every day it was the same. Chores in the morning, school throughout the day, chores in the evening, homework, dinner and then bed. Day in and day out, I would watch as everyone was free to come and go except for the kids trapped in this prison. Even the houseparents left and a "relief" couple would replace them for a week.
Thanksgiving... I don't remember much about that day except that there were a lot strange people in the house that I assume were relatives of the house parents. Normally, my family would watch the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade on Thanksgiving. That year the television was on a Xena: Warrior Princess marathon all day. I wasn't allowed to speak to anyone in my family and I only saw Jane for fifteen minutes that day. It all seemed wrong. Holidays were usually a big deal to my family, but nobody seemed to care. I just told myself that this was just an ordinary day. It was just like the last. The sooner it was over the sooner it really would be just another day. In my mind I was certain that we would be home by Christmas...
Christmas Day... I was allowed to see Jane for a couple of hours that day, under close supervision I suppose. At the end of our visit I walked her outside to the bridge that separated the boys cottages from the girls. It was quiet outside; everyone was either inside their cottage or at home with their families. The night sky was pitch black and snow was falling over an already white blanket. As was routine with any of our visits, Jane would ask, when are we going home? I didn't know. Why did they do this to us? I wasn't sure. Will the judge decide to send us home? I didn't know. When is our court date? It was set for March. Why is it so far away, can't they make it closer? Probably not. I am praying to go home, why isn't God answering? An answer that I too wanted. Let's run away, they won't find us. We can't do that, they will find us and it will be even worse when they do. When is this going to be over? I don't know. Will we ever go home? Yes. How do you know? Because I believe we will. You said we would be home by Christmas. I was wrong. What if you're wrong now? I don't know. I want to go home. I want to go home too. You need to go to your cottage now, we will be in trouble soon if you don't. I don't want to go back there. I know, I wish you could stay. Please don't make me go. You have to, I am sorry. Don't you want to talk to me? I do, but you need to leave before we can't talk to each other at all anymore. I'm scared. I am too. When are we going home? I don't know.... In circles, our conversation continued until there was nothing left for her to do but to walk back to her cottage. I watched as she walked across the bridge and into the darkness. I watched until there was nothing left to see but the falling snow, already beginning to cover the tracks her shoes had made. It had been two months and our complicated situation had become only more complicated. We were separated from our family and stripped of our belongings and stuck in the middle of nowhere. I was so sure that we would be home by now, but we were not. We were guaranteed at least three more months at this facility and I was beginning to see that the court system has a slow engine. For weeks I had tried to remain positive and composed, especially around Jane. For half an hour each week, I was the only family she had left to turn to. I needed to be strong for her. But she had so many questions, and I didn't have any answers. That night, staring across the bridge into the darkness, I lost it. Everything that I had locked up inside of me came pouring out. No one was there to hear me cry. Nobody came when my muffled cries turned into screaming. Sitting on the bridge I was completely and utterly alone.
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