A 18 Rebirth - Response to Assessment

Rebirth - Response to Assessment
Chapter 18

You may write me down in history
With your bitter, twisted lies,
You may trod me in the very dirt
But still, like dust, I'll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?
Why are you beset with gloom?
'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells
Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,
With the certainty of tides,
Just like hopes springing high,
Still I'll rise.

Did you want to see me broken?
Bowed head and lowered eyes?
Shoulders falling down like teardrops,
Weakened by my soulful cries?

Does my haughtiness offend you?
Don't you take it awful hard
'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines
Diggin' in my own backyard.

You may shoot me with your words,
You may cut me with your eyes,
You may kill me with your hatefulness,
But still, like air, I'll rise. . . .

Leaving behind nights of terror and fearI rise
Into a daybreak that's wondrously clearI rise
Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave,
I rise
I rise
I rise.

- Maya Angelou ("Still I Rise" )

I was naive and I was at a loss to understand the reason for this injustice. My mind was spinning, and my stomach and my heart were heavy. And I remember one of my friends, reacting to the statement in the assessment that accused me of "faking good", incredulously stating "But you are a good person!"

There was something intensely evil and wrong about this assessment with its 100% inaccurate representation of my responses to the numerous questions posed to me during the interviewing process. I was determined that I would gather my strength and rise up and fight against this foe rather than allow this injustice to stand. They were attempting to defeat me with lying words and I was not going to let these words stand unchallenged. I was determined to respond, in detail, to this assessment line by line.

Considering this was an assessment of 27 pages, this was a project of enormous magnitude. Determined to make this more than a "I didn't say that, I said this . . ." document, I planned to include affidavits to back my statements from a number of people which I specified throughout my response.

Meanwhile, my uncle, now in Alberta, stood solidly by my side, and still very much connected with this case became my co-editor. My response to this assessment was to be complete and accurate, and would consume every bit of my energy for months to come. In the end, my response was twice the length of the original assessment, but this was necessary because, wanting to clarify exactly what I was responding to, I lifted quotes directly out of the assessment, and as mentioned earlier, there was not once that my responses had been accurately relayed.

To facilitate this new relationship with my uncle, I rushed out to buy a fax machine so that we could send the various edits back and forth to each other. I felt it very strange that I should have such technology in my home, after all I was not a business person like my uncle, but then my situation was unnatural, leastwise in a civil western civilization, my situation should be considered unnatural.

Unfortunately, as I have researched the subject of injustice concerning the courts and Children's Services, I have come to realize the "naturalness" of this situation not only in this province but across this country as well. The "natural" is only believed to be "unnatural" because it is a shame that has been secreted away from all but the victimized. It is time for this shame, that has been allowed to naturalize, to be exposed.

During the horror of my ordeal, I was exceedingly thankful for the support and encouragement that I received from my uncle, my uncle by marriage, who maintained a close and meaningful relationship with his own grandson. Though he, himself, was being challenged with difficult circumstances in his own family, he sacrificed long laborious hours helping me in this case and for this I will be forever grateful. Shortly after my case began, one of his brothers developed brain cancer and his family seemed to be doing everything in their power to keep a spark of existence alive in him. My uncle’s family, a family of affluence had more options than the average, and from what my uncle relayed to me they clung onto every option that promised to extend this man’s life. I often wondered about the soundness of these decisions for both this man and his family. How difficult it must be to let go of a loved one in your family, and how much more difficult it must be if circumstances afford the availability of additional options to prolong life. These were trying times for my uncle yet he graciously gave of his time to me.

But then fate continued to grind by uncle down. Soon after the death of this brother, another brother developed skin cancer on a large portion of his back. This brother eventually received an extensive skin graph. After this, his elderly mother began to do poorly and she eventually came to live with my uncle so that he and my aunt could watch over her and tend to her needs.
Both my aunt and uncle are "good people", but eventually our relationship was suddenly and mysteriously strained. As it turned out, this mystery was just one more peculiar dynamic of my bizarre "unnatural" case.

Together, my uncle and I counseled my lawyer as to our expectations of her. First and foremost, we expected her to work diligently on completing the affidavits that I required to support my statements in my response to the assessment. It was important that the lies of this assessment be smashed as soon as possible. As drafts of the response with indicated affidavits were completed, they were immediately handed over to the lawyer so that she could efficiently complete the affidavit interviews as soon as possible. The initial plan was to file the response and the affidavits together as a single unit.

On a second front, my uncle and I wanted to explore the option of having another assessment done. My lawyer, though indicating that this was a positive move, did little to help me procure an appropriate professional person. This is a process that a lawyer working in family law should be familiar with, and a job which the lawyer should be doing for a client on their behalf . Instead, my lawyer left me to muddle through as best as I could to find an appropriate psychiatrist who was able to do this for me. And muddle I did. Halifax is a small city and as I phoned and spoke with a number of psychologist, the dynamics of this professional community slowly crystallized. Being a small city, the people in the profession tended to know each other. Most psychologists were not willing to do assessments, especially if it is meant to go up against another assessments that was done by someone else in the community. Other psychologists were backlogged and would not be able to do the assessment for months and they told me that the assessment would have to be done over a period of time far longer than my original "quickie" assessment. Only one psychologist was eager to take on the assessment and the probing questions that she fired at me led me to believe that she was personally close to the psychologist who was responsible for my original assessment. Needles to say I was not trusting this person!

Eventually, my lawyer suggested that a psychologist ---------- miles away might be available but the schedule of appointments that I would have to maintain at such a distance was impossible for me: I was working full time, I had my thrice weekly visitations with my grandson, and I did not have a car and did not drive.

Meanwhile, my lawyer relentlessly dragged her toes on my requests for the affidavits. Wanting my response filed as soon as possible, I had it filed immediately upon completion in draft form with the accompanying affidavits pending. Again, and again both I and my uncle, verbally and in writing, requested that this work be done as soon as possible, my uncle often spending considerable time clarifying our instructions to her via long distance phone calls. But all this lawyer did was dither and doddle, eventually becoming rude and telling me that she was busy.

In the end, out of nowhere, she suddenly tried to argue that these affidavits were not relevant and would be a waste of time gathering. These were not irrelevant. They were extremely important to my defense. In the six months this lawyer worked for me, she only managed to finish 3 of the 13 affidavits that she had been instructed to gather.

THIS CHAPTER NOT FINISHED

A 17. Like a Silent Lamb to the Slaughter

Like a Silent Lamb to the Slaughter

Chapter 17

Right, temporarily defeated, is stronger than evil triumphant." - Martin Luther King

With nervous expectation, I stepped from the cab in front of the dark Victorian home, now converted for use by a legal firm, located on the corner of a major thoroughfare and a quaint community street. It was only an hour before our scheduled court hearing, and I was to meet my lawyer to review, for the first time, the results of the assessment. I had been warned the timeframe for the release of the assessment before court would be tight, but this was cutting it close, and though I expected a positive report, a ominous feeling hung heavy in the air which I struggled to dismiss as I ascended the front porch steps. Hearing the hollow sound of ancient wood beneath my feet, I crossed the porch, turned the dented brass knob, and pushed open the door.

Upon my entrance, the receptionist phoned my lawyer who promptly descended from a narrow winding stairway near the front door. The constricted nature of this passageway was an indication that this was most likely the servant stairs, a remnant of earlier days still familiar in some of the older homes in Halifax. Clutched in her hands was the all important document.

"It is not good" were the only words she expressed as she stretched the 23 page document towards me. And the exhausted slumbering lamb that had crumpled into a deep sleep was suddenly jolted into an awareness of the realty of the surrounding danger. I was left alone on a bench in the open hallway that embraced the receptionist's office to digest this document by myself. I recall feeling abandoned, open, vulnerable and uncomfortable. What a place to read such a traumatic document! In hind sight, realizing now that my own lawyers were never working for me, perhaps it was hoped that I would display some inappropriate manifestation of emotion that could be witnessed by others.

Realizing that the relevant conclusions, the bottom line, would be at the end, I immediately flipped to the last page of the document.

I was stunned. The sense of agony, pain, and the fear of my grandson being given to strangers, never to see his family again, flooded my brain. How could such a conclusion have been reached? My first assumption was that there must have been some sort of misrepresentation of the test results from the 3 tests given me. After all, there was some very strange questions in those tests like “I have been around the world several times this week - True or False” or “I have been hearing voices - True or False”, etc. Then as I quickly scanned the entire document I was dumbfounded as I realized that not some but every statement I made during my many interviews during the assessment process was misrepresented.

Now I was a reasonable person, and even with such an important assessment, I could fathom one, two, or even three misunderstandings, but this was beyond comprehension! None, absolutely none, of my responses were correctly reproduced in this document. How could they, why would they so blatantly misrepresent me? But there they were. The lies, one after the other, splashed across the pages of this document. Smack! Smack! Smack! Smack! As I skimmed through the pages, each lie left its emotional blow and my heart was on the ground bleeding and wounded. No one, anywhere, at any time, had done such a vicious things against me before, and most incredulously the worst impressions of myself came from statements that they claimed I had made, myself!

One example of the misrepresentations that filled this document was my alleged response to them asking me how I felt about the fact that my daughter and I had not spoken with each other since my grandson had been taken into care. In the assessment, they stated that my answer to them had been that “it was the best thing for her” - period. With nothing more than this, one was left with the impression that I didn’t care about my daughter. But this was only the smallest sliver of my actual answer, and taken out of context, the accurate meaning of my response had been flipped around 180 degrees.

My answer, in its entirety, told a different story: I had stated that, previous to this, whenever my daughter and I had any falling out, she had always stayed in communication with me, and that this was the first time that this communication had discontinued. I went on to explain that my daughter never accepted responsibility for her actions, that she always tended to find a way to blame me for everything and that maybe, just maybe, this might turn out to be the best thing for her, because, no longer having me around to blame for everything, she might be forced to reflect upon herself and her own responsibilities, and maybe - just maybe - this might help her.
I was astounded that the authors of this assessment felt they could lie so boldly! How could anyone justify misrepresenting every statement I had said. Indeed, insanity was there but it did not lay with me! That feeling of shock, that would become so familiar, enveloped my body, and with it came the paralyzing feeling of helplessness. This was insane! Surely, I was reading the report of another person! This reality, my present reality, was sick and disturbing, and it seemed to float helplessly in a heavy numbing soup of unreality. I was trapped in a nightmare with no one to wake me up!

Eventually, my lawyer reappeared out of the darkness at the bottom of the stairway, calling me up to her office. As I followed her, up this winding narrow stairway, reminiscent of a castle tower staircase, the steps groaned and squeaked beneath my feet. Upon reaching the dimly lit landing, we turned abruptly to the right, following the banister that overlooked the stairway to the end of the hall. Here we entered her office, a room of frugal proportions, barely large enough to contain her desk, and a small cluttered bookshelf. As she squeezed behind her desk I settled into the remaining wooden chair perched near the door.

As I sat there listening to her, I can't say that I remember a single word she said. As she chattered on, I allowed myself to think about the discomfort of having to enter a court knowing that everyone there would have read the damning words in this document spoken against me. Would people believe this document? Would people believe me? These were professional people who wrote this document. Who am I next to them? Why would anyone believe me? How could such a thing happen? How can such a thing be true? So many questions were snapping through my mind. And then I thought, I am no one special. If they have been bold enough to use such deceitful tactics against me, surely this could not be the first time. But as this thought floated through my brain it seemed surreal. How could such things be true? This is Canada! This is Canada! Things like this are not suppose to happen in Canada!

In a few minutes, I would be whisked to the courthouse where I would stand before the justice of the court, a man who I respected. In respecting this justice, I felt shame and embarrassment that I would stand before this person knowing that he would have read this document that claimed me to be narcissistically self absorbed, and not worthy to raise my grandson. But, surely, I thought, this justice, whom I believed to be a good and honest person, in all his years on the bench, must have had enough previous experience with assessments to have at least some suspicions and concerns about their integrity. Maybe, I thought, when he hears the statements made against me, it will add to his accumulated knowledge, and my case might contribute to lifting the veil of ignorance surrounding this wrong. Naively I believed that the injustice would be so apparent that the justice would surely intervene in some way. Needless to say, I was still very ignorant of judicial procedure and I wrongly assumed that justices had more pre-trial power than they actually do.

It was then that I pulled in the strength of my spiritual faith. I would stand before this human judge knowing that he had read this document that brutally dammed me, but I knew that my God, the judge who knows all things, who knows my heart, my soul, and my mind, like no other human being possibly could, knew the person that I was.

Secure in this knowledge, I determined that I could stand before this human judge, for I had no reason to be humiliated. As my lawyer rambled on, I prayed: "God, You know the truth and in the end You are the only one who needs to know the truth. I can walk into that court and I can stand before all these lies because You know the truth. I stand before You as my judge and I submit myself into your hands"

When I walked into that court with this document speaking against me it was apparent that I was being dismissed by Children's Services like yesterdays newspaper, insignificantly thrown off to the sideline. The speech of their lawyer were nonchalant, like it was the norm, old hat to them. But, this was most significant to me and though my grandson was too young to realize it, it was most significant to him. Though, for the time being, I would still be allowed access to my grandson, they had cut me off at the knees. My hope for unsupervised access was now severely hampered, and more importantly, my bid to bring my grandson home had been strangled by this deceitful document.

I am sure many people assume that out legal system is civilized and appropriate. I used to think so. But these are the kinds of assumptions made by persons who have not experienced our legal system first hand. As a person represented by legal counsel, I did not have the ability to say anything in my own defense during pre-trial hearings unless the justice addressed me specifically - this is an extreme rarity. Time and time again I was frustrated as I was forced to sit dumbly by my lawyers. In these circumstances, not having the ability to speak for myself, I was at the mercy of my own lawyers, the very people who were suppose to be defending me. In time, I came to accept the fact that these lawyers were unfaithful and unimpassioned with my case. All I was to them, was coins jingling in their pockets, nothing more.

Though I had never believed those dehumanizing jokes about lawyers before, I now passionately believed them all, thinking myself quite the fool for being so naïve. Alas, I had been raised on Perry Mason, noble Perry Mason.

However, it does grieve my soul that I was wrong about lawyers. I wish I had experienced lawyers to be noble, really caring about truth and justice. But as I witnessed one person who was self-representing in court recently say, “ This is a court of law, not a court of truth.” He was right, truth, unfortunately, has no room in our courts today.

However, though the justice had only seen this document hours before court, it was apparent that he had done his homework. In reading through the assessment, he was concerned that there were a number of people (people who did not even know me, people who only repeated lies told them by my daughter) brought forth from the other side that contributed information for my assessment against me, yet only three people I had brought forward were included in this assessment. About this, the justice was concerned enough that he ordered the professionals responsible for this assessment to immediately give a written explanation for such methodology.

Their reply was incredulous: they felt no need to speak to the people I had brought forth because they assumed all they would do was support me. Does this make any logical sense? This was suppose to be an unbiased assessment. They had the ethical obligation to hear both sides of the story.

As it turned out, 2 of the 3 people, put forth by me, who were spoken to by the assessors were so concerned that they had been misrepresented in the assessment that one, herself, pushed to get the original copy made from her telephone interview and wrote a note to the court concerning this. The other person filed an affidavit voicing her concern about the way her interview had been done. In her affidavit she stating that she was disturbed by the assessors blatant push to get only negative information about me and that she was so concerned that they were dismissing what she did have to say about me that she found herself repeating the statements she had made.

After court I went home to study this document in detail. Upon inspection it became apparent that the assessment procedure was never fully explained to me. In fact, the information I was told was totally misleading, and many important details of the process did not become apparent to me until I actually read the report.

This assessment was mind boggling! As soon as I got home, I faxed the assessment to my uncle in Alberta and phoning him spoke with him at great length. Surely, I exclaimed, to have everything - absolutely everything - I said turned upside down, is evidence of deliberate misrepresentation. Concurring, my uncle pointed out that bias in the assessment was apparent to him by the "complete lack of anything positive" said about me. I remember being struck by this. What he said was true, but it took me some time to digest this. This was a significant observation. For this assessment to ring true shouldn’t there be some recognition of some positive qualities in me. After all, I had no police record, I had never done drugs, I wasn’t an alcoholic, I was an educated person with a recognized academic accomplishments. I had graduated as highest B.A. aggregate, attained a B.Ed. and I had maintained a perfect GPA of 4.00 while earning my M.Ed. In addition, I had been an active member in the community: a brownie leader, a Sunday school teacher, and a teacher in my community conducting programs not only for children but also for parents and children together .

But the professionals conducting this assessment twisted everything against me, even my education. Though 2 educated women were signatories to this pretense of professional composition, they stated in my assessment,

_____ is a 45 year old woman who works full-time and goes to school on a part time basis. She is hopeful of advancing in her career after completion of her Masters degree. The amount of time and energy that ______ would have for [her grandson], who is a very active child, has been questioned by [unnamed] collaterals sources.

To me, this was insane!

16. Like a Silent Lamb to the Slaughter

A 16 The Documents Speak For Themselves

The Documents Speak For Themselves
Chapter 16

He who permits himself to tell a lie once, finds it much easier to do it a second and third time, till at length it becomes habitual; he tells lies without attending to it . . . . This falshood of tongue leads to that of the heart, and in time depraves all its good dispositions. - Letter to Peter Carr (August 19, 1785) - Thomas Jefferson


Imprinted along the top of the paper is the stamp proclaiming this document to be
"Exhibit 'A' " , an affidavit of the social worker that would become known to me as "Little Miss Liar". "Sworn before me", it continued, "this 19th day of May A.D. ____, and then signed by "___. ___. A Barrister of the Supreme Court of Nova Scotia.

This Barrister as it turned out was one of the lawyers for Children's Services, a wiry, stiff and steely, short-cropped red-head - or at least the faded hint of the red he once had when he was younger. His eyes were cold and blue, and I often watched him in the hallway before and after court, amazed that even there, outside of court, there was never any hint of defrost. His head was rigid, his back was hard. When I tried to penetrate this exterior to find even a hint of warmth, I found none. Instead, I sensed a heart that was frozen, and a mind that was numb, and whenever I looked at him, a chill ran through my soul. This was the product of a seared conscience, the walking dead, a heartless, mindless entity.

I was new at this - the routine of getting a copy of the latest update of the

PROVINCE OF NOVA SCOTIA
DEPARTMENT OF COMMUNITY SERVICES
FAMILY AND CHILDREN'S SERVICES
DARTMOUTH DISTRICT OFFICE
CASE RECORDING REPORT

only a day or two before court. It was only the second installment but I was already well acquainted with it's inaccuracies and unclear, ambiguous statements. I was astounded that social workers should be allowed to write in such a fashion. I knew my university professors would not tolerate such nebulous writing. It was beyond me how this could be allowed in a profession where so much is at stake, the future of a child, and the need for clarity should be paramount?

I read through the numerous pages:

20__/03/16 ASSESSMENT OF RISKS . . .

20__/03/17 FOSTER PARENT CONSULTATION . . .
DROPPED OFF _______'S TOYS AND TAXI VOUCHERS FOR THE FOSTER MOTHER. ________ SMILED AND TOOK THE PUMPKIN TOY THAT HIS GRANDMOTHER HAD SENT FOR HIM . . .

(I had bought this stuffed pumpkin on a trip to Alberta, and, for some reason, my grandson had taken a particular liking to this fuzzy-faced veggie. Not yet granted access to my grandson and hoping this toy would form some kind of memory link between him and I, I slept with this pumpkin for several nights so that my scent would be captured in the plush. Through this, I hoped that he would smell his Grammie - that he would be able to know that I knew where he was, that I had not forgotten him and that I loved him still.)

20__/03/17 TELEPHONE CALL . . .
4:00 RECEIVED PHONE CALL FROM [GRANDMOTHER -me]. SHE ASKED WORKER WHAT WAS GOING ON WITH COURT NEXT WEEK. WORKER ASKED HOW SHE KNEW ABOUT IT. SHE ADVISED THAT SHE HAD CALLED THE FAMILY COURT ABOUT HER CUSTODY HEARING AND HAD BEEN ADVISED THERE IS A HEARING NEXT WEEK.

(while inquiring about my custody case, I had inadvertently been told that Children's Services was moving ahead with a case involving my grandson.)

WORKER ADVISED HER THAT SHE WOULD BE SERVED A NOTICE OF HEARING,

(I never did receive this !)

ADVISED THAT SHE SEEK LEGAL COUNSEL IN NOVA SCOTIA. SHE ADVISED THAT SHE COULD NOT AFFORD IT. WORKER ADVISED THAT SHE COULD APPLY TO BE MADE A PARTY TO THE PROCEEDING AND THE AGENCY WOULD MOST LIKELY NOT OPPOSE HER. ADVISED THAT (MOTHER OF CHILD) MAY OPPOSE HER BEING MADE A PARTY TO THE PROCEEDING.

(As you read what follows you will see that Children's Service's was determined that my daughter be present to oppose me)

[Granmother -me] ASKED WHEN SHE WOULD GET ACCESS WITH _______. ADVISED HER THAT IF SHE WERE MADE A PARTY ACCESS WOULD BE ARRANGED. SHE ADVISED THAT SHE IS OFF ON WEDNESDAY AND MONDAY MORNINGS.

20__/03/20 CASE AIDE/ACCESS WORKER REPORT

20__/03/21 ATTEMPTED CONTACT

2000/03/21 TELEPHONE CALL
4:30 [GRANDMOTHER -ME] HAD LEFT VOICE MAIL FOR WORKER TODAY REQUESTING ACCESS WITH [GRANDSON] AND FOR HER UNCLE TO ATTEND ACCESS AS WELL.

WORKER LEFT MESSAGE ON HER ANSWERING MACHINE ADVISING THAT IF SHE WAS APPROVED AS A PARTY ON THURSDAY THERE WOULD BE A VISIT FRIDAY 9:30-10:30 AM. ADVISED THAT THIS IS HER QUALITY TIME WITH [ GRANDSON ] AND IF [GRANDSON] DOES NOT KNOW THIS UNCLE THERE WOULD BE NO POINT VALUE (sic) FOR [MY GRANDSON] IN THE UNCLE ATTENDING ACCESS. . .

20__/03/21 ASSESSMENT OF RISK . . .

20__/03/22 SUBSTANTIATE INTAKE . . .

20__/03/23 WORKER/CLIENT CONTACT

10: 25 RECEIVED PHONE CALL FROM [MOTHER OF _______]. SHE ADVISED THAT SHE DOES NOT WANT TO ATTEND COURT TODAY AND SHE IS NOT GETTING A LAWYER. WORKER RECOMMENDED THAT IF SHE WANTS TO HAVE A SAY IN WHERE _________ ENDS UP LIVING SHE WOULD HAVE TO ATTEND COURT AND A LAWYER SHOULD REPRESENT HER.

[MOTHER OF _________] ADVISED THAT SHE WAS AT A FRIENDS IN DARTMOUTH AND HAD NO WAY TO GET TO COURT. AGREED THAT I WOULD APPROVE A CAB, GIVE HER A VOUCHER AT COURT FOR RETURN TRIP AND SHE WOULD ATTEND COURT.
CAB ARRANGED TO PICK HER UP AT [BLANKED OUT]

(Gee, I wondered, where was my taxi cab? Why was she afforded such special treatment? - she the person who wanted to give up my grandson to the system.)

20__/03/24 COLLATERAL CONTACTS
20__/04/04 COLLATERAL CONTACTS
20__/04/04 WORKER/CLIENT CONTACT . . .

12:45 RETURNED CALL TO [MOTHER OF _______] AT [BLANKED OUT] SHE HAD LEFT A VOICE MAIL REQUESTING THAT I CALL HER ON MARCH 28/00 (WORKER ON VACATION) . . .

WORKER ASKED [MOTHER OF _________] IF SHE INTENDS TO GO TO COURT ON THURSDAY. SHE ADVISED SHE DID NOT. WORKER ENCOURAGED HER TO GO AND OBTAIN LEGAL COUNSEL. ADVISED [MOTHER OF __________] THAT A NEW WORKER, KARY. IS TAKING OVER THE CASE AND AGREED THAT WE WOULD MEET HER TOMORROW AT 3 PM AT SWISS CHALET. WORKER TO CONFIRM APPOINTMENT TIME.

20__/04/05 ATTEMPTED CONTACT

10: 00 PHONE CALL TO [MOTHER OF _______] AT HOME TO CONFIRM APPOINTMENT THIS AFTERNOON. NO ANSWER.

2:15 PHONE CALL TO SWISS CHALET TO CONFIRM THIS AFTERNOONS APPOINTMENT WITH [MOTHER OF ________]. WAS ADVISED THAT SHE HAD GONE FOR LUNCH AND AMY (sic) NOT BE BACK UNTIL HER NEXT SHIFT AT 5 PM.

3:00 WENT WITH WORKER KARY. TO MEET [MOTHER OF ______] AT SWISS CHALET. [MOTHER OF __________] WAS NOT AT WORK. KARY. TO CONTACT HER AT A LATER DATE.

20__/04/05 WORKER/CLIENT CONTACT
WORKER INTRODUCED TO [GRANDMOTHER] BY ____________ DURING AN ACCESS VISIT. . .

20__/04/05 WORKER/CLIENT CONTACT

20__/04/05 ATTEMPTED CONTACT
WORKER ATTENDED SWISS CHALET WITH ____________ FOR THE PURPOSE OF THIS WORKER MEETING [MOTHER OF _______]. [MOTHER OF _______] WAS NOT AVAILABLE AT HER WORKPLACE.

20__/04/06 COLLATERAL CONTACTS . . .

20__/04/07 ATTEMPTED CONTACT . . .

20__/04/07 CASE WORKER CHANGED . . .

20__/04/07 TELEPHONE CALL . . .

20__/04/10 COLLATERAL CONTACTS . . .

20__/04/10 OTHER/ MISCELLANEOUS . . .

20__/04/11 ATTEMPTED CONTACT

10:00 phone call to (mother of child) at home. No answer. 12:30 phone call to [mother of _____] at home, no answer. Phone call to (mother of child) at work. She is not coming in until later. Worker had wanted to encourage her to attend court today.

(Man, they were working hard at trying to get my daughter into court. They are working hard to bring someone into court to take my grandson into the system)

20__/04/11 TELEPHONE CALL

2:46 PM-PHONE MESSAGE FROM ________. TRIAL DATES SET FOR ____________ RE: PLACEMENT OF [MY GRANDSON] WITH GRANDMOTHER. DATES ARE MAY 29TH AND 30TH..

20__/04/12 COLLATERAL CONTACTS

(Despite the insanity of everything I had already read in this document, exactly half way through, on page 10, the strangest input was yet to come:)

20__/04/12 FOSTER PARENT CONSULTATION

10:20 phone call to foster mother. She advised that a cleaning lady who used to work in her building came for a visit the other day and advised that she recognized __________ (sic) from his grandmother's home as she cleans the building _______'s (sic) grandmother lives in. She made the comment to the foster mother that ________ is better off with the foster parent. The cleaning lady said that [ GRANDMOTHER] is right out to lunch. The foster mother did not discuss further with the cleaning lady.

Worker asked how ________ was doing. Foster mother advised that he started biting his hands. He bit them so hard that they bled. She is not sure at this point if he is doing it because he is teething.

(A wave of numbness swept through my brain, a heaviness invaded, and a stupefying, deadness took control. My eyes were stretched to capacity, as if trying to relieve the pressure building up in my head, while all the time searching the paper for words, some sort of words, that might clarify what was going on here! I knew this cleaning person well. She was a pleasant soft spoken woman. A person of truth and honesty - a serious Christian. She was a good friend of a friend of mine, also a person of integrity and a serious Christian. I knew she had not said these words so where did this lying statement emanate?

And as for my grandson biting his hands to the point of bleeding! Why was what was so apparent to me, so illusive to them? My grandson was stressed by his ordeal ! He was ripped from his loving home, shifted back and forth for a two week period by his mother and then shunted into a foster home where during this time of high stress his bottle and pacifier had been immediately ripped away from him!

What did they expect when even the soothing comfort of his sucking was denied him ? ! Don't social workers have a basic understanding of the needs of children under trauma? And is no basic knowledge of comforting traumatized children given to foster parents? In fact, the swift removal of his bottle and pacifier were touted as it they were some kind of high accomplishments on the part of the foster parents!

Where was " the best interest of the child" in all of this? And when I spoke up against this stupidity - I was stunned - I was villainized for having the common sense that apparently none of these social workers had.

As I searched this paper and read it over and over again, it was apparent that the two most likely culprits for this lie was either the social worker who inputted this data or the foster mom . The foster mom, I thought, being the less likely of the two for what possible motive could she have ? She didn't know me. She had never even seen me!

But then, why, I asked, would the social worker concoct such a story? "What is going on here?"

My mind was bursting under the stain of puzzlement for I couldn't get my brain around this and nothing made any sense. But it was early in the game, this legal game that would go on and on and I was still too naive to even begin contemplating possible motives for such a fraudulent report.

However, after recuperating from my initial shock, I endeavored to expose the lie: When the cleaning woman came to my apartment building, I invited her in, explaining what had been written in the documentation while I flipped through my files to find the offensive account. Upon finding the page, I pointed to the applicable paragraphs and I watched the shock spread across her face as she read it for herself. She was genuinely dumfounded and upset.

Yes, she explained, she knew this foster mother and when she dropped by for a social visit, she was surprised to see and recognize my grandson, but she insisted, she had never made the statement attributed to her by the foster mother. In fact, she was more than eager to set the record straight and without hesitation, she agreed to meet with my lawyer, to draft an affidavit concerning this.

Swiftly, an affidavit was written, signed and filed with the court. The lie had been stopped in its tracks - put to bed, the dragon slayed - or, at least, I thought it had. )



The last input for this report was dated May 17, 20__. It would be July 21, 20__ two months later, before we returned to court, the ninth court appearance in this case, before I would be able to review the updated Case Recording Report by the Department of Community Services. When I received my copy, I prepared to flip through the report, to search for the bias and inaccuracies that I now expected to find. Well to put it succinctly - One flip and I was there. The second entry states:

20__/05/23 FOSTER PARENT CONSULTATION

CALL FROM FOSTER MOTHER WHO INDICATED THERE WAS AN ISSUE WITH THE CLEANING LADY AND WHAT HAD BEEN WRITTEN IN THE RECORDINGS BY _____ ______. ______'S GRANDMOTHER IS INDICATING THAT SHE WILL TAKE THE CLEANING LADY TO COURT IF THE MATTER IS NOT RESOLVED.

(From this I understood that the foster mother was trying to make it look like I had, somehow, threatened the cleaning lady to get the affidavit she had filed speaking against the foster mother's words transcribed in the last report.

What was going on? Why was this lie being so tenaciously perpetrated. What could the possible motive be? I flipped through 20 more pages till I reached the end of the latest report. Without doubt I found much more to be disturbed about in these pages, but there was no clarification to this particular mystery and I remained mystified.)


Then I began reading through other papers filed by the Department of Children's Services for this court appearance. I picked up a document stamped:

SUPREME COURT
OF NOVA SCOTIA
JULY 19 20__
HALIFAX, N.S.
With the title
APPLICATION FOR DISPOSITION ORDER
AND NOTICE OF HEARING

Stapled beneath this document was a second document entitled

AGENCY PLAN FOR THE CHILD'S CARE

I read through page 1 . . . page 2 . . . page 3 . . . page 4 . . . page 5 . . . page 6 . . . page 7 . . . page 8 . . .and then I finally got to the last page - page 9.

(b) Description of the arrangements made or being made for the child's
long-term stable placement -

The Agency will seek placement of the child in an appropriate adoption home
provided by the Minister of Community Services. The possibility of the foster
home adopting _______ _______ is to be explored so that ______ ______
will have continuity in his placement.

(What! This was a shocker but at least now the mystery had been demystified. At least now I had a motive for the lying statements persistently thrown out by the foster mother. The foster parents had obviously put in their bid for my grandson. This was incredible. First my instable former neighbors, Sher and Terry, had earlier declared to the DCS that they wanted to adopt my grandson and now the foster parents were doing the same.

To me it was incredulous that foster parents should be allowed to voice such a desire while there is an active court case in progress over custody for a child by family members. To me this is a conflict of interest and should not be allowed. Surely "the best interest of the child" lies with keeping the child in the family, if possible. When foster parents are allowed to put in a bid while custody within the family is still before the court, it might prove too much of a temptation to make the easier call of just handing the child over to strangers instead of taking the time to sort out what needs to be sorted to place the child within the family. Indeed, this is what the DCS was pushing for. As a family member wanting a child to remain in the family, I think I should have the right to set my request before the court without non-family competing for the same.

If all interested family members have made their request before the court and have gone to trial and have all been denied - only then do I see it appropriate for non-family to seek adoption.
Once again, the cleaning lady came forth to file a second affidavit. This time she was so upset that she and her husband were talking about possibly taking legal action against the foster mother for her slanderous statements.

She went to my lawyer so that notes could be taken for a second affidavit, but she was never called back to sign the final affidavit. This woman constantly reminded me to get my lawyer to arrange the signing of this affidavit, but my second lawyer, a woman, was proving to be worse than my first.

At this point, my best action lay with the gathering of a number of specific affidavits, but my lawyer lied, harassed, misdirected, and even threatened me when I pushed her for the gathering of these affidavits.

When I hired my third and last lawyer, I request that particular unfinished affidavit be filed. He promised to do so but never did. In the end I came to believe that my lawyers were taking instruction - BUT NOT FROM ME! )


A lawyer with his briefcase can steal more than a hundred men with guns.
Don Corleone, in The Godfather - Mario Puzo

A 15. Flashback # 4 Watchful and sensitive.

Flashback # 4
Watchful and Sensitive

Chapter 15

I wrote Your Name In The sand but The waves Washed It Away, Then I wrote It In The sky but the Wind Blew It Away, So I wrote It In My Heart and That's where It Will stay.

I loved my daughter - She was my source of happiness and as a young child she seemed so caring and sensitive to others. But as she grew there were other signs, other behaviors that I overlooked. - Perhaps I shouldn’t have.

My daughter was bright and extremely vocal. As a baby and toddler, she hit all her milestones early. She was walking more than proficiently at 9 months, completely bypassing the crawling stage. The first day I placed her on the toilet, strapped into a baby pottie insert, she was toilet trained.

She spoke early and chattered incessantly. When we went for walks, I was amazed how she filled our steps with words, words and more words! It was like she didn’t need me. I was a body there to absorb the chatter but not meant to interact.

She seemed an affectionate and caring child. Every morning, the first thing we did was hug and kiss each other and I would tell her I loved her. Because my parents were not tactile and had not verbally expressed love this way, and because I believed it was important for the security and emotional well-being of a child to do so, I bent over backwards to make sure my child had a rich and constant supply of this emotional expression: she was hugged and kissed and told she was loved several times a day.

I recall when she was a toddler, only 2, taking her for one of her shots. She was in my arms and I was amazed as I saw her matter-of-factly watch the needle go into her arm - not a flinch, not a tear. Then, when the toddler behind her got the needle and began crying, she stretched out her arms to be allowed to comfort this child. I brought her close and she wrapped her arms around this child to comfort her.

As a young child, she had an unusual compulsion to feel and stroke people. This could be embarrassing at times. When friends would visit, she would plop herself beside them and proceed to rub and stroke their arms. She would do the same with me, telling me how soft my skin was. She would even attempt to rub my legs in church !

She, herself, was physically sensitive. From the time she could sit up, she was in the habit of taking her finger and meticulously opening her toes, and running her fingers between them. I thought this strange because she was bathed daily and was always clean. When she was older, she told me she was sensitive to the tiniest piece of dust that might get between her toes - that it bothered her.

Later, when she suffered from allergies she would tell me that she would get itchy inside of her ears, where she could not scratch, and on the roof of her mouth. I had allergies as well, but my itching would be contained to my eyes. I could not even fathom getting itchy inside ones ears and on the roof of the mouth!

At home, as a young child, in the house, she was comfortable walking around in her “birthday suit” and I even recall, one time, her removing her clothes in a friends yard and running around the house. I don’t recall her pulling on her clothes or complaining about them or showing any other signs of being sensitive to clothing. As a toddler, I often let her go shoeless - but this was my doing, having read articles that it was best for proper foot development to let children go shoeless as much as possible - But when she wore shoes, she had the best I could find, properly measured and fitted at the “Kiddie Kobler”.

When she was older and into playing musical instrument, first flute, then clarinet, and then piano, I was to discover that she had a very sensitive ears, hearing sounds in the instruments her music teacher’s were not aware of until she brought it to their attention. Her music teacher’s always commented positively on this “gift”.

This ear also displayed itself in other ways. She told me that from the inside of our apartment building, in the living room, the room farthest from the main road that crossed our street, she could hear when busses passed and she could tell which direction they were traveling. I could not even begin to even hear the buses in the apartment. We were located at the back of our building and the main road the buses ran on were some distance from the us.

As a teen, my daughter always had the curtain in her room closed. At the time, I remember I thought she was just lazy and I used to get after her for this - but the curtains always remained drawn. Now, when I think about this, and I wonder if she was sensitive to the light. I don’t remember any other situations of light sensitivity, that I noticed, but, if she was so sensitive to sound, perhaps she was also sensitive to light.

As a teen, I also remember her telling me about her fascination with watching people. For me this was different. Growing up I had always been shy and I did not watch people very much. At my worst, when I was very young, I had my head down to strangers and even hid behind my mother’s skirt. I have since learned the importance of watching people, especially when you are discussing important issues. But at that time, as a young mother I still did not do much watching.
One day my daughter told me about her activities when she went with a bunch of her friends to an amusement park that had various enjoyments including water slides. She informed me she would rather park herself along a pathway where numerous people passed by and just watch them instead of engaging with her friends. At the time, I recall I thought this rather strange for a young person out with her friends, but I recall thinking about the value of such a trait. For example authors: I good writer would have to be a excellent observer of people to be able to incorporate various characters into their books.

This was not me, and was certainly not my idea of a good time, but I supposed this was a harmless, and perhaps even a positive, pastime for my daughter.

A 14. Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Demetri Manos - if you see this - I would like you to contact me please - leave a comment - I will get it - BUT I will not post it

Walking Through the Valley of the Shadow of Death

Chapter 14

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: Psalm 23: 4-5 (King James Version - Bible)


Like a lamb to the slaughter, I began my walk through the valley of the shadow of darkness. I sensed the smell of death but I had been pacified by the naive words of my uncle and the deceitful words of my lawyer.

"Have no fear, the assessment must be professional and unbiased", I was told by these two men who eagerly guided me forward.

"Bu . . . bu . . but, I bleated who are these people? I haven't chosen them, Children's Services has chosen them. It doesn't make sense that the very people who are working against me should be able to dictate who I must submit to in an assessment and I have no say?"

But my words fell on deaf ears. Though this caution made so much sense to me , it did not seem to make the slightest sense to these two men who were suppose to be helping me. It was almost as if my very questioning of such an illustrious system, reflected poorly on myself.

The words were pounded into my head, "These are professionals. Of course they will perform their task professionally. They are not allowed to be biased, and the sooner you submit to this assessment, the soon you will have your grandson back. It will only be a matter of weeks and he will be back with you" These were the enticing tender morsels that were strewn along the dark and rocky pathway leading to the slaughter, and I ruminated on them as I slowly treaded forward.

I forgive my uncle. How could he, a business man from western Canada, have any notion of the corruption so notoriously imbedded in Nova Scotia. At this point, I wasn't even aware that such corruption existed in my province. But my lawyer, he should have known better - And I was later to realize that he did know better. He was a family court lawyer. He knew the system.

He would have been well aware of the notorious abuses of the assessments anyone who challenges Children’s Services are forced into. At the very least, as my lawyer, if he had been doing his job watching out for my best interests, he should have advised me before proceeding, but he did nothing to prepare me for the process.

In the meantime, I was having other concerns about this lawyer: he seemed to have consistent problems with his memory. In one of my communications to my uncle I remember expressing that 98% of my stress came from having to deal with the ineptness of this lawyer.

Still naive about Children's Services, I questioned the case worker about my lawyer, and then, without saying anything about my specific concerns, she informed me that seeing him in court, he seemed to be a good enough lawyer, but that it appeared to her that he had a poor memory.

With this confirmation, I decided that I did not want to continue with this lawyer and I immediately began searching for a new one. But, much later, after this court case had concluded, I stumbled across documentation that would reveal not a poor memory but an extreme conflict of interest ! (I will speak on this later) This document was proof that this man had no right being on my case. His bumbling, his incompetence, and his apparent lack of memory, I was to finally realize were all meant to mess up my case.

But, at this point in time, I was still naïve about the lawyers, the justices, the whole justices system. I assumed I had the misfortune to stumble on a solitary inept lawyer and I assumed my next lawyer would be better.

Ridding myself of lawyer number one and taking on lawyer number two, took place just as I was beginning the assessment process, and for a time I was not represented by legal counsel. During my first interview, the assessor stuck a number of consent papers under my nose pressing me to put my signature to them, immediately. This, in itself, was inappropriate, but I also did not want the assessors to know that I was in a vulnerable position - without a lawyer. I wanted to delayed signing of these papers until I was able to consult someone I trusted.

But unbeknownst to me, my slaughter had been swiftly planned and I was meant to be swiftly executed with this wicked, corrupt assessment. I was working a full-time job, eagerly soaking up the preciously few allotments of supervised visitation thrice weekly with my grandson, as well as attending a number of meetings with a variety of lawyers as I searched for a legal replacement, whilst still juggling my current lawyer.

When I did finally hire a new lawyer, I required additional time acquainting her with my case. How disappointed and perplexed I was to find out that my second lawyer was as blasé about the assessments as my first.

For weeks, I was compelled to surrender every spare moment to this assessment process, consisting of hours of intense verbal interrogation, culminating in what I refer to as a final 5 hour marathon. I remembered this day well. I had taken a bus from work, making a pit stop at a restaurant next to the assessment services for lunch. The restaurant was busy and the service was slow. I had ordered a shrimp pasta but the shrimp was inadequately cooked, and, not having time to reorder, I ate the pasta and left the shrimp on my plate, giving the waitress only a swift explanation as I quickly paid the bill and dashed out the door.

The first part of this marathon began with the usual interrogation with a Social worker, Linda McEachron, but near the end an older woman, Dr Ruth Carter came into the room. Then this second person participated in this final interview/interrogation. When this interview was finally completed I was escorted by the doctor to another room where I was to be administered three different written tests. After a brief explanation, as to how I was to fill out the forms for these tests, I was left alone in the room to complete them. These tests consisted of a number of multiple choice and true/ false questions, with a few complete the sentence statements at the end.

I recall being concerned that a number of the statements on the form were very ambiguous. Every once in a while, the doctor would come in and ask how things were going and if I had any questions. When I raised my concerns and we conversed as to the meaning of a number of the statements, I remember, my saying to this doctor that from my training as a teacher, specifically the training that I received in forming clear questions or statements for examination purposes, I found many of these statements severely lacking. As she clarified to me her understanding of the statements, I indicated to her that I would write these clarification on the forms so that there would not be any misunderstanding as to my meaning when the forms were interpreted.

As I worked on the last page, I was physically exhausted, so much so that when the doctor poked her head in for the last time, my exhaustion was so obvious to her that she set down at the table and verbally asked me the last two or three “complete the sentence'“ statements filling them in in her own handwriting. Feeling totally wiped-out and exhausted, she led me to the front foyer. It was then that I realized that the entire building was deserted. It was past office hours and everyone had already gone home. My head felt light and spacey and I was totally zonked. As a university student I was used to 3 hour exams but this ordeal had been way beyond anything I had ever experienced before.

But the assessment was now completed, I had answered all questions honestly and as completely as possible. I left that building spent and exhausted but I left believing that it would now only be a matter of time before any concerns about me would be dispelled and my grandson would be allowed to come home.

And the tired lamb lay down to rest dreaming of those promised morsels . . . but while she slept, worn and weary, unbeknownst to her, the darkness thickened like an incoming fog as it wrapped its cold and gloomy fingers around her.

If you're going through hell, keep going.- Winston Churchill

A 13 The Wind Blew and My Heart Broke

The Wind Blew and My Heart Broke

Chapter 13

He who forms the mountains, creates the wind, and reveals his thoughts to man, he who turns dawn to darkness, and treads the high places of the earth— the LORD God Almighty is his name. - Amos 4:13, The Bible

Was it only a chance breeze that blew this paper of yesterdays memories against the bottom concrete stairs of my apartment building? Was it an unexplainable fluke that I stopped to bend over to pick up and examine this nondescript paper? It had never been my habit to do so, but as I returned home from work on this late sunny afternoon I did stop to scan this fateful paper at my feet.

To my surprise I noted that it was a paper my daughter had received for participating in a folk dance as a primary student. I remembered that day well. She was cute as a button in a sky blue dress with a trim of pink and yellow along the bodice and hem. I remembered her shining face and her broad smile as she deftly careened across the floor with her partner. Those were happier days and with cherished warmth I remembered that particular memory.

How strange that this paper should be outside in front of me now. Was it possible that it had been in the storage room and some other tenant removing items from their storage area had somehow gotten this caught up with their belongings. But this didn’t seem likely because all my belongings were locked in a cubby hole of a storage area and I didn’t recall anything being loose or hanging out of this compartment.

Puzzled I took the paper into my apartment and set it down on the coffee table.

Busy with changing out of my work clothes and getting supper, I didn’t think about this paper again until several hours later. While sitting on my couch, contemplating this mystery, I decided to take the garbage out to the large industrial dumpster utilized by my apartment building. Then, while I was still in my apartment, it suddenly and strangely came to my mind that I should look into the dumpster when I took the garbage out. This thought had come from somewhere outside me and I thought it extremely strange in its compulsion.

Well, I thought, it won’t hurt to take a peek when I’m out there. So off I went down the hall, out the door and down those steps into the dark night air with my make-do garbage bags, small white grocery bags filled to the brim and knotted by the handles. I remember walking across the street lifting up the heavy top of the container and peering into the blackness, as the pungent odor of garbage enter my nostrils. There perched on the top were 2 wooden containers that I recognized right away as belonging to my daughter. They were long thin boxes, about 2 feet long, just wide enough to hold CDs. I had them made especially for her with sunflowers, a favorite motif of hers, painted along the side.

My heart sank. What was this? These didn’t belong in the garbage! As I continued to search, finding other items belonging to my daughter, my heart sank even farther. Many months previous, during the two week period when my daughter had taken my grandson, she had been living with a male friend in the next apartment building. I could only suspect that she had left all this stuff behind and that he had now thrown it out. But this person knew I was here in the next apartment building. We had always been on speaking terms. After my daughter had left his apartment, I had even given him a much-loved dining room table of mine that I had switched for a smaller model. Why didn’t he phoned me to tell me about these items before throwing them out the way he did?

Dragging in some of my finds, I went into the apartment building and knocked on my friend’s door. The wind had been knocked out of my emotional sails and I needed support. I told her about the things I was finding in the garbage. I remember being surprised that she wasn’t able to help me, she was waiting for company, but she did offer me a flashlight and some large garbage bags. Devastated I returned, alone to my quest, flashlight in tow.

Some of the items I found were loose, others were in bags. Wanting to be sure that nothing had been missed, I jumped into the dumpster, lifting the smelly bags one at a time, poking holes in any that hinted at secreting away items other than the regular garbage. Suddenly out of the darkness, my friend’s friends arrived to help, three of them, a man, his wife and his daughter. I really didn’t know them then and I was a bit startled to see them. Not able to discern my daughter’s belongings from the rest of the garbage, they could not do much more than hold the flashlight for me, as I rummaged around in the smelly darkness, or take items, as I handed them out, but I appreciated their presence for its emotional support.

I took out everything from the dumpster that seemed to be connected to my daughter. Amongst the treasures I found were baby photos of my first grandson who had been adopted out, his wrist band from the hospital, and letters from the adoptive parents reporting his progress, as well as photo of my second grandson. I remember finding some of these photos at the very bottom of the dumpster, lifting them out dripping with garbage juice. I was devastated that such sentimentally important items had just been thrown in the garbage. And I was shocked to realize that if I had not found that piece of paper blown up against the steps earlier in the day, and if I had not been mysteriously drawn to look into the dumpster when I had, all these precious memories would have been buried forever in some garbage dump.

After I managed to drag everything I found into my apartment, I was emotionally spent, but I had to tend to as much as I could right away. First, I quickly washed the smelly garbage juice off of whatever I could, running tap water over the effected photos, and laying them out to dry. I sorted through everything, making sure that all the sentimental treasures remained in my apartment. The rest, I bagged or boxed, and I went down to my friend, who was the superintendent to get the keys to put this into the storage room.

I was emotionally exhausted, feeling empty - totally empty - and I remember just staring ahead as I told my friend all the items that I had found and my shock at finding them in the garbage. Then my friend helped me get the bags and boxes into the elevator and as we descended into the basement I pressed against the back of the elevator, and slowly sank to the floor, telling her that I wouldn’t wish this terrible experience on anyone.

The next day, I phoned my daughter’s ex-roommate asking for an explanation. In answer, he told me that my daughter had left all these items behind when she moved out, that, at one point, he had been able to contact, and she had told him she would come and get everything - but then, she never showed up. After that, he left several messages on her phone - but she never responded.

As it turned out, he was moving out that very week-end and he felt he now had no alternative, but to throw everything out. At this response, I did chastise him for not phoning me first, but what was done was done and it was now water under the bridge.

I was shocked that my daughter would have left such precious things behind. Was this evidence of her serious mental state? Did she remember the importance of the items she had left behind or was her mental state so bad that she didn’t remember or didn’t care? I don’t know, I don’t think I’ll ever know.

Some weeks later, I went with a friend to the local Salvation Army that was located close to my apartment. This was something we seldom did, in fact I have never been back since, and that would be 3 ½ years now. But we decided to go for a lark, for something to do. Imagine my shock when I went into the store and saw a number of my grandson’s baby clothes and even some of her clothes as well.

Amongst the items I found dispersed throughout the racks of the store were a turquoise hand-knit sweater that I had sewn new heart shaped buttons onto and a brand-name long sleeve forest-green t-shirt belonging to my daughter. It was difficult not to feel compelled to go through the store and retrieve and buy all these items. It felt as if parts of my family had been put up for sale in this very public place. But of course it would have made no sense buying these baby clothes because my grandson would have long since outgrown them. How had these items gotten here? Did my daughter’s roommate bring them here when he was clearing out his apartment? I suppose I will never know this either.

But I am grateful for that wind that blew that paper across my path that day. Without it I would never have found or been able to retrieve those precious memories from that dumpster that night. It was an emotionally hard and difficult night, but the salvation of those treasures were worth every ach of my heart.

We enjoy warmth because we have been cold. We appreciate light because we have been in darkness. By the same token, we can experience joy because we have known sadness. - David Weatherford

A 12. Fashback #3 - Innocence Shattered

Do not miss the NEW SISTER LINK !- Scroll down to the left

I AM, The Word, and The Comforter

Fashback #3
Innocence Shattered
Chapter 12

Me for Me.
I crash into everything that once was
Earth-shattering memories overwhelm
my already wrought soul.
Immersed amongst my painful past,
I crumble beneath all that I have denied.
I have avoided the reality of what I have been through,
for so long,
That I’m not sure that I will be able to function and cope-
all at once.
The demons from my past creep upon me
when I least expect it,
When I’m feeling most vulnerable,
I get swallowed into chest heaving tears.
I’m invisibly shaken, hiding all of the hollowness
That my soul possesses
Within my “everything is okay” smile.
I have locked away so much.
Its buried somewhere beneath my heart.
Everything seems safer there.

My life is a twisted sort of lost.

Facing my childhood,
Attempting to regain some
Sort of control..
Has stripped me of who I am,
And forced me to look at
Myself in the mirror

And learn to love me for me.

- Cassandra - a person who was abused as a young girl http://overcomingandconquering.blogspot.com/2006_11_01_archive.html

My daughter, my one and only child who developed beneath my heart. I conceived you with your father with the intension of raising you at home, but when your father left us on our own, I was proud and I felt I needed to be independent - I needed to go to work as soon a possible. But I had the good fortune to have contact with a social worker who understood the value of a mother raising her own children. When she heard my initial steely determination to go to work as soon as possible, she arranged for me to meet another single mother who had made this decision - her son was then 4 years old.

What I saw frightened me: I saw a mother who had not bonded with her son, whose days were busy with comings and goings, who had very little time to spend with her child. I saw neither a happy child nor a happy mother. With this shock therapy, I immediately realized that I did not want this for you, and, in my heart I knew I did not want this for me.

As a child, I remember seeing pictures in the LIFE magazines of tiny little tots, barely able to walk, lined up like little soldiers in daycares and nurseries in China and Russia. I remember being shocked by these pictures. In those days, day-cares were a foreign concept only implemented in communist countries, where the state controlled their people from cradle to grave.

This was NOT a North American aspiration ! Family was seen as the basis of our society, and the raising of children within the family unit was a sacred concept. This is the Canada I grew up in - I know things are different now and the young mothers of today do not even remember when there was no day-care and most women stayed home to raise their children.

When I had my daughter, times were a-changing. Daycares were now thriving in Canada and the society of women were split, between us and them: the women who went out to work and the few who still chose to remain at home to raise their children. There was a rally cry from the vocal woman libbers of the day pressing all women, everywhere, to get a job. If you didn’t, there was something wrong with you - you were somehow the enemy of the rest of the women who were fighting to open this “brave new world”. It did not matter how young your children or how many, you were to leave your babes-in-arms just as soon as you could and go out and work. And the rest of us were despised and looked down upon - And this hurt. It hurt that we, as women, were devalued by other women because we made a choice to personally raise our families.

For the first time, neighborhoods that once throbbed with the life of laughing, calling, chattering children, hard at the work of play, were silent and empty. When I grew up, we ran the yards, the fields, the streets with our play. The roads, then, were safe havens for hopscotch, skipping, “war”, dodge ball, bike riding, roller skating etc, because during the day the men had taken all the cars to work and in the evenings they were all parked in the driveways. We were not the consumer society we are today - always shopping.

And I remember the playgrounds, then - bursting to capacity. Go to a public playground today - Most are deserted .

We have stopped having children and the few we have are locked away for most of the day within the four walls of some daycare or hidden behind the gates and fences of these institutions we pay to raise our youngest children. And the older children have forgotten how to play. They have forgotten how to play spontaneously and the traditional games and skipping songs that were once handed down from child to child have vanished. Even the traditional rhymes and stories that were handed down from generation to generation have all but disappeared. Now our children learn the games and songs and stories the adults in the daycares and schools teach them. And all of these stem from a commercial source that makes its money selling new songs, new games, new story books etc .

But I chose to be an outcast to raise you. A social outcaste, because I was a single mother, and an outcaste amongst women because I chose to be a stay-at-home mother for you. I did not want a stranger raising you, imparting their values to you. I wanted to raise you with mine.

--------------------------------------------

And then you were three, cute as a button and only three. Up until then, I had only left you with the family of the man I was going out with, a family I had come to know well over the years. Two of the younger sisters, high school students, looked after you when we went out in the evenings. And occasionally his mother looked after you during the daytime. Otherwise, you were always with me.

It was around this time that I began going to a mid-week prayer meeting, an informal gather of believers who gathered to talk and share scripture and songs, at a church in Halifax. Another woman who lived in my apartment building went with me while her 14 year old son looked after my daughter. Her son was neat and well kempt, quiet and polite and every week my boyfriend drove us to the church and later picked us up.

Meanwhile my boyfriend, a licensed mechanic, began befriending this young man, left fatherless when his parents divorced when he was youngster. A love for tinkering with cars drew these two together.

I cannot recall now how long I went to these prayer meetings when one night, when my daughter was asleep in the bedroom, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door I was surprised to see my neighbor with a police officer. As they walked in, it was apparent my neighbor was upset - she was trembling and obviously distraught. The officer informed me that another officer was presently with her son. Earlier they had taken a statement from him and now, because my neighbor was illiterate and could not read this for herself, they wanted someone, not a police officer, to read the statement for her. Puzzled and perplexed, I agreed to do so.

As I began to read, and the narrative unfolded, my friend, cried and I attempted to comfort her as I labored to the end of the statement, juggling between reading, comforting and contenting with my own shock. Her son was confessing to sexually abusing a little girl he had been babysitting just down the hall from me. This woman’s grief was maxed and my compassion was focused on this poor woman who was grieved to the bottom of her soul.

After I finished, the police officer began to tell us what they were doing concerning charges against this young 14 year old youth. We were told he would be sent into treatment, and with the permission of the mother of the child who was abused, the charges would be held over him, but not laid, as long as he continued in treatment. However, if he stopped treatment before the specialists had finished, the charges would be laid against him.

At a certain point, the police officer went, leaving us both his card, and now I was left alone to comfort this broken woman. I cannot remember how long the evening was, but I do recall that all my energy had been directed towards this woman, attempting to comfort and console her.
When finally she stood to leave, I walked her to the door. It was that very moment, as the door was closing behind her, when I was finally able to break from the emotional turmoil of what had just transpired, that my mind, finally released from the choas of the evening that had enveloped me, instantaneously and abruptly made the connection - O my God, this person had babysat my daughter as well.

One might think this would have been the first thing, I should have thought of when I read this young man’s statement. I can only understand that I was in shock, reading the statement for the police office while at the same time trying to contend with and comfort the grief-stricken mother.

Immediately, I woke my daughter. And then being careful not to lead her thoughts, she told me, in some detail, how he had attempted to penetrate her, how it had hurt and how she had pleaded with him to stop.

Now I was the grief-stricken mother. And I remember hugging my precious daughter, kissing her and telling her I loved her, as I always did, several times every day. I lay in bed with her nestled in my arms until she went to sleep. Then I slipped out, and phoned the officer who had left his card.

I don’t remember how long we spoke, but I was told they would arrange for a doctor at the hospital to examine my daughter and speak with her the next day. They would send a police car to drive us to this appointment.

I can only tell you, I was devastated, but, at the same time, I was also aware of a peace and a comfort that I knew come from this new-found God of mine. When I went to the hospital with my daughter, a nurse commented on my composure during this trying time, and I remember telling her from whence this calm came from.

I did not hate this young man. And I also agreed to allow the charges to be held over him to force treatment. I felt this was best for everyone: the boy and any future children he might be in contact with.

I continued to comfort the mother as her son went through months of treatment. Oftentimes, I recall, she would come to my apartment in tears after a particularly strenuous session. But I was her friend and I did what I could to comforted her.

In the end, I broke up with my boyfriend over this. My primary focus was my daughter. I had no objection to my boyfriend continuing to mentor this young man, but I asked him to tell this boy not to run up to him in the parking lot when he came or left if my daughter was with him. But my boyfriend just didn’t get it. He refused to set the boundaries for this young man. I remember we had a HUGE argument over this and, as a result, I abruptly ended the relationship. My daughter and her well being came first!

I remember his family, particularly his mother, were disappointed - they had expected us to marry. But there had been other things - he was a loving, giving man BUT he just was never able to get his priorities straight.

To this day, I remember the exact words of the doctor who saw my daughter “ If she was any older, I would put her in therapy, but because she is so young she will forget this.”

They didn’t know any better then. At that time, the public was not being educated on child abuse. The research on the long terms affects of abuse were not known, and they obviously were ignorant on how this could effect even a very young child. And, most importantly, they didn’t know my daughter. Even at 3, she had a phenomenal memory. I knew she would not forget.

It was approximately 1 year later that the first public education advertisements concerning child abuse began on TV. It was the NO-GO-TELL campaign educating children to say “NO” then to run away and tell someone.

My heart breaks, and I still feel the sting of tears welling up in my eyes when I remember the image of my 4 year old daughter standing right in front of the television screen watching this advertisement. With the back of her head to me, her eyes mesmerized on the screen, she said “ They didn’t have this when it happened to me.”

My precious innocent baby, what I wouldn’t do to be able to go back in time and take this experience away from you - to rescue you, to keep you safe ! But I cannot do this and my pain is more than I can bare.

The doctor did tell me that my daughter might suddenly bubble up details from her experience - And she did - many, many years later - You see, she never forgot.

never ending battle.
anger envelopes my wretched soul

my body shuddering in incessant fear

Im losing all control.

I cringe at the thought of

hearing my voice-for its been taken. stolen. lost for too long.

Ive been stripped of my vocal cords,

torn of my baby-like innocence..left with nothing but a hollow shell

of who I was supposed to be.

I struggle through the minutes,

the hours and the days,

I fight this never ending battle,

in the hopes that one day

I will feel whole again.

Tattered and broken, I stand alone

Unsure of which way Im to go,

I feel trapped within my past,

within the memories, within my old house,

with my _____ on top of me.

I can’t catch my breath, I’m choking

on my five year old screaming voice,

the one that no one heard.

the one that was smashed as a little girl.

the voice,

that Im fighting to find again.

- Cassandra - a person who was abused as a young girl http://overcomingandconquering.blogspot.com/2006_11_01_archive.html