The Reminders

 

I was rushing from work, clomping black oxfords down the sidewalk towards the subway.  The day was not unlike the rest of my week where all hell had broken loose, where casual Friday was anything but casual.  I scurried down the escalator into the passage under the street, through the turnstiles and another escalator to the platform.  It was only a few minutes after five, I might still get a seat on the train.  I whipped out my trusty companion—the company BlackBerry—to kill the 5 ½ minute ride to the train station.  I thumbed through my calendar and at the top of May 25 was a reminder—Monthly Home Visit from Social Worker.  For a few hours I had forgotten about him.

The Way Forward

In the midst of grief there is always a job to do.  In divorce there are legal issues and settlement and visitation.  In death, the affairs of a person’s life must be put in order; personal effects must be handled.  In reunification there are also those things—the needful.  We’ve done a lot of the hard stuff:  preparing him as much as is possible with a four-year old; figuring out what things to send with him; and finally transporting the little guy and his possessions to his new life.  Now comes the rest. 

Baby steps

I was too hard on him.  I didn’t have the patience to be gentler in my tone or my words when he was just being a four-year old.  And now I am remembering that—knowing he is gone and there is absolutely nothing I can do about it.  I wish there was a way to take it all back and replace it with calm and loving-speak.  I am the adult, not the one going through yet another phase of development nor am I going through what must be a confusing and uneasy transition time.  I should have known better, should have been a better father, should have been better to him.

Wordless Wednesday – The Saving Graces

Memories of brothers who shared a passion for flashing lights and blaring sirens

Angry me

I was up Sunday night in the wee hours.  I seem to be having trouble sleeping.  It isn’t that I’m not tired; it’s that I can’t turn it off.  Head falls down on the lovely down pillow, on the fabulous 800-thread cotton sheets, on the perfect and new Stearns and Foster mattress, and then the deadly deeds begin to role.  It’s the way he said it, the moronic decision, could have kicked the shit out of them, should be held accountable, best interests of the child, you are failing, failing, failing, dammit pick up after yourself, hate the push and shove on the train, bad behavior begets bad behavior, wild and wicked thoughts about getting back, get back, get the fuck back from me.  I’m dangerous right now.  Don’t be a victim.

an offer you can’t refuse

Juan and I have spent the past 3 years, 3 months and 23 days taking care of  a little boy that is not ours.

We’ve fed him.

We’ve clothed him.

We’ve provided him with shelter.

We’ve loved him with a ferocity that would frighten the fur off the most terrifying jungle beast.

Certain Heroism

I expect that in about three months our son will be gone—reunited with his biological family.  I ‘m not sure what this means for our family.  For now, we turn again to our beloved little four year-old and begin the process of thinking about how to help him make this transition.  It’s time for his foster parents to put away sorrow for the moment and have adult conversations about the next few months. 

Peeling paint

Between two Federal buildings there’s a tunnel built in the 1930s.  It enables employees to travel from one building to the other without having to cross a multi-lane thoroughfare.  One day while dashing to a meeting, I noticed one of my fellow employees standing midway through the tunnel, a small pile of debris at his feet.  With his fingers he was slowly peeling paint from the walls where it had bubbled and split open as water leaked down from the surface streets.  I was struck at how odd, slightly chilling and a little freakish this image of the government worker literally peeling paint off of the walls was.  I left a short time later after realizing that that agency embraced the paint peelers and all flavor of the unnatural and the bizarre.

that was then, this is now

If I take no surprise – my update after the June 2, 2010 hearing – and make some minor changes, you’ll be up to date on this 3 year and 3 month saga.  Yesterday’s outcome was hardly any different.  Unsupervised visits are set to begin again. The plan is for some 4 hour visits once a week for three weeks and then some overnight visits on the weekend. 

One-one-one-one-one

Another court date is upon us.  This is the hearing meant to replace the one back in December where several parties were no-shows; which was meant to replace the one back in October where the court didn’t properly schedule the hearing; that replaces the one in September where none of the parties could agree—this hearing, to replace all of the others, is happening today, January 11.  If anyone is late or absent, no excuse will suffice.  Not that anyone should ever have an excuse for not showing at a hearing given the gravity of the situation, but this time no one can forget the date: one-one-one-one-one.