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.

I think my hope has mostly worn off.  Time after time we’ve entered that building over the years, tossing around the hopeful and watching it explode on the granite floors of the courthouse.  Once inside I have trouble sitting still.  As I lean forward on the long wooden benches awaiting the call to enter the courtroom, I sit, literally wringing my hands, trying to shepherd my mind into a quieter place.  The environment doesn’t help at all—the angst—the trouble that vexes the families in distress around me.  Then there’s the clack of heels in the procession of social workers and lawyers walking up and down the halls, darting into courtrooms and their private suite.  The appointed time comes and goes quickly and we wait, sometimes for several hours.  It is utterly unnerving each and every time.

And later today, once again, we will be there, the few bits of sanity sitting amongst a sea of insanity.  For now, I am just tired.  I’m tired of thinking about it and even more tired of writing about it.  It just needs to end.

Wish us luck, say a prayer, remember our little four year old today.