Archived from April 25, 2015
I wrote this on my Facebook just two months after my children were removed from my home.
I remember what life was like amidst the chaos of rearing children. I remember how busy, curious and ingenious my tiny humans were. They consumed every moment of mine every single day. They made me into a better person. I was no longer selfish, or self-centered. Everything I did, I did for them. I rememberthe very moment that each child was born. I remember feeling their tiny warm bodies on my chest. I remember falling endlessly in love as if meeting each child was my very first journey into motherhood. I remember knowing that my life had a purpose even greater than I could have ever imagined. I remember each child’s firsts and how my heart would effortlessly skip a beat with each new milestone. I remember rocking babies to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and nursing them down each and every night. I remember my primal instincts that would not let them cry it out, and I remember feeling so overcome with exhaustion and pushing through for my family. Some of my favorite moments are those that replay in my mind constantly. The baby snuggles, the wet kisses, the screams of excitement when I would pick them up from school, the hugs and kisses each night before bed. These children are the reason that I get out of bed each day. My life belongs to these Zs, it has been that way for the last eight and a half years. I chose the hard road and solidarity by choosing to start our lives over after years of a failed marriage and discovering my own worth. I chose to better our lives, and that is exactly what I did. I remember saying “I do” with a man who I thought could not possibly exist, and I remember how he changed our lives. I remember the look on his face when I said “I’m pregnant” and knew that a baby of his own was all that was left that he had been longing for to make our lives complete. I often find myself clinging onto the hope that one day all of these things will be our reality again. That my babies, our babies will be home where they belong. I remember the day that our children were ripped from our arms as if it were yesterday. I was seeking medical attention for my baby for the second time after having my concerns dismissed initially. I remember the look on the doctors face when he said “someone hurt your baby” and I remember thinking to myself “There is no way!”. I remember begging for someone to test her, and begging for someone to listen just as I remember everyone being so dismissive of my claims. I remember the day that I was told that allegations were made against my husband for abusing the baby he had waited so long for, and that was the day that I knew I had to stand up and fight. No longer was this about a medical condition in the eyes of the state department. This was now what they had hoped would be an open and close case of abuse and neglect. I remember questioning doctors and refuting everything that they were saying. I remember telling them that they weren’t (and still aren’t) doing their jobs. I was the voice that couldn’t be heard because I don’t hold a medical degree. I was an advocate for my baby, my children, my husband and lastly myself. I remember the detective trying to manipulate his words in an effort to trick me and make me turn on my husband for a crime I know he didn’t commit. I remember telling him “our relationship is great” and his response of “oh great? Not just good?” I remember telling myself to cling to the truth, and have faith in the man that I lay down with every night to do the same. I needed to be strong for him just as he needed to be strong for me. I remember saying “How secure do you have to be in your relationship with someone to just KNOW that they would NEVER do what you are being told they’ve done?” I cannot recall a time in my life when I have ever fought so hard for anything that meant so much to me. I remember the very moment the night the children were taken away when I had to tell my mother over the phone what had happened. I remember feeling like there was a house sitting on my chest that was preventing me from breathing systematic deep breaths. My heart was shattered, my head was throbbing and I was physically sick. I remember thinking to myself “How is this happening?” I remember the doctors at the hospital questioning us about the baby’s injuries and thinking “why are they thinking someone hurt her?” Never once did anyone try to rule out a differential diagnosis, they made up their minds the moment they saw her x-rays. I remember knowing then that this was going to be the biggest, hardest fight of my entire life. It has been two months and one day since our five children were medically kidnapped and removed from our care. Two months and one day of no bedtime kisses, no snuggles just because, and no screams of excitement when I pick them up from school. Every bit of contact we have had with them has been limited, under supervision, out of their natural environment. While some believe that medical kidnapping is made up and think that it doesn’t happen, the truth is that it is very real. Doctors possess more power than they should and when they are in the wrong they will do anything to save their own skin even if it means destroying an entire family in the process. This is the beginning of a long road, the beginning of a journey no parent should have to travel, the beginning of a life altering, traumatic experience that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. This is now our life. Our baby has a severe vitamin d deficiency and every one of the states doctors she has come into contact with has claimed “it doesn’t matter” in regards to her bone health. Our family has been handed a great injustice from our judicial system that is paraded around by power hungry government workers and doctors with holier than thou opinions that clearly aren’t in complete control of their lives so they control others and claim it is backed by knowledge. It is time to take a stand, put on my ass kicking boots and show the world what I am made of. I will not be silent, I will not admit to something I did not do and neither will my husband. We will fight, we will find answers and we will seek justice.
Two years later this appeared in my newsfeed on Facebook. To this day, I can still feel the hollow, aching pit in my stomach while reading it. I cried. Not the "I silently shed a few tears and wiped away my sorrows cry" but the "ugliest of ugly cries that steals your breath and your joy in one fair swoop type of cry". I'm still dumbfounded with how the events unfolded after this. I'm still anticipating some sort of reform. We cannot do this alone and we shouldn't have to. The road seems long, but it is one that must be traveled.