Out of nowhere, they come to me. So fast, so hard, it feels as if I am reliving those moments all over again. They bring tears to my eyes and literally I can feel a pain in my chest, as if my heart is literally breaking. I am speaking of memories. Specific memories of the hardest time in my life. The day my children were taken from me. Literally, taken from my home. Woken from their naps, clothing packed up, and I was not to be told where they were going, or who was going to be taking care of them. My two angels. My two boys. Ages 24 months and 8 months. I did not abuse them. They were not being mistreated. I lied to a judge out of fear. He did not order the removal as a must, the order said may. As in, if seen as a need by the division, the children MAY be removed from the home, not MUST be removed from the home.
Of course the division chose MUST. They always choose MUST. When it comes to the welfare of children there MUST always be someone to blame. In my case, I was the easiest target. An abused woman. A sad and confused woman suffering from severe PTSD. A woman who went from being abused by her sons father, bullied by the worst kind of man, to being abused by a DYFS social worker, bullied by the very people that were supposed to help.
These memories come to me at the oddest of times. Today, it was while I while I was waiting at Door #3 for my son to come out of school. I was standing alone, and my mind wandered. I do not know why, nothing in particular that I noticed triggered it ( I have been better at noticing the signs) but the mind took a trip, The first day I was able to see my babies after they were stolen from me by the State of NJ. They were dirty, and angry, and confused, My 2 year old was afraid. I held on to him for dear life, not sure if it was for his, or for mine. I took pictures of both the babies that day. I needed to question why he looked that way. Why was he unkempt? Who’s clothes was he wearing? Why did he smell that way? Four years later, I still do not have any answers to those questions
Perhaps the mind is wandering because I need to go to the social services office to change my address. The kidnapper of my children, or DYFS social worker as she was officially known as, is now a caseworker there. I see her every time I am in that office. She always makes a point of coming over to talk to me. I never make eye contact. I try to melt into my seat. I want to yell and scream and hit her. I want to ask her how she has the audacity to even talk to me after all she did to my family. She allowed me to be substantiated with abuse and neglect, while the actual abuser and convicted felon was let off the charges because her counsel (the DYFS attorney) was too lazy to do his job and re-try the case. There was no need. I was already blamed so they could move on. This individual tells me she understands. She knows what I went through. You see, she was an abused woman as well. HOW DARE YOU COMPARE YOURSELF TO ME? YOU STOLE MY CHILDREN FROM ME TO PROVE A POINT. YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I WENT THROUGH. If she knew she would not allowed the situation to go as far as it did. You would have known and understood that in reality protecting the mother IS protecting the child.
Maybe the memories are coming back because I finally have my time to speak to the Parole board, I get to tell them why I feel like my abuser should NOT have the chance to get out of prison. Perhaps the memory is trying to help me. Remind me of the pain he has put me through. The pain he has put my children through, I need to express that pain to those people on the parole board. I need to show them that this person needs to be in jail. He will abuse again. He will try to kill again. He will sell drugs again. Whatever the reasons, those memories are back. The memories will not let me go, And they hurt. Pain that I can not explain. Oh memories, you are truly the worst enemies that I have.