Chapter 13
Life is Stranger than Fiction
Monday morning’s staff meeting covered a lot of cases that week. We were totally full, and we had some extremely difficult children in our Treatment Homes at this time. Several were reaching pubescence and creating the problems only early adolescence brings. We all laughed as Debra asked the question of the morning: “Well, what are we going to do about the necking and touchy-feely stuff going on in the back of the Hilliard House van? I don’t want any pregnancies in this agency -- at least not among our clients!” she exclaimed.” While we laughed, this was a genuine concern. It was our job to help the young house parents help the kids to understand their sexuality and growing feelings of attachment, and to help them separate puppy love from genuine attachment. Not an easy task at any age!
Then there was the six year old girl at Bethany House who nightly loved to take a younger boy’s pajamas and stuff them down the toilet, causing it to overflow, of course. .Our house parents had to be plumbers as well as caregivers.
And the houseparent at Hillview House who wanted to resign because she was feeling burned out. She had been with us for five years – a long time for young house parents to stay with us. She had shared with our support social worker last week that she just didn’t feel she could continue, but her husband wasn’t feeling the same way. The issue was causing major problems in their marriage, and the children had been party to some rather loud arguments between them recently. Such issues made our children feel unsafe -- just what they didn’t need.
Staff meetings always involved a good deal of back and forth among staff as we tried to help each other solve the many problems that were constantly in our midst. At times, I felt more exhausted after a staff meeting than after a day of supporting our house parents or fost/adopt parents or kids, or writing the always interminable reports due “yesterday.” Today was one of those days.
As I left, grabbed a coke from the machine and went into my office, Jan called out to me from the front secretary’s desk. “Phone call, Miss Helen… some woman over in Mill Valley wants the kid from the article in this morning’s paper. I left the number on your desk.”
“Thanks," I replied, as I saw the yellow slip with the message and phone number on my desk. I had many calls to make that day, and lots to do, but this took priority. I dialed the number, wondering what I’d hear on the other end of the phone.
“Hello, Braidon’s residence,” said the voice on the other end. “Good morning,” I replied. “I am returning a call someone there made to Children’s Garden this morning.”
“Yes, yes, that was I. I am Sue Braidon.” said the voice, now pleasant and seemingly excited. “I was calling about the article in the Chronicle, in ‘Children Who Wait.’ I don’t know why but my husband and I think that little girl is meant for us.” She exclaimed.
As I listened, she went on at some length. “You see, we have a daughter who is 8, and she really needs a sister. I never wanted to stop at one child, but I cannot have any more babies, so this seems a perfect match, I mean, in terms of age and all. We know Kim would be delighted to have a new sister – she does keep asking when she can have a sister or brother. We think a sister a year younger would be just perfect. I wonder what’s involved to make this happen. When can we meet this child? We have enough money and love for another for sure.”
While it was nice to know they had “enough money and love,” but much more than those two things would be needed to nurture and grow up Nutmeg, I thought to myself.
“Well, Sue, there’s a lot involved. First we’ll want to meet you and your husband, and we’ll need to do a thorough home study, which includes seeing you in your home several times, getting to know you and your daughter and extended family if they are here locally.”
“Oh yes, she’d have grandparents right here in Mill Valley. My parents live about five blocks from us in the hills. So when can we start?”
“I’ll need to gather some basic information and then make an appointment to meet you and your husband, preferably without your daughter this first time. What’s a good date and time for you, - and what’s your address and phone number?” I asked.
We settled on an in-home appointment for the coming Thursday morning at 10.
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On Monday evening, I went as usual to meet with the Evaluation Program house parents and their children for the family meeting. As promised, I took Nutmeg aside for her time alone with me after the meeting.
“OK Nutmeg, what is it you need to tell me?” I queried.
“Well,” uh …” she hesitated and looked up at me with those dark deep eyes once again. “Uh -- Doc said I should tell you myself -- uh --” she stopped, looked at her hands, then covered her face with them and began to cry.” I put my arm around her. “Nutmeg, what is it? Come now, you’re OK,” I said quietly as I held her. She was trembling in my arms.
“Yeah, You-- I know I am Ok now,” she said in a small voice. “But I wasn’t always.”
“Yes Nutmeg, we know. But you are safe now, dear. What’s so troubling? Come now, tell me. No matter what it is, it can’t be as bad as you are feeling. Let’s get it out.” I cajoled.
“ OK-- I ‘membered -- it was Michael who did it.” Nutmeg nearly screamed at me. “He was at the same place I was, I ‘member. I ‘membered at Doc’s office -- it scared me -- and it scared him too!” She began to speak more softly now, and she held me tightly as I was holding her.
As she looked up at me, tears were rolling down her little face slowly. I reached for the tissue box that was near the bed and handed it to her.
“Yes -- go on -- what happened?” I asked gently.
“Michael .-- he .--. He -- well, he stuck a stick up my v-jay-jay, he did it, he did it! He wanted to play doctor, he said, and he hurt me really bad, Miss Helen. That’s why I didn’t -- don’t -- like him no matter how good he gets!”
We had not been aware that the two children knew each other prior to being enrolled at Children’s Garden. .Was this possible? Or was it a fantasy? I made a mental note to call both Social Workers the next day.
“I see, Nutmeg. I see. But Michael is older now, and he’s been good here, and he hasn’t hurt you here, has he? How long ago was this, Nutmeg?”
“It was at the Baxter’s place. We didn’t like them -- none of us did -- they were mean. They hit us a lot and they made us mad a lot. They made us go to bed with no supper sometimes.” The tears began once again to roll. She sniffed: we got hungry, Miss Helen. We got hungry.” She looked up again at me, tears rolling down her face. “And we didn’ do nuthin’ bad neither.”
I hugged that little body very close. “I am sorry, so very sorry,” I crooned to Nutmeg.
She held very tight: “I know,” she said. “I know you are. Doc said I should tell you. He said I’d be a big strong girl growin’ up fine if I could say it just like that. And he said I might have to say it in Court? Does I have to?” She looked up at me so pathetically ... so sad, and obviously trying to be so strong.
“Oh, I don’t know, Nutmeg. I really don’t know right now. But if you have to, I’ll be there with you and you’ll be strong, just like you were just now," I said. I wiped her tears with another tissue and asked: “Can I scrub your back in the bathtub tonight and read you a special story?”
“Oh Miss Helen, would you do that for me?” Tears gone, Nutmeg composed herself and looked excited to have my attention all to herself tonight.
“I surely would…. Now let’s get your pj’s and a very good book. You pick out a special one for tonight,” I said.
The Journeys of Bumbly Bear Page 13