by Debra Moerke
Hannah pushed up against her seat belt again to see the river. As her eyes teared up, her voice began to crack. “But Debwa, what if the water came in and you drowneded?”
I looked directly into Hannah’s searching eyes and with conviction whispered, “Jesus . . . would have . . . taken care of me. I love Jesus and I trust him to take care of me, even if I drowned.”
Hannah and I locked eyes for the longest time, and it seemed the soul behind those large brown eyes was far older than a mere five years. Kyra watched our silent conversation. It was a teachable moment. Will the girls understand? It seemed as if Hannah wanted to understand. Studying my face, she squinted and bit her bottom lip as if by looking hard enough and deep enough, she would be able to mirror my thoughts. She sat very still and was especially quiet the rest of the way.
What is going through that little five-year-old mind? I pray it is you, Jesus. Lead her to call out to you in times of danger and come to trust you.
I had no way of knowing then how significant that little conversation would be. Where once I’d left pieces of my vehicle strewn about, now I’d left seeds of faith sown.
Chapter 6The Parting
ON A WET AND SLUSHY MORNING in early April, I took Ally and Andrew to Starla’s, then dropped Hannah at Head Start and the others at each of their schools before heading into town for a meeting at DFS. With wipers frantically swiping across my windshield, I fought the sprays of sludge thrown against my car from other vehicles. The road conditions were not good and traffic moved slowly.
I don’t want to be late for this meeting.
DFS had invited me to participate in planning the steps toward moving Karen’s children home, and I appreciated being asked to be a part of the plan. I pulled into the parking lot of the office with a few minutes to spare.
For the next hour and a half, Karen, Ellen, and I developed a six-month, week-by-week schedule. It included home checks, visitations, overnight stays, parenting classes, counseling, and random drug testing for Karen. When we finished, I was encouraged. The plan was solid and Karen’s attitude was positive. Ellen would present the plan to the juvenile court judge for approval. In my years as a foster parent, I had never known a judge to reject what a caseworker recommended. If Karen wasn’t fit to parent, I expected evidence to turn up during this intensively supervised period. If she was fit, these six months could help the children ease back into being parented by her.
A few days later I invited Karen to meet me at the crisis pregnancy center. I hoped I was continuing to build a relationship of trust so I could support her if and when she regained custody of her children. Also, I couldn’t help but notice that Karen had put on some weight recently. Was it possible she was pregnant again? I certainly wasn’t going to ask her, but maybe she’d bring it up. If so, I wanted her to know how The Caring Center could help.
We talked for more than an hour, and I was thankful for her openness with me.
“I really want to raise my youngest children. DeAnn is doing well living with my parents, so I think that’s the best place for her. But the other five should be with me.”
“It won’t be easy for you as a single mom,” I said quietly.
I had lingering unsaid doubts. When she got frustrated, stressed, and tired, how would she handle it all? Would she allow others to help her? When she felt trapped or lonely, would she call William? Would she go back to the lifestyle she was living with this man who’d been cruel to her children and have more children with him? She didn’t appear interested in returning to her former life. I hoped for a positive change and had been praying she would let God get hold of her heart and show her another way.
Karen would still have to jump through DFS’s hoops for at least six more months in order to get her children back. That included getting a job (the seasonal job Al had given her had ended in December), finding a larger place to live, and getting counseling. The plan called for her to continue to stay away from the people in her life who used drugs, including William. Such people could hurt her chances of being credible and serious about wanting to parent.
Now that the caseworker wasn’t present, Karen appeared to be a little impatient and indignant with all the rules and regulations she would have to follow, yet she said she was ready to do it all. I talked about how it could be a blessing. She didn’t seem too interested in seeing it as a blessing but knew it was their way or no way.
I asked Karen how she felt her relationship with Hannah and Andrew was progressing. She admitted that she and Hannah often butted heads and that she saw Hannah as being responsible for many of her own problems. She resented the fact that Hannah didn’t want to come visit her. She mentioned the one time in January when Hannah had put up such a fuss about going to an unsupervised visit that the caseworker allowed her to stay home with me. Karen had agreed to that arrangement though she wasn’t happy about it, and obviously, it still bothered her.
I explained to Karen that Hannah needed to feel she was okay to go to her mother’s without having problems or getting into trouble.
Karen told me she felt Hannah was acting like she was special and manipulating all of us so she could have more attention.
I was disappointed to hear her thoughts. I’d come to know Hannah intimately and knew that her anxiety over being with her mother was real, not an act of manipulation. In fact, Hannah’s anxiety had been worsening lately rather than getting better.
I asked Karen if she thought it would help for the other kids to go home and for me to keep Hannah with us for a while longer.
“I’ll think about it,” Karen said.
“Karen, do you want to raise Hannah?” I asked.
“I would let my parents raise her or her father take her, but my parents can’t handle another grandchild, and her father has said he couldn’t work and take care of her.”
To me, these comments meant that Karen would be willing to give her up if she had someplace for her to go.
The longer we talked, the more Karen demonstrated such resentment toward Hannah that I felt it would be unhealthy and unsafe for them to be together. Fear for Hannah stirred my heart. I couldn’t rest with the thought of her returning to such a toxic environment.
“If you don’t want Hannah to come home, would you consider letting us take guardianship or even adopting her?” I would never have made such a suggestion if I didn’t feel Karen was thinking about what she would do with Hannah. I was afraid that Karen might not care where Hannah went or who took her. But then again . . . who was I? Did I even have the right to ask Karen this question?
Lately, during Hannah’s bedtime prayers, when I would pray for her mommy, Hannah would whisper, “Can’t you be my mommy?”
I would kiss her sweet forehead and whisper back, “I would love to, but you have a mommy, and I am sure she loves you and wants you to come home.” Hannah would look at me wide-eyed and shake her head. It would make my heart sad.
I adore each of my children. Each one is a gift. I could never look at them with such disgust or disregard.
But I was not Karen, and I had not been in her situation. I cautioned myself not to judge her.
I could only pray Karen would consider letting us take Hannah. Maybe in the next six months, she would make that decision.
That evening Al and I discussed the six-month plan again in light of the conversation I’d had with Karen.
“I’d be open to guardianship of Hannah after the other kids go home,” Al told me. “We could see how that goes and how Karen feels about not having Hannah in her home. I wouldn’t move toward adoption until we tested the situation first.”
“I’ll talk more to Karen and see if she would consider it,” I told Al.
But in the meantime, the Bower kids would be in our home until August or September. For now, we had a workable routine with our temporary family of ten. We could do it for another six months.
One evening, a week after my conversation with Karen, I walked into Helen’s room carrying clean laundry. To
my surprise I found Hannah, alone, lying on Helen’s bed playing with two dolls. It was rare to find her alone, so I decided to make the most of the opportunity.
Hannah was changing the dolls’ clothes.
“That’s a cute outfit,” I said, stroking the dress on one of the dolls.
“It’s my favorite,” she said, lighting up as I stretched out on the bed next to her. For the next few minutes we played with the dolls.
My concerns about Hannah had not eased. I had assumed the visits with her mom would grow easier over time, but she had put up a considerable fuss before the past weekend’s visit and had come home quite anxious. Clearly, something was troubling her, and I had my suspicions.
“Did you have a good visit with your mom this weekend?” I asked. Her face fell, and she turned to make sure no one else was within earshot. She shook her head no very slowly.
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” I said. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Again, she shook her head no as a tear slipped down her cheek.
“How about I ask you some questions, and you can nod yes or shake your head no. Would that be okay? It’s only the two of us, and no one else can hear.”
She turned over on her back, nudging closer to me, and cuddled her baby doll to her chest. Then she nodded yes. I knew I had to tread lightly. I wanted her to feel safe.
“Was anybody mean to you?”
She nodded.
“Did you have any visitors?”
Another nod. Dare I ask the question haunting me?
“Was it the mean man? Did William come?”
For a moment she just stared sadly at me. Then she gave a tiny nod. She started to tremble, and I realized I’d probably taken this as far as I should. I reached over and stroked her cheek.
“Were you afraid?” I asked.
She didn’t answer but continued to stare at me with big eyes. She was starting to shut down. I picked up the other doll. “I think she likes this pink dress you put on her. These two dolls look like best friends. My doll is going to hug your doll.”
Just then, Helen came bouncing into her room, and that was the end of our one-on-one visit. While I couldn’t be certain that William had made an appearance at Karen’s, I decided I’d give the caseworker a call in the morning.
“Hi, Ellen,” I said. “I’m calling because I am a little worried and have a feeling that William is going over to Karen’s.” I explained my interaction with Hannah the night before.
“Well, I wouldn’t put it past her, but if she is caught, her reintegration plan will be set way back.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but somehow this response fell short of my hopes. I wanted assurances that they would investigate. I realized that DFS couldn’t watch Karen’s house 24-7 and had to rely on what she reported to them. And I wasn’t a DFS worker. I was a foster parent. All I could do was make my observations and concerns known and advocate for the children. At least, I assured myself, Karen would remain under DFS scrutiny for another six months before the children were returned. I’d pray that the truth would be revealed. But what could I do for Hannah in the meantime? I wasn’t yet sure.
On April 16, my phone rang at The Caring Center.
“Debra, I don’t even know how to tell you this,” Ellen said. “I have news. I went to the judge’s office to present the six-month plan but was told that he was not going to meet with me. He, along with some attorneys, made the decision that the five Bower children should be returned home—immediately.”
I was speechless. Did I hear Ellen correctly? How can this be? What is the judge thinking? Ellen and I both knew Karen wasn’t ready to take all the kids yet, nor were they ready to be thrust back into her home.
Trying to catch my breath I blurted out, “Ellen, you’ve got to be kidding. Why wouldn’t he meet with you? Why weren’t you allowed to present the plan? I don’t understand!” I was holding back tears.
“I don’t understand either. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I had everything ready, file in hand, but I was asked to remain outside his chamber; then someone came to tell me a decision had been made. I was as shocked as you. I don’t get it. I left and went back to my office and contacted my supervisor.”
She stumbled over her words. “That’s all I can tell you. You have to pack up the kids and take them home. Today. I’m getting their paperwork ready now. I have to go.” She sounded frustrated and in a hurry.
“Wait!” I cried into the phone. “What about Hannah? Can we work something out for us to keep her until Karen gets settled with the other children? You know it’s not a good situation for her.”
“All of the children are ordered back. Today! You need to do it, Deb.”
A lump rose in my throat and my mouth went dry, but I had no time to process my shock. It was time to pick up the children. I got my three kids first. As each one climbed into the car, I told them about the judge’s decision. The first response out of each of their mouths was, “What about Hannah? They’re not making her go home now, are they?” When I told them she would have to go as well, the looks on their faces mirrored the fear in my heart.
“Please don’t say anything to the Bower children. I want to tell them all together at home.” My throat tightened as each of Karen’s children got in the van, but I tried to act as natural as possible.
When we pulled into our driveway, I instructed the kids, “When we get inside, hang up your coats and set your backpacks on the seat in the mudroom. Put your boots along the wall, neatly, and then come into the kitchen for snacks. I want to talk to all of you. And no . . . you are not in trouble.” I forced myself to give them a big smile to reassure them. I could see their faces relax, knowing there would be snacks and a talk, but not a lecture.
Within a few minutes, the children were seated in their usual places at the table. “What you gonna to talk to us about, Debwa?” Andrew mumbled with chocolate chip cookie crumbs falling from his lips onto the kitchen table.
“I got a call today from Ellen at DFS. She said that you are all going home today.”
I stopped for a moment to see the children’s reactions. They all stopped chewing and looked up at me. With their little brows furrowed and eyes squinting, I could tell they were as confused as I had been at the news. Kyle was the first to speak up.
“Today?” His eyes brightened as he sat up tall in his chair. Kyra watched her older brother’s reaction and began to smile along with him.
“Yes. Today.” I repeated.
Hannah’s eyes widened. She put her cookie down and swallowed hard. She stared at me a moment and then asked, “Me too?”
Andrew sat, almost as frozen as Hannah, watching his sister’s face change from smiles to terror. Ally, being a ten-month-old in a high chair, was more interested in her pile of Cheerios and sippy cup of milk. She had no understanding of where she was going.
“After you finish your snack, we need to get some boxes and pack up as much as we can to take with you today. I can bring the rest of your things on another day.”
My children watched as each child responded to the news. Then they looked over at me as if I were going to say something to Hannah that would make her feel better. I didn’t know what to say. There wasn’t anything I could say that would make her feel comfortable about going home to her mother. I knew my kids had been looking forward to downsizing the family back to the five of us for a while, but they, too, had serious concerns for Hannah.
When the cookies were gone, the table was wiped clean from crumbs and milk, and I sent my children off with Ally, Kyle, Kyra, and Andrew to begin gathering clothes and toys.
“Hannah, let’s go sit on the couch.”
I sat down close to her and spoke quietly. “I talked to the caseworker about you going home to your mother. She said you had to go with the other kids. I have no choice. I can’t keep you with us. But I promise to check on you, and DFS will check on you to make sure you are okay.”
My whispered conversation with Hannah was
drawing more attention than if I had spoken out loud. Kyle and Kyra peeked curiously out the bedroom door. I sensed they were more concerned with what Hannah was saying to me than what I was saying to her. Their mother would hold them accountable for what any of them said to a caseworker or to me. Fortunately, they couldn’t hear us.
“But I want to stay with you. I want to live here. I don’t want to go.” Hannah’s eyes filled with tears.
“I know. We don’t want you to go. But I have no power to keep you. Maybe your mommy will let you come back to visit. You’ll be okay.” I could see she was not believing my words of reassurance any more than I was.
The packing was finished in a half hour, and Sadie, Helen, and Charles loaded the boxes into the car. After giving each of the Bower children a good-bye hug, they helped get everyone fastened in their seat belts. Hannah sat stiffly in the front seat next to me. I kept looking over at her, but she wouldn’t look at me.
I can’t do this.
Hannah began to weep as we drove the bumpy dirt road from our home. Her heartrending cry gave voice to the grief locked in my own soul. Her siblings—even Ally—sat quietly in the back seat. As we turned onto the highway, Hannah started to plead, “Please don’t make me go!” She whispered as if she didn’t want her siblings to hear her. She was trembling. Her fists, clenched, rested on either side of her little body on the seat.
I had the radio on, so I adjusted the volume to be louder in the back of the van to muffle what I was about to say to Hannah. “I will come see you. I will come see all of you. Often. You will be fine,” I whispered.
Lord, what do I do?
The closer we got to town, the harder Hannah sobbed.
The judge’s decision made me boil. I couldn’t go through with this. I had to do something. I turned down a side street that headed to the DFS office instead of Karen’s home.
I could take the kids in with me and ask to meet with Ellen. We need to come up with a plan B for Hannah.
I pulled over to the side of the road near the DFS office and got out. The children looked concerned. I told them I would be back in a minute. I walked to the shoulder of the road and dialed DFS.