All it takes is that moment, a quick flash of a memory triggered after hearing your child express her anger, in gruesome detail, about how a man she loved so much, her father, would not believe that his friend hurt her “butt” and “pee pee”. How her father chooses everyone over her. How he was upset with her all the time and called her “bad”. How he left her alone in the “ugly house” with the man who destroyed her faith in life. All this leading to a very clear, accurate image of your child grabbing you by the hand over a year ago during your supervised visit at the very dirty offices of Childnet, Inc. in Fort Lauderdale, pulling you by the hand and asking, “Are we going home now, Mommy?” Just a few days after being kidnapped from her home.
Since when did my little girl and I become criminals of the State? Since when do I have to see my daughter in a room made up of old, clothed cubicle walls, dirty and old furniture and broken down toys? Who created this prison for my child and me? My child was safe with me. My child had made me promise before her kidnapping that I would protect her from the “bad” people. I had told her that telling the truth was always the right choice. Not only were we prisoners, but the State made me a traitor to my child, a minor, a born citizen, a future patriot of our great country. She is a little person for which our soldiers give up their lives in our wars. She is someone that you and I have sworn our allegiance to. Betrayal, betrayal, betrayal!
It can come as no surprise then, that when she loses her temper and throws her never-ending tantrums, now less violent than in days past, that she would accuse me of letting her down. Of not “saving” her, of letting “the bad police take me (her) away”. Of course, she is telling the truth. I did the best I could at that moment, but ultimately my child calls it what it is, I failed her.
I publicly apologize to her for not having pushed the armed police officers out of her way. I apologize for opening the door to see what the visit was about and seeing them barge in without a warrant, for letting one of them push my elderly and ill father into the floor, in front of her, as he only tried to put shoes on her because they were carrying her away in only her pajamas, at almost midnight, on July 31, 2009. No time for a bag, her Elmo toy, no time for a goodbye, just like the Gestapo did with our Jewish brothers and sisters. I apologize for not owning weapons then to defend my castle from the demonic child protection workers who cowardly used the police as their gunmen to invade our home.
Where did all these memories go? For a moment, there was nothing else but this continuous heartache scarred into my spirit that just became a way of life. But today, there was this need to scream as loud as possible in response to my heartache. The most terrible, spiritually aching feeling one could imagine. Lack of air, disbelief with my lack of actions, I wish I could scream, but it is too late now. As I once again feel her little, tender hand on mind insisting on going home, I can only remember my coward answer made up of the most cautious words I could think of at the time, “No, I’m so sorry, my love. Our time is up, but I will see you next week. Remember, that mommy loves you with all her heart.”
Once more a traitor I became because I would not see my daughter the following week. They would stop my visitation for seven and half months. Not her voice, not her face, I would see nothing of her during that time. When I heard the words come out of Judge Lisa Porter’s lips, I felt myself gasping for air. The room was turning and I could feel my heart being pulled away from my body. I wanted to scream again, but again, I didn’t. It was as if my child was being evaporated before my eyes. Slowly, her scent in our home disappeared. Every night I sniffed her clothing, her shoes, whatever I could get my hands on that reminded me of her. And slowly each month, I cried with my mother as we both realized she was disappearing. Her stinky shoes were almost nothing again, because everything was nothing without her. But what was my little angel thinking? Did they kill me in her eyes as well? She tells me now that she thought I died. Sometimes she tells me that they told her I was a bad mommy and was getting help. I would have done, and would do, anything I could to have saved you. But I was a coward. I only knew how to follow the law. I only listened to those who told me this was a “process”. How could the bond of a mother and child facing a horrific ordeal be a “process”?
Who am I? I am the anomaly. I am the accident that wasn’t supposed to happen. For years, the State of Florida, and government in general, has been legally kidnapping children for profit. Like the jail business that has made the news lately, it is an organized crime network primarily centered at the State and local government levels. My personal experience with these demons is not usual. There are many elements of it that you have heard about in the news, but it is the uniqueness of my entire case that makes it possible for the public to see the many levels of this broken system. I am not the typical mother or father you hear about in the news. I am referring to that parent or guardian that had a little pot or coke in their pocket when they were stopped with a DUI. Now more than ever, I am the last one to judge. You learn to park your judgment at mainstream media’s denouncement of a parent when you start to ask the right questions. Is an alcoholic or drug user the same as a pedophile or child abuser? Did the person drive under the influence with a child in the car, or would he or she never do such a thing? Regardless of how you pass judgment, my story went nothing like that. It is very simple, in fact. It’s just about reporting a horrendous crime and paying the price for it. It’s about seeing, truly seeing, how the state operates to a point in which you actually believe you may be able to help stop their crimes against children and families. It is because of the gross mistakes their workers made that a regular person like me, with some education and a computer, can openly share them with the public. They’ve already called me every name in their book, but it’s hard to keep on doing this when they are busy destroying other lives every day. So maybe, I can speak on behalf of some of the not-so-model citizens who are going through similar horrific situations. Even for some of those law abiding and model citizens that don’t know where to start.
I’m not so sure what was holding me back since my Independence Day on May 14, 2010. But something was. Hopefully it was all the in-between events since then, but it doesn’t feel like it. While I face my personal challenges in moving forward with this mission, I make a deal with myself to move forward regardless of what I may be contemplating. Contemplation will only figure out the end part of this story. Meantime, there is no need to wait on taking action. Action resides at every beginning. So here it goes. A big “thank you” goes out to Dr. David Burkhead, because I have finally put out the “Welcome” mat out for my negative feelings.
For my daughter, my hero.
From your mother, who doesn’t want to be a traitor anymore.
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