The Journey...Part Six

Who?

One word, one simple syllable and it cut through my soul like a hot knife slicing soft butter. Over and over again I would ask myself 'who would file a complaint against me?' It haunted me.

The nature of the complaint didn't bother me. I didn't care if I was being accused of baby beating or being accused of only forcing my children to bite the heads off live baby bats. The complaint itself was insignificant because I knew it was false.

I knew an investigation would clear my name of all wrongful allegations so it didn't matter to me what the damn allegation was.

It only mattered that someone complained. Falsely. It tore me up. I couldn't cope with the idea that someone thought that I was a bad mother.

It hurt.

I spent the next few days consumed with learning everything I could about foster parent rules and regulations, child welfare laws and any thing that I could use to clear my name and get BamBam back where he belonged: in my arms.

My own child service workers became my advocates. (Which of course made me feel about an inch tall after months of mocking them on the internets. Yes. I suck. I admit it.) It seemed I had a department of people who were willing to go to bat for me, for my family, for BamBam. But in the end their hands were bound by the bureaucracy of the law.

Rules must be followed. Regulations can't be ignored. Blah, blah, blah. I was a hairbreadth away from going bat-shit crazy and taking to stabbing myself repeatedly in the eye with a salty pickle.

Days slowly passed with no new answers and the question of 'who?' ringing in my head like church bells on a loop. I didn't know what to do so I did the one thing I could do.

I shut down. I turned off the phone (Martha-Freaking Stewart and the Great White Hunter were not amused) and I never left the yard. I focused on Fric and Frac and I swam in my pool or went for long walks while singing angry tunes blaring through my ear buds of my iPod.

Any and all of my energy went to making sure Fric and Frac were coping with the sudden loss of the dimpled baby. I didn't know what to say to them at first but it soon became evident that after months of solid BamBam time, he wasn't coming back quickly.

So I told them the ugly truth. As best I could, in words they would understand and then I spent every last drop of my energy making sure they understood this wasn't about them and helping them deal with their feelings about the ridiculous situation we suddenly had found ourselves in.

It slayed me, slays me still, to think of the pain my children have been subjected to in their short lives. They have endured more trauma and experienced more life than the average grown-up around them. To know they were suffering because someone in the world accused ME, their mother, of being a shitty parent was enough to make me sit on the couch and weep almost daily.

As I waited to hear some news or have the authorities show up on my doorstep wanting to investigate my parenting, I insulated my children and myself from the world. We saw no one. Not even relatives. We lived in our own little world, relying on one another for entertainment and amusement.

Days slowly turned into weeks and I stopped looking over my shoulder wondering when the other shoe would drop. I couldn't get any answers from the government and I couldn't see BamBam. But the flip side to that was no one seemed too interested in taking away Fric and Frac.

My frustration with the situation grew unwieldy. I bitched at my husband until he seriously considered investing in a ball-gag for his wife. The kids were getting harder to entertain and wanted to see their friends and relatives and I couldn't bear the thought of facing the outside world.

Somewhere in that outside world was the person who was responsible for taking away BamBam and labeling me with the stigma of being a bad mother. Until I knew who that person was I was too scared to leave my house for anything other than a quick run to the grocery store.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, someone from child services called. It seemed they weren't too keen on starting an investigation because two different jurisdictions were involved. Neither region wanted to pony up the costs to see if there was a sliver of truth in the complaint. It seemed BamBam and myself were slipping through the cracks. Since BamBam was safely ensconced away from me, the powers that be weren't in a hurry to explore the complaint against me.

I was no longer stuck in a bad dream. I had now entered a realm of hell known only to a select few. I was in a freaking nightmare. Not only was I accused of being a baby beater or whatever the allegation was, not only did they find the complaint enough justification to remove my beloved BamBam, but now they weren't all that interested in investigating and proving my innocence so I could get the baby returned to me?

It was too much. I was so frustrated I didn't know how to cope with myself. My head officially popped off my shoulders and tumbled down my driveway like a perfectly rounded boulder. My darling Boo exploded with the fury of a thousand angry fathers onto the heads of any government employee he could reach.

His impassioned (read:scary loud) pleas weren't ignored and suddenly the wheels of justice started to roll. Weeks, no- MONTHS of inactivity suddenly stopped and our phone started to ring.

An investigator was assigned and scheduled to be sent out to interview our family. We jumped with glee because while we may not have discovered who was the source of the complaint, we would finally learn what the allegation was and prove ourselves innocent.

We'd finally be able to get BamBam back after two months of torturous separation. Two months of locking myself away from the world and from everyone who loved us.

I stopped feeling sorry for myself and started gearing up for battle. I stopped hiding from family and one by one family members were addressed. I never avoided them because I feared they were responsible for the allegations, but rather because I worried that secretly deep down they may agree with them.

After all, I had already lost one of their beloved family members. Maybe in their minds they wouldn't be shocked that I was a sliver away from losing yet another. It was a mind-f*ck of the worst kind.

My family and Boo's family did what families do. Supported me 100 percent. And then smacked me upside the head with a baseball bat for ever doubting they wouldn't. Their love and rage and support gave me the strength I feared I was lacking to face this newest demon.

We waited. Impatiently. Meanwhile I phoned daily to make sure BamBam wasn't forgotten, that I was not forgotten. I needed this unsavory chapter of my life closed and it didn't matter to me that an investigation and it's results would show up for the course of my life time every time I needed a child welfare check done to volunteer at the school or for a sporting event.

We were already booted off the prospective adoptive parent list because of the allegation. We had lost our foster respite privileges and our application to become full time foster parents was dead in the water. The only thing that mattered to me was getting BamBam back and clearing my name. I would deal with the scars from this crisis after our battle was fought and the war was won.

While we waited for our official investigation to begin, I started opening up to people I held near and dear to my heart. People I had avoided for the last eight weeks. People I absolutely believed I could trust, who believed in my family and me.

It was a small group of people, several old friends and one or two community members. But they are the people I hold dearest to my heart, people my husband loves as much as I do.

But there was one person who refused to return my calls. One person who avoided making contact with our family. One person whose whispers were heard everywhere I went.

I refused to suspect this person. I made excuses and thought of reasons why I hadn't heard from them. I held on to the love I had for as long as I could. Until evidence, tangible evidence could be produced and the truth couldn't be refuted or obfuscated by emotional manipulations.

Truthfully, it was my own stubbornness that refused to even consider this person as the person responsible for such treachery. Boo knew not to push the matter too hard, regardless of his personal beliefs, knowing my heart was one crack from shattering into shards too small to ever be fully repaired.

It wasn't long before doubt crept in and started warring with my emotions. I refused to believe it could have been this person who I adored so deeply. Who had access to my very darkest secrets. Whom I loved as though we had the same blood traveling through our veins.

Slowly evidenced was compiled. Sources interviewed, facts checked and crosschecked. I milked the system for everything I could, used every piece of information I had to squeeze out as much information as humanly possible without anyone breaking any laws or risking their jobs to help me.

If one door slammed shut, I'd just knock on another. My degree in journalism was finally coming in handy. I was getting somewhere, all the time my family waited for the wheels of justice to slowly turn and clear my name and return BamBam back to us.

Finally, I knocked on a door I thought would remain firmly locked.

Yet to my surprise it unlocked. As I saw the answer that lay behind the door, as it slowly swung open, my heart leapt out of my chest and shattered like a crystal vase being hurled against a marble floor.

With irrefutable proof in my hands, I sunk to the floor and wept.

Oh, Dragonlady. Why? You were my best friend.

To be continued...

The Journey...Part Five

"Investigation?"

I screeched into the telephone and I'm almost certain I may have deafened the anonymous bureaucrat with my hysterical disbelief. But it didn't matter how shrill my voice became, I wasn't able to persuade the voice on the other end of the phone into telling me more information.

With more questions than answers swirling around my head, I did the only thing I could think of doing. I called my husband. With shaking hands I waited for Boo to answer the phone and before he even managed to say hello I had verbally vomited the shocking news out loud.

Boo's reaction was a little different than mine when he heard the news. While I morphed into a rather pleasant screechy bitch, hoping to carefully extract more information out of my source. (Imagine trying to squeeze blood from a stone, peoples.) Boo immediately turned into a roided up punk, raging at the system while peppering his disbelief with colourful expletives.

"What the *insert charming curse word here* was the *curse* allegation??" Boo raged.

"I don't know. We aren't privy to that information until an investigation occurs." I calmly explained. It was easy to be calm when talking to Boo. I'd save all my hyperventilating for when I got off the phone with him.

"Who the *again with the cussing* hell was the dipshit person who laid the allegation?" He huffed.

"I have no idea. Their privacy is guaranteed and protected under Albertan law. We aren't privy to that information," I repeated again.

"Well for *insert string of blistering expletives here*. Which damn child are we accused of *bleep bleep* harming?" he snarled.

Sighing, I rubbed the bridge of my nose with my fingers and repeated like a damn parrot, "I don't know Boo. We aren't privy to that information until an investigation occurs."

It was right about then I swear I heard my husband's head pop off and explode into a billion tiny shards of frustration.

For a few seconds we sat in silence on the phone, collecting our individual thoughts, until he whispered, "How are you holding up?"

It was the love and kindness in his voice that did it. I unraveled like a ball of twine being batted around by a kitten. Big fat tears escaped from my eyes and slid down my cheeks and I started to shake. I tried talking but I actually choked on all the damn snot I had suddenly produced.

(Classy image, isn't it?)

I managed to gasp out that I just couldn't FREAKING believe this was happening to us, after everything we had been through, someone would think us capable of something so fantastically horrible.

Boo sat silently listening as I sobbed out all my anger and confusion and betrayal until I was emotionally spent.

I shuffled to the bathroom with the phone pressed tightly to my ear and then mumbled to Boo to hold on while I drained my sinuses and honked in his ear.

"I'm okay. I'm better," I half promised, half whispered.

"Good. Because I'm NOT," Boo snarled. "What now? What does this mean for our bid for BamBam?"

I sighed loudly, wishing I had more answers than questions, wishing I could erase this and make this better for my husband. He's been through so much already in his efforts to support my maternal desires. If I could have done anything to erase that angry broken tone to his voice, in that moment I would have done it.

"I don't know Boo, I honestly don't know. But I think it's fairly accurate to assume this doesn't bode well. I'll do my best to find out what I can. I'll let you know."

We talked for a bit longer. Boo was justifiably concerned for my well-being. He knows how important my family, my children are to me and an allegation of this nature would wound me deepest. My reassurances must have sounded hollow to his ears because he was reluctant to let me off the phone.

I'm not sure if he was scared I'd harm myself or someone else but I'm fairly certain he thought he'd have to bail me out of the clink in the immediate future. In his mind yakking to me on the telephone was postponing that dismal future as best he could.

My husband was needlessly worried. I didn't have the emotional energy to go postal at that moment. I was still swept away by the absurdity of the afternoon's events. I couldn't believe a few short days before I had a baby in my arms who may very well be my permanent son and now I was in danger of losing all my children.

It was a mind f*ck that is hard to wrap the ole noggin around, let me tell you. Especially when you aren't even aware of what the nature of the allegation is.

I spent the rest of the day trying to chase down answers. I was running in circles like a dog chasing its tail. No one knew anything, no one could tell me anything, I had the wrong department, would I like to be transferred, I'm sorry Ma'am, I can't tell you that, I'm sorry Ma'am there is nothing I can do, etc, etc.

By the end of the day I was ready to bang my head against a wall. I was no further ahead than I had been that morning except now I was even more frustrated, annoyed and worried. In other words, it was a highly productive day.

I didn't tell the kids what was going on even though they knew something was wrong. I decided to keep them in the dark for as long as possible until I had some answers to offer them and a small measure of comfort could be found in knowing what we were up against. What would come next.

What I didn't anticipate was just how long it would take to get any answers.

The next few days were excruciating. I spent most of my time speed dialing every darn government agent I knew, leaving voice mails in a desperate and delusional bid to end the madness. Every time the phone rang I sprang to answer it, hoping for some news, some answer to magically appear.

Every time I heard a vehicle's tires crunch down the gravel road in front of my house I held my breath and ran to the window, wondering if the investigation was going to start.

There is nothing like the fear of losing custody of your children to get the ole heart pumping.

Still, I had no idea what complaint I was facing. Only two things were absolutely certain in this new reality I suddenly found myself swimming in. One was that every minute that spun past on the kitchen clock meant I was one more minute separated from my boy with the dimples, my BamBam and that was wholly unacceptable to me.

Secondly and even more important, was there was absolutely no way on God's green earth I would allow my children to be removed from my custody. I was fully prepared to stand barefoot and wild eyed on my front deck while brandishing a loaded shotgun to protect Fric and Frac from being hauled off and stuck into protective custody.

There is a reason I call myself a redneck, you know.

All the while in the back of my mind I kept wondering, who did this? Who is responsible for this complaint? And what the hell was the complaining?

I worried I wouldn't be able to take the stress of the situation. I stopped eating, sleep was elusive, nightmares a guarantee, I chain-smoked and through it all I obsessed,

Who?

To be continued...

The Journey...Part Four

Boo was charmed by BamBam. It was hard not to be sucked into loving the boy with the dimples. For the remainder of our first weekend together with BamBam we all took turns cuddling and kissing the poor kid until he was plumb worn out from love.

BamBam slept well that night.

I reluctantly bundled him up first thing on Monday morning along with his toys and his meds and whatever else his foster mom, my new angel, had sent along with us and drove him back to his home.

I worried that I wouldn't be able to handle actually giving him back to his caregiver without doing the ugly cry and blubber until I had tissues stuffed up my nose and mascara running down my face but it turned out to be easier than I thought.

When I brought BamBam back and reluctantly handed him back to his care givers I was given yet another gift. The wheels of fate had been spinning their magic and our one weekend was going to turn into many more weekends.

We were to become BamBam's respite family, taking him every weekend until the time came that we were able to permanently bring him into our family and legally call him our own little Redneck.

My excitement and glee over this new turn of events made it easier to kiss BamBam good bye and I practically floated home to phone Boo and then my bestest friend, the Dragonlady.

I couldn't believe after all the trials and endless waiting our adoption application had put us through, our dreams were this close to coming true. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place perfectly as though it was meant to be.

It was surreal really. I finally had a small sliver of understanding for what lottery winners must feel like. I never felt luckier in my life. I kept wanting to pinch myself to prove I wasn't dreaming and I walked around with a smile so broad my cheeks hurt and cranky people wanted to slug me.

It didn't take long to adjust to our new pattern of life. Upon realizing BamBam was going to be a permanent feature in the Redneck Residence I quickly foraged for baby stuffs so our dimpled boy wouldn't have to sleep in a rickety bassinet or my bathtub. I procured a crib and a swing and more plastic useless baby toys than a disabled child would ever need.

Every weekend I'd swing into the city to pick up my cherub, kiss the feet of my angel his foster mom and whisk him back home to my little piece of paradise. He became my new sidekick, my living accessory. We bonded so tightly his foster mom said he would mope all week until I picked him up again.



Our three-day weekends gradually morphed into four days, sometimes even five days. Nobody minded. It was hard to deny BamBam wasn't meant for us. Everyone thrived with him in our lives. Fric and Frac were stabilizing in a way they hadn't since their brother died, no longer having nightmares and Boo was home more weekends than he was away to ensure he bonded with his new little buddy.

All of my unspoken fears about bringing in a child into our home and having it turn into a miserable experience dissipated with each smile, each giggle. For the first time in years, my heart felt FULL. It was no longer the half-shrunken, shriveled balloon it resembled for so long. I felt true joy again and I couldn't get enough.

Baby drool. It's like crack for love-starved mothers, I tell ya.

BamBam went where I went. The grocery store where people would coo over how deep his dimples where. The local greenhouse where I'd just mean to run in and pick up a few annuals and end up working the register for an hour while BamBam sat in his car seat and giggled at over the customers lining up to make smiley faces and baby talk with him.

Girls night out with the Dragonlady, my best friend, meant BamBam was styled into a pimping outfit and off we'd go bowling and out for dessert afterwards. I'd even toss the poor dude into his car seat just so I could go get the mail down the road. It felt unnatural to be without him.

(Also note, BamBam is medically fragile so I was tethered to him for his own safety and health.)



Fric and Frac horned in on the action too. They packed him around, helped give him baths and fought over whose turn it was to sit with him and help give him his medicine or help with his therapy routines. The only time Fric and Frac abandoned him was when their nostrils started to twitch and then suddenly they'd mysteriously have to go outside or clean their bedrooms.

My kids are no dummies. They're smart enough to know when to abandon a poopy ship.

Spring turned into summer and the weeks started to blend together. I became close friends with BamBam's foster mom; my angel friend and the government bureaucrats bent over backwards to do what they could to ensure BamBam became ours.

There were legal complications to overcome but I felt invincible. Everything was going exactly how it was supposed to. I couldn't allow myself to not believe that in the end, through all the drama, BamBam would end up a permanent member of our Redneck clan.

One Thursday morning Boo had just arrived home for the weekend. We were sitting in the living room; he was chattering about his job, I was tuning him out while twittering and the phone rang.

I looked at my watch and noted the time and told Boo to answer it, I had to get ready to go pick up BamBam in an hour. I didn't want to be slowed down from picking up my dimpled baby who all but hurled himself into my arms whenever I arrived at his foster mom's house now.

Boo rolled his eyes while muttering about how twittering is not conducive to brushing one's hair and I ignored him because, really, what does the man know about twitter anyways? Boo answered the phone and after a quick hello, he passed the phone to me.

"It's BamBam's foster mom," he said as I scowled at him for interrupting my highly important tweeting.

"Hey Angel lady! How are you?" I grinned into the phone. "I'm just about ready to come and pick up the little rascal."

That's when she told me not to bother. She had received a phone call imposing a restriction on BamBam's respite and he wouldn't be allowed to come to our house for the weekend.

I was upset but not shattered. One weekend would not sever the bond we had forged with our dimpled boy. But a small part of me tweaked with worry, wondering if the magic carpet ride we had ridden was suddenly coming unraveled.

I listened to a confused Angel lady tell me what was going on. She really had no information herself other than the instructions that BamBam was not to leave her custody for the weekend. She wasn't overly concerned herself; she just chalked it up to legal wrangling and promised me she would get back to me with more information as soon as she could.

Disappointed, I hung up the phone and told Boo we had a free weekend for the first time in months. He of course, waggled his eyebrows at the thought of a weekend alone with his wife. With no baby three feet from our bed.

Laughing, I hurled a pillow at him and told him he was a pervert.

The weekend came and went and soon it was Monday morning. BamBam's foster mom and myself set out on a mission to find out why BamBam was imprisoned so suddenly at his foster mom's house.

A series of phone calls lead to stonewalling and more questions than answers. I grew more and more concerned with every minute that passed.

Finally, my Angel lady called me back. "Listen Tanis, I don't know what the hell is going on but I finally spoke to BamBam's supervisor and she told me that you aren't allowed to see BamBam until further notice. When I pressed her for a reason she told me she couldn't tell me but that you would be informed immediately."

"Hmmm, interesting," I murmured aloud. "Well, as soon as I hear I'll let you know, Angel lady. Until then, just take good care of my boy and tell him I love him."

Angel lady laughed and promised she'd annoy him with kisses and love the same way I did and hung up the phone.

The clock ticked. The day passed. And then another day. Finally, on Wednesday, the phone rang.

I jumped on it, hoping it was good news.

"May I speak with Tanis Miller please?"

"Speaking," I answered, crossing my fingers I was finally going to get to the bottom of this and not miss another weekend with my BamBam.

"Tanis, this is a bureaucrat from the department of 'We keep kids safe from bad peoples' and I'm calling to inform you there has been a complaint made against you."

The wind was literally sucked out of my lungs with each word I heard as I listened to this stranger tell me I would be unable to have BamBam in my home until the complaint was resolved.

"What do you mean complaint?" I demanded, confused and flabbergasted. "What complaint?"

"Ma'am, I can't discuss this with you. Procedure demands an investigation."

What the f*ck? AN INVESTIGATION?

to be continued....