Winter will be over soon. That doesn't mean what it used to. Winters are strange now. The world is changing. The daffodils have been blooming for weeks. Spring will bring tornadoes and times when I will take these two little children in my care to huddle downstairs and pray that the approaching winds will leave us safe on more time. I can do my best to keep them safe but their world is not safe. I looked forward to being a grandma, but not like this. The world is changing, and we are in for some rough weather but the fear that plagues me is old: their parents are addicts.
They love their kids. It would be easier, in a way, if they didn't. If they would just disappear into that dangerous life and leave their children with me. But they don't recover and they keep reaching for these two tiny little beings out of their own need. " I need my babies, I carried them in my belly, they are mine." And you almost burned them up passing out while cooking. Talked about throwing them into the garbage. Snapped their heads off for acting like kids. Smacked them, occasionally. Drove around in cars at all hours of the night fucked up and them not in car seats and scared.
I have no legal rights. They have lived with me now for two years. I potty trained both of them. Read them all the books I loved when I was little and lots more I never heard of until now. Footsy pajamas, trips to the beach, long golden afternoons in the garden, filling the wheelbarrow with winter squash, your first steps, first words, that is the moon, those are the stars, gamboling about with dogs that I raised to be gentle with you.
I will go to court, again, and again, but I really have no legal rights. Three weeks in rehab, get your lights turned on, and they might give them back. And then it's back to constant worry and fear. I'm so sick of fear.
I'm so fucking scared for them I can barely breath. I know I need to give them every moment I can. I can't protect them from what might be coming.
Here they come. I need to go.