We got a call on May 28th, 2014, from the Department of Social Services. My granddaughter was going to be removed from my daughter. I had two hours to go get her.
I paused. Even though I suspected and intuitively knew it was going to happen there was still a shockfactor to the words.
My husband, then fiancé, without hesitation said while I was quiet with the investigator, “Where do we go pick her up?”
A few hours later she was in our care. This was his first child. She was my seventh. Her mother had arrived at nine years of age from Romania into my care. She has mental disabilities, bipolar and a rainbow of other disorders that have caused mayhem throughout all the years I’ve loved her. And, oh my gosh, how deeply I love her. She continues to teach me on a high level of compassion.
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