One of the wonders of the internet is the assumed cloak of anonymity. While some take advantage of it to be complete assholes, I find it allows me to be more honest. I don't necessarily have people who know me, who judge me, looking over my shoulder and peeking into more than my normal public everyday life.
But then there are times you come to a crossroad and you find you need to combine your public and private voices to expose truths, and amp up the volume. I'm getting ready to shout.
Grief has taken an odd and unexpected turn. After my last post regarding another child the state removed from a pre-adoptive home with no notice or reason, my anger hit a point of moving me to do more than get out of bed a brush my teeth. I emailed the reporter with me story. And he called. He listened for an hour and a half to me try and tell our crazy, complicated story. I fought to remember details I didn't want to remember. I showed him the video, listened to her screams again at the airport. I needed him to feel it as acutely as I did, to be just as angry.
Last Sunday, Wee Bean's story was featured in the Sunday paper:
DNA is not what makes a family. DNA does not dictate love and attachment and safety and security. So many thousands of children continue to be traumatized, turned into damaged adults who then feed the system with their own children to repeat the cycle of social worker job security. Think of how many families could be made, could be joyous and happy and spreading that sense of love everywhere.
So this is where I out myself. But I'll never stop being as honest as I am.