We have this mindset as parents that we will automatically know how to console our crying children. When we are unable to do that, we feel like a failure as a parent. I have several of children; adopted and biological. I have biological children who could throw some whammy tantrums as toddler.

Yet nothing would compare to what I would experience over the next year.

I remember bringing her home and having a portable crib at first. It was right after my daughter’s accident, so having a 14 month old with issues while still dealing with the aftermath of the accident was a bit much. I had one who screamed when it was time for bed. I had another who was constantly waking up with nightmares.

We got thru the nightmare stuff, but were learning that we were a bit inadequate when it came to knowing what to do to help my niece.

As the months went by, an interesting thing happened. When my husband was home, she was pretty good. But when she was with me, it was like she was a different child. Talk about feeling crazy!

She would cry, throw fits, physically attack me, and in fits of rage, have a bowel movement and smear it everywhere. I knew something was deeply wrong, but had no idea how to help her.

There were many days would I would sit against a wall (for back support) and hold her. By holding her, I mean, placing her in my lap with my legs wrapped over hers, my arms wrapped around her arms, with my neck arched back as far as possible. We would do this for HOURS as she tried to bite, kick, scratch…all while screaming.

One day, we went to a friend’s house to swim. My friend was a wonderful elderly woman who’s home was pristine. White, not a spot of dirt anywhere, perfect….she was a true southern belle and her and her husband adored us. The feeling was mutual. We were getting the kids ready. I had the two youngest girls next to me, so was getting the older of them ready first so she could go out while I got my niece ready after since it would take a little longer.

She was not happy that she was not getting the attention. She promptly pooped, then reached in her diaper, took it out, and smeared it all over the white tile, all while glaring at me. She was now 2 years old. I was mortified! I quickly sent my other daughter on her way, then ran to get the necessary stuff to clean it up. And I never told a soul.

By now, she was content, almost happy, to be with anyone but me. I tried explaining to my husband what it was like, but he couldn’t comprehend what I was going thru.

Until he walked into it one day. It had been a long day. Exhausting, and by now, I had resorted to frustrated tears. Nothing I did seem to console her. Nothing I did seemed to help her. Nothing I did could make it stop.

Finally, there was our  family trip together over the holidays. She seemed to be able to relax some. Even smile. One of my favorite pictures of her is having her hair all cute in pony tails and she was actually smiling. Most of the pictures of her during that time were of a child who just never seemed to be happy. But she was smiling.

On the other side, over the year, my brother had taken a serious fall and been hospitalized. He had broken his back and destroyed his wrist. He needed numerous surgeries on his arm. Because he had never had his name put on the birth certificate, they wanted to take my niece away. I managed to get a notary out to the hospital so he could claim paternity and I could keep my niece. In addition, my niece’s mom was pregnant again with my nephew. It was a crazy circle. I remember begging the doctors to please admit my brother into a rehab center upon release from the hospital. I knew he wouldn’t follow thru because of his meth addiction. She on the other hand, had seem to partially come to her senses and was at least clean once she discovered her pregnancy. A pregnancy she had planned all along.

During this time period, there was not a lot of involvement from DFS when it came to kinship. There weren’t even kinship workers available. Family was, for the most part, left alone. Our worker was very sweet, although mentally exhausted from the stress of working in the system. (She resigned shortly after). Mom’s visits were infrequent. She would show up once in a while to visit, but never took her anywhere. She was never alone with her. She had removed herself and was happily planning her new life with with the new baby boy she was about to deliver. My brother had fallen off the radar and pretty much disappeared.

She began to have some issues at the end of her pregnancy and was in and out of the hospital. I spent a lot of time between CFT meetings with the caseworker and trying to take care of her at the hospital and take care of my own family. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without the help of a couple of very dear friends.

Finally, my nephew was born. I was the first one to hold him. I have a photo that the nurse took of the two of us right after he was born. The next day, he went home with his biological mom.

We would take my niece over for visits. She was pretty unsure of what was going on. By now, mom had moved into a new apartment with a roommate. There was furniture, and although disheveled, it was clean for the most part. She no longer came to visit. If my niece was to see her, it was on us to take her to her mom.

By this time, mom had decided that we would keep my niece and she would keep my nephew. We decided to adopt. We rarely saw the social worker, but as a family, we thought we had it all figured out.

We were wrong. You see, when the state is involved, the family has no rights. We do not get to decide what is best. We do what we are told.

And everything changed. A visit was scheduled at my house with the social worker. Mom was asked to be present. I remember sitting at the table. I remember mom telling her that she was “giving” us my niece and she was “keeping” her son. He was three months old. My niece had been with us for just over one year. In my mind, she was mine. We were finally making progress. She was finally letting me hold her. Love her. We still had a long way to go, but I was mom now. And she needed me.

Only, when her biological mom told the caseworker her plan, the caseworker said these simple words.

“You either give them both up, or keep them both. You can’t pick one and not the other.”

That was the beginning of my broken, shattered heart.

Against her will, she took my niece home with her that day. She didn’t even know her. There was no transition. No day trips. No overnights. No time given for them to bond. She was Not wanted, yet forced to leave. No one seemed to care about what was best for her. Instead, she was the throw away her biological mom was forced to keep because she wasn’t about to give up the precious boy she had always dreamed of having one day. Sick. Twisted. And the system was OK with it. The system encouraged it. The system made it happen.

I was just the aunt. I had no legal right.

I remember spending the next few weeks completely devastated, walking around in a blur. I felt like my heart had been ripped out and stomped on. I felt like death. My daughter had been ripped away from us and there was absolutely nothing we could do about it.

If this was my world, what was hers?

For more RADically Changed stories:

RADically Changed: Beautifully Broken