I arrived at juvenile court on a snowy November morning to
sign in as Guardian Ad Litem (GAL) for the first court hearing held regarding Nicole
and Nina*, three-and-two-year-old sisters who had been placed in foster care one
week earlier. Their mother had voluntarily signed custody of the girls over to
children’s services and walked away.
I approached the security guard and exchanged pleasantries
while he handed me the court complaint. I shrugged off my coat and began
reading it while juggling my briefcase, purse, and gloves, never once taking my
eyes off the paperwork in my hands. It was a window into these two little
precious, vulnerable lives, and I wanted to catch every glimpse I could.
Nicole and Nina’s biological mom was allegedly living her
boyfriend who was a convicted, registered sex offender. She had refused to make
him leave knowing this choice would force the girls to leave instead. She also
allegedly was addicted to prescription painkillers and had a history of
untreated bi-polar disorder. A man named Jason* was listed as the biological
father with address unknown. No other family members or significant others were
identified.
The security guard leaned across his desk and told me someone
had signed in for the hearing. I scanned the courthouse waiting area as the
guard pointed to a petite man with dirty jeans two sizes too big and long, gray
hair pulled back into a greasy ponytail. Somehow Jason had made his way to
court. That almost never happens.
Jason was seated on a hard metal chair beneath florescent
lights. He held a battered pad of paper in his wrinkled fingers and an old, frayed
backpack on his lap. I walked over and shook his bony hand as I introduced
myself as the girls’ court appointed Guardian Ad Litem. I couldn’t help but notice gentleness behind
his tired, worn blue eyes. He was 41 years old going on 70 after living a hard
life of alcohol and nicotine addiction. He coughed incessantly courtesy of
emphysema. He had started drinking at age nine with his father and never
stopped.
Jason lived under a bridge near the river. He was forever
hopelessly in love with the girls’ biological mother whom he met at an AA
meeting years before when both were trying to get clean for a minute. He
learned of the girls’ placement in foster care when he called the mom the week
before.
Attempting to build respectful relationships with biological parents is the single most important step in moving a case swiftly through the court process. As professionals we are not here to judge. We are here to work toward solutions. The first meeting is critical.
The first meeting is also a pivotal moment to gain as much
information about the history of children in case such relationships later head
south. Sometimes against our best efforts cases languish for years and by the
time court moves toward adoption the biological family is long gone, taking
with them important information such as family medical history and which
hospital houses birth records.
Jason and I sat together for twenty minutes while I
collected as much information as he was willing to give me. In return I
answered his questions about what comes next. He had yet to meet his public
defender who was caught in another hearing down the hall.
“Case of Nicole and Nina Moore.”* Hearing the names of the
girls called out in the large waiting room was our cue that the magistrate was
ready. As Jason leaned forward to stand, his backpack fell to the floor and
piles of crinkled paper spilled out in every direction. They were covered with
scratchy handwriting and dirt stains. He looked almost apologetic as I bent
down to help him retrieve them.
“I like to write,” he said. I was surprised. I’d never met a
homeless alcoholic with tired, kind blue eyes and a backpack filled with
writing. He had no way of knowing that I did too and was stealing every spare
minute I could to write Invisible Kids, a book I wrote in snatches of time like
lunch breaks during day-long trials.
We headed into the courtroom and took our seats at separate
tables while the hearing was called to order. I pulled out my own yellow legal
pad of paper and flipped to a crisp new page, ready to write down every detail
disclosed during the hearing. Being charged with representing Nicole and Nina’s
best interests in court, having a say in their lives and how their futures
would unfold was one of the most powerful, important tasks a professional could
ever have. It would never be just a job to me. It was sacred.
On that snowy, November day I had no idea what course the
case would take. I could only do my very best to advocate for two traumatized
little girls I had yet to meet. On my fourth page of notes I wrote their names
one more time. Nicole. Nina. Then I ran my finger over the ink and silently
said one word. Promise.
Part 2 Next Week: Meeting Nicole and Nina in their foster
home.
*Names have been
changed to protect identity.
