I was happily adjusted and living with a foster family with four sisters and two loving parents who had applied to adopt me. A big celebration was planned for my first birthday—it never happened. The social worker handling my case rudely entered my foster parent’s house without warning and literally tore me out of my foster mother’s arms. “I rejected your request to adopt this child because you already have four daughters of your own.” My foster father was indignant and unaccustomed to speaking in anger. He pleaded passionately. “This is a terrible mistake. You need to do what is best for the child and not be unduly influenced by the financial donations of your wealthiest clients attempting to buy favors. My entire family is closely bonded with Judy. This is where she belongs. We love her. She is bonded with us and has been with us since the beginning. It would be psychologically devastating to separate her from the only family she has ever known.” The social worker awkwardly jerked the zipper on my snowsuit upward until it caught in the skin under my chin. Desperately trying to break free of the tight grasp of the stranger who was terrorizing me, I wailed loudly in pain and fought back as desperately and valiantly as I could. Chills ran down the spines of my foster sisters as they huddled together in fear and worried about what was to become of their little foster sister. I starred at them frantically with hurtful tear-filled eyes—my haunting primordial screams lingered in the cold morning air as I was forcefully dragged out of their house kicking and screaming. There had been no time to say goodbye. One minute, I had been giggling, singing, and amusing my foster sisters; then I was suddenly gone forever.
My foster father looked down at the sad faces of his four sweet daughters and cried openly for the first time in his life. His whole body trembled. The image he had of me looking back at him with my big brown eyes and furrowed brow, trembling and afraid, was the saddest image he could ever recall seeing. He held my soft pink baby blanket and fuzzy little bunny rabbit in his hands that I had loved so much as he watched the black car with the darkened windows speed away. His eyes were glossy and dazed like a staggering punch-drunk boxer. At that instant he came to the realization that he would be forever haunted by the lingering vision of his lovable foster child, eyes overflowing with tears, desperately clawing and screaming for his assistance as the social worker forcefully dragged me away.
Impulsively, he knew what he had to do next. He grabbed his car keys, dashed out the front door, tripped on the porch steps, tumbled head over heels onto the sidewalk, and limped to his car cradling his bloody elbow. He revved the engine, recklessly slammed the car into reverse causing it to lurch backward, jump the curb and smack into his neighbor’s garbage can, which went noisily flipping across the street. The lid rolled wildly in front of an oncoming car causing the driver to violently swerve to one side to avoid a collision. William crammed the accelerator to the floor and nearly lost control as the rear tires spun wildly, creating smoke and squealing loudly as he recklessly aimed his car north on Layton Boulevard until he spotted the large black car several blocks ahead. He increased speed and repeatedly changed lanes without using his turn signals. The car he was chasing intentionally ran a red light to avoid being caught. William tightly closed the distance between them and tailgated the social worker through two more red light intersections. Regrettably, he became confused in traffic about which black car he was following and accidentally made the wrong choice at a fork in the road. Teary-eyed and silent, his family was waiting for him in the living room when he returned home empty handed two hours later. My abrupt and unexpected departure had created an emotional void and an ache in their hearts. My foster father eventually regained his composure and broke the silence. “Social services has made a horrible mistake. Judy belongs with us. She is certain to be psychologically traumatized unless we act soon. I’m going to hire a detective and fight to get our daughter back.”
This story was told to me thirty years later when I met my foster family in person. They were wonderful people. I was thrilled to be reunited with them again as an adult.
http://www.adoptiondetectivejudithland.com | Adoption Detective, Chapter 6
Life | Family | Parenting | Relationships | Adoption
Mon adoption impliqué une poursuite en voiture sauvage
我通过参与野生追车 | 내 채택 야생 차 추적을 포함 | تشارك اعتماد بلدي مطاردة السيارة البرية