Dear Little One,
I saw you tonight. You don't know me but I remember you. I knew your face before you even turned around. I've seen it in my dreams.
You were asleep. You had no idea Mommy had overdosed and Daddy was on his way too. A stranger called 911. I was the second officer on scene. You woke up at the sound of the sirens. Your scream drowned it out as of it were a soft spring breeze over calm water. Your sister had seen all these things before. She already knew Mommy was going in "the white box". She told me that Daddy would wake up in a while. She asked if I had a snack. You just cried and pulled to get out of your seat. It was half strapped on your leg. Your diaper had obviously not been changed in some time. You screamed but you let me pick you up without a fight. You kept yourself as far away from me as you could at first but as I talked to you and rubbed your back, your stiff body eased ever so slightly. It was finally a blue pen on my vest that made you smile. You liked the clicker on top. I finally saw some light come into your eyes.
I remember the comment made by another officer.
"I don't know how you can touch her, Jensen. She nasty. That whole van nasty."
He was right. Your fingernails were coal black. Your clothes had holes in them. Your hair was matted and unkempt. Your stench could have cleared a high school locker room. I remember washing my uniform twice to get it out. I just let you lay your head on my shoulder. I bought your meal. I remember the way your sister stuffed chicken nuggets in her pockets to have for later. She knew there wouldn't be any food and she told me she'd save fries for you. She could barely pronounce the word. "Frees".
Your case was like any other. Arrests made, warrants served, CPS called, vehicle towed, carefully articulated report...
They put me on standby for court. You were still with family members. I waited and waited in anticipation of trying my damndest to come to your rescue again. You needed a home. A safe place. Food. Shelter. Basic human kindness and blue pens. You needed lots of blue, clicky pens.
I wanted to put my fist through the attorney's face when she told me your parents got their third round of unsupervised probation and, after an 8 week parenting class, you would be reunited with a happy family who had missed you so much. My services would no longer be needed in this case. Well done, Officer Jensen.
I had geared up to go to battle for you. To give you your best chance but nobody cared. "They didn't mean to do it...drug addiction is so overpowering...it's a mental disorder"... The same old pleas had won again. The system failed you. I failed you. With all my ability and all the power the badge gave me, I could do nothing to help you any further. I gave you 8 months of relief. Now I would know you were back in hell, hungry, scared and alone again. My hard work was irrelevant. Your suffering didn't matter.
I remember the comment made by another officer.
"I don't know how you can touch her, Jensen. She nasty. That whole van nasty."
He was right. Your fingernails were coal black. Your clothes had holes in them. Your hair was matted and unkempt. Your stench could have cleared a high school locker room. I remember washing my uniform twice to get it out. I just let you lay your head on my shoulder. I bought your meal. I remember the way your sister stuffed chicken nuggets in her pockets to have for later. She knew there wouldn't be any food and she told me she'd save fries for you. She could barely pronounce the word. "Frees".
Your case was like any other. Arrests made, warrants served, CPS called, vehicle towed, carefully articulated report...
They put me on standby for court. You were still with family members. I waited and waited in anticipation of trying my damndest to come to your rescue again. You needed a home. A safe place. Food. Shelter. Basic human kindness and blue pens. You needed lots of blue, clicky pens.
I wanted to put my fist through the attorney's face when she told me your parents got their third round of unsupervised probation and, after an 8 week parenting class, you would be reunited with a happy family who had missed you so much. My services would no longer be needed in this case. Well done, Officer Jensen.
I had geared up to go to battle for you. To give you your best chance but nobody cared. "They didn't mean to do it...drug addiction is so overpowering...it's a mental disorder"... The same old pleas had won again. The system failed you. I failed you. With all my ability and all the power the badge gave me, I could do nothing to help you any further. I gave you 8 months of relief. Now I would know you were back in hell, hungry, scared and alone again. My hard work was irrelevant. Your suffering didn't matter.
I saw you tonight. Your hair is longer and your eyes are still big and brown. Your hands are still tiny. Your smile is gone. Your eyes are dead. Your body is numb and your spirit broken. I am so sorry, Little One. I tried to save you and I failed. For this, my spirit is broken.
In the light of dawn, push on, Little One. Push on. The war is not over for either of us yet.
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