Today has exhausted me. All day I’ve seesawed between rage and peace. Rage because it’s beginning to look like the whole reason CPS was so extreme with us, is the case worker is new, and went overboard. I can’t say for certain, of course, but I do believe had we dealt with someone more experienced, he wouldn’t have been pushed into such a corner.
The peace is because of the note. A love letter from my beloved. He NEVER wrote me a love letter before. He’d say it, in words and quickie e-mails and touches, but he didn’t write it out. As a writer, the printed word means a lot to me. So I’m grateful.
But then I’m angry again, because I’m still chasing around in circles on so much. Two people have promised to give me a charger for his phone, as they have exactly what I need and don’t need it themselves. Supposedly. Neither has come through.
I want to get Hope into counseling, but that’s still up in the air. The CPS case worker dropped off a couple applications for the “poor folks” state insurance at my work, because I can’t get through her head that I make too much money. Now that I have a household of two… I could work part-time at Burger King and make too damn much money to qualify.
And while they dither, my baby is suffering. Is turning your dead daddy into an imaginary friend normal grieving for a five-year-old? When you tell all your day-care friends that he’s there, and expect them to talk to him?
I want to know if the CPS worker thinks I’m lying to her, or if she thinks I’m an idiot. I KNOW I don’t qualify for those damn programs!
Maybe she’s just slow. I had to tell her I was Chris’ payee four times before it sunk in that that meant I had a legal obligation to see him taken care of. Silly me, I thought the paperwork part of my marriage made caring for him a legal obligation. Guess not. The phrase “Till death do us part” means as little to these people as “in sickness and in health” or “for richer for poorer” or “with liberty and justice for all.”