Good Night

He's been here for 7 hours. I can't sleep. I tried to stay in bed, I really did, but I also feel like I have to keep checking if he's still really here.

The meeting with the SWs (mine and his) lasted two and a half hours, which wouldn't have been so bad, but the boy and his caseworker were stuck behind an accident for an hour, so everyone's timing was off. Poor thing went to bed two hours later than he usually does, since there was no way he'd go to sleep with a house full of chicks from the state.

When his SW arrived at his foster home to move him here, I'm told he shut down. Wouldn't look at anyone, wouldn't talk, didn't cry, stiffened when he was picked up, no response to anything whatsoever. His FM called us after they'd left, told us how he'd reacted. (I can't blame him one bit -- his SW has been in his life for over a year, and until three weeks ago she was counted as a pal. Now, she's shown up and moved him three times in as many weeks. I'd hate to see her coming if I were him.) The Hub and I sat on the front step, waiting for them to arrive. He smiled when he saw us. The Hub brought him to his room, played on the floor with his favorite toys, and got him to say a few words. His SW joined them, and it was back to zombie-land. After a few minutes, she decided to leave them alone and we women started on paperwork. Within ten minutes, the little guy was running through the house laughing. After an hour, even his SW got a smile and a high-five. I don't think everything's forgiven, but, damn, is this kid resilient.

The general situation is even more strange, and heartbreaking, than we thought. Each time we talk to another person, there are more layers to his story. You know how they construct a time line on crime shows? We'd need many, many whiteboards. Times like these, I'm glad for my legal background and connections. Just knowing what the abbreviations mean saves hours.

More to come later. Right now, I'm going to go listen to someone breathe.