Reliving Childhood Memories

I live in a pretty decent subdivision in a small town outside of a large metro area. I live in a nice, relatively clean house. It has a couple of bedrooms, space for everyone. Laundry occasional piles and every now and then a few dishes might pile up - but nothing compared to what I saw the other night, and what it was like when I was younger and the memories that just flooded me shortly afterwards.

We have a neighbor that we have known for a couple of years. He has 2 young "tweens" and a crazy "ex" that lived in that house, as well as a few animals. Due to the crazy "ex" - the house has been frequented by local law enforcement on a regular basis. Nothing had been done until last week, until an unfortunate chain of events took place on our block. My neighbor "M" had a mild stroke on a Sunday morning. After a couple of days, the hospital sent him home. The very next morning he had a severe stroke that caused serious damage to his brain. My neighbors who live directly next to me took in the two kids and are currently taking of them.

My neighbor and I decided that we would help "M" out and help clean his house and make it a better place for when he would return home (at the time we had no idea that his condition would worsen and that coming back home would be an option in his future). We went over around midnight and literally spent the next 6 and 1/2 hours cleaning, or making a dent to the cleaning. There's cluttered, dirty, etc. but we decided that his house was beyond that point. Several bags of trash were taken out. We went through 5 vacuum cleaners (seriously) making the attempt to clean the floors. We never found a wash cloth in the house (which would become something important to know about later).

You may wonder why I am sharing this information...why it is that this was so impacting to me. I haven't had a good night's sleep since I argued with my neighbor "M" about not wanting to fix his situation with the "ex" and keeping harm's way away from his kids. I was so angry with him for not wanting to ensure a safe environment for him and his children. I had to walk away from the situation. I couldn't do anything about it.

Going into his house the other night, flooded me with memories of how we used to live when we were younger. I remember the house just being filthy. Dishes always piled up, laundry everywhere. The few times that our house was cleaned was when we knew Children Services was coming for a visit. I don't think we always lived that way. When I was 7 or 8, my step-dad was arrested for breaking into a house and committing a crime. I remember the cops coming to our door and telling my mom something and then we were taken over to the neighbors. It was two years before she "came" back. We spent the next two years going back and forth to the security of the foster home and to my parent's (mom & step-dad) house. Children's Services worked on transitioning us back to their home. I remember we would have visits at the DFS Center for a couple of hours. Then we moved to visits outside of the center for a period of time on a Saturday afternoon. Then eventually overnights and then weekends. I remember going to the foster family and having to learn many new things. Apparently we must have been very dirty and not "healthy". I remember going to get shots, going to the dentist, shopping for new clothes, etc. We had baths and haircuts, etc. We must have been pretty dirty.

The  situation with our neighbor and his family brought back many of my own memories. Some of our neighbors have never dealt with a mental illness or with the "dark" secrets of a dysfunctional family. There are others who mirror it. So, who's better for it? Who wins? I am not sure anyone ever wins in situations like this.

I watched a 12 year old, cry out in pain, telling a 50+ year old social worker that she didn't feel safe at home with her mom. That she was told on more than one occasion that her mom was going to kill herself and take the kids with her. The social worker only responded that they were being cared for in the last 9 months with mom and dad both in the house (they've been divorced for some time). Since they had food, shelter, clothing, etc. that the kids could return to the house that night, assuming dad was coming home from the hospital. I couldn't believe what he was saying to her. What a crock to our justice system! It was that same system that always sent me back to live with my mom and step-dad. Even though we returned when I was 12 (and in that time gained a new sister and a new brother, and another sister on the way), we returned to the system again when I was 15. It didn't help that there were other things going on during this time in my life.    I always wondered if the "so-called" system did what was best "for the child".

I often wonder how different my life would have been if I had been allowed to be "adopted" by my foster parents, instead of being returned to my parents. This past week just drained me - both emotionally and mentally. Just when I think I am further away from my past, something happens and returns me back to when I was 8 or when I was 12...