Ancient Church

DSS court always provides a microcosm of life. By using the term “DSS court”, I mean court held to consider the cases of families whose children, for one reason or another, have been removed from the home and put in foster care. I am on an appointed list to represent parents in those cases. It doesn’t pay much, but it allows me to exercise my social work instincts, and when things go right can be very gratifying.

Since there is often a certain amount of finger pointing in these cases, both parents are assigned their own lawyer. I go through spells, but more often than not I end up representing the mom. There is no design in that. Case assignment is purely a matter of luck of the draw. Being top heavy with female clients has, however, given me a front row seat into what seem to be troubling changes. I have done these cases since I started practicing law, lo many years ago, and it used to be that they were either alcohol related or what we called dirty house petitions — where the home environment is so filthy that it is really not safe for kids to be in, especially kids who are young enough to crawl around on the floor, cramming odds and ends into their mouths. Both of these types are considered quaint, almost charming, these days. Instead, we have seen cases evolve, first into cocaine, then crack and now methamphetamines. It is in the latter phase that women are increasingly prominent, especially women who I think of as soccer moms — late twenties or early thirties, attractive and reasonably well educated and with several kids. Oh, and massively addicted. Sometimes Dad is also addicted; sometimes the drug use is a kind of hobby she engages in while Dad is at work. Other times, as might be expected, Dad is not in the picture.

I had three soccer mom cases this past week, all at different stages, with different degrees of hope. You can liken progress in these cases to water moving through a funnel. At the beginning, there are a great many choices and a lot of manuveuring room. With time, though, if matters do not improve the choices begin to disappear until there is finally no choice, and the funnel completely empties, leaving nothing.

The first case is reasonably new. The baby is very young, and unlike many cases was not born with drugs in his body. The child was taken thereafter, though, due to domestic violence with a live in boyfriend and some admissions of drug use, including the drug du jour. My woman, K, is responding well. She voluntarily took a drug test at the Department and was told she passed it. She has arranged counseling, and will start that soon. The boy friend is problematic — she is loath to give him up and insists there was no domestic violence. We will have to see how that develops. More encouraging, she passed what I think of as the inspection. As I talk to her I am optimistic about her prospects.

The inspection bears some explanation. I always look for signs of drug use in my clients. Part of that is their affect and behavior. With meth, that expands to looking for the presence of sores that break out all over the body. They are usually small, and scab over, but are unmistakeable. A narcotics agent once told me that the sores are a reaction of the body when it is desperately trying to push out the toxins left by the drug, causing the skin eruptions. I don’t know if that is accurate, but there is a connection between the two. So as I speak to my client, I look at her arms and face, looking for the sores. I try not to appear obvious, nor do I want it to appear that I have any improper interest in the person, but I want to know what is really going on.

In any event, I encouraged my first mom. As I was about to send her off, however, I was told by the social worker that the first drug test had been inconclusive. It was a new test kit and they had been unfamiliar with it, and were not sure that the outcome was correct. I walked away with my client.

“Are you clean? Would you pass another test?”

“Sure. I haven’t done anything in months.”

“OK,” I replied. “Go by the department on your way out and take another one. Lets get this issue put to bed.”

She agreed and left. I turned to my next case. This one was just about on its last legs. A long history of drug abuse was present. She had lost three previous children, and this baby was taken at birth last fall. Shortly thereafter, however, my woman went into rehab. She completed it, but had subsequently fallen off the wagon once or twice. She looked pretty good this week though. She told me she had not used since February. DSS, however, wanted to proceed to termination of her rights.

The real problem was that the mom’s life was utterly dysfunctional. She had never been able to hold a job and her housing situation was chaotic. DSS, obliged under the law to attempt to reunify families, had never made a referral for vocational help or to try to help her get housing. For this woman, making progress in one area did not address all her problems. She needed help in multiple areas to bring her life under control. Still, she had lost three other children. I told her that I thought the case was grim, but all we could do was take a shot at it in the hearing.

As it turned out, the judge agreed. He refused to approve the plan of termination, and ordered that the Department provide referrals and services in the other areas of dysfunction. When he finished, I took my client back to my usual spot in the back of the court room.

“We really dodged a bullet today,” I said, trying to keep my voice low. “To the extent we could win, we won. But I have to emphasize to you that this will be your final chance. If this fails, you will lose your baby. Will you commit to working hard?”

She was crying. “I will,” she promised.

“OK. Now this is important. Call me and let me know how it is going. Call me if it is good and call me if it is bad. I have to know what is happening so I know how I can help.” All too often I only see my clients in the courtroom. My best work is often done outside the courtroom, in phone calls to social workers and police. I beg my people to stay in touch.

My woman agreed, and left. I turned my attention to my final case. This one was the worst. My client had told me earlier that morning that she had decided to sign her children to DSS so they could be adopted. To be honest, she did not have much leeway. Her choices had come down to signing her children over, or having a judge terminate her relationship with them. That doesn’t make it easier. She looked a mess: sores all over face and arms, simultaneously jumpy and mournful. I took her into a back room and sat down with her, and we went over the relinquishment papers.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said. “We can have a hearing.” But she knew that she had reached the end of the road. We went into the other room with the social worker, and she signed the papers. Although I had gone over them with her, the law in our state requires that the agency read them to her at the time of signing. The phrases flowed by:

“…consent to the adoption of my children…”

“…will hereafter have no legal or parental right of any kind to the child…”

She sat at the table and wept. I paced in back of her. This had once been a case with promise, one that I thought would end well. It hadn’t. Whatever I had done had failed.

After the papers were signed, I walked her out of the building, and watched her cross the street, still sobbing, shoulders slumped. As she left, one of the social workers came up to me on the courthouse steps. She was holding a small plastic cup, latex gloves and a sealed drug test kit. I looked at her blankly. All I could think of was that for some reason they were going to ask me to take a test.

“Do you know where K is? We thought she was coming for a drug test. We expected her several hours ago.”

My own shoulders slumped. K had promised me that as soon as she left the courthouse she would go take the test. It was now apparent that she was not. I sensed another long and bitter struggle coming on.

As I say, the cases in that court are only a microcosm of life for us all. Just as my clients face situations where their choices, their ability to change, become increasingly circumscribed, the truth of the matter is so do we all. As with K, we start with a great multitude of choices, many of which are good and open more choice, others of which slam doors. Wrong choices reduce our choices, as we become trapped in passions and in idolatry. Addiction to sin is as deadly as addiction to meth, and just as surely will lead us down an increasingly narrow path.

Other times, like my second client, we are unexpectedly given a reprieve, a chance to make right choices and rebuild our lives. We may summon our courage and take one step, and God will provide the remaining strength and courage, and we can leave that swirling, descending path.

Other times, like my third client, we reach that final choice. I always explain to my parents that termination is the equivalent of death sentence on a parent and child relationship. All other choices are foreclosed. There is nothing else to do. That is where we find ourselves at the moment of our death. For good or ill, we have made our choices. We close our eyes and enter eternity, just as the last drop of water swirls out of the bottom of the funnel.