It takes a special kind of evil in a person that laughs at another person’s heartbreak. Especially this kind. The kind that has it’s very own category; loss of a child.
Not only did we get thrust into a life-altering ‘thing’ but we’ve had to maintain our composure, which I frankly think we deserve a medal for at this point.
We’ve literally had to explain why we laughed, why we’ve cried…. all the while dealing with individuals that there isn’t a word awful enough to describe. But for the sake of painting an exact picture, think smug.
One by one, the people parading against my family and I shot us looks of death followed by a ‘ we have her ‘ smile.
I mean really, isn’t it enough that we were torn from each other, do we really deserve the ‘ F-U ‘ look? Not only were we breaking down to cry, we did it while under the microscope, looked at like how dare we fight for her. The looks they gave us, that smirk, smug, and intentional. It made me want to go berserk. Even when I think about it today I have to center myself, it irks me tremendously.
Empathy, the failsafe thing that makes you think twice before you hurt someone, none of these people have it. It is significantly missing.
It would have made Lupita not sell a baby away for profit in secret, it would have made that couple not receive a baby under such circumstances. It’s that thing that is supposed to keep you from hurting another person with such force that it leaves nothing but destruction behind it.
No matter what they say, these people don’t have it. In fact after we went through this case I actually said that I’d never encountered such a ruthless, heartless bunch. The attorneys, ever-so-Hollywood, I just rolled my eyes under my dark sunglasses. I was in disbelief. I silently thought to myself, this cannot be happening, this cannot be happening. But it was and it did, and we were left behind like luggage. Left to figure it out, left to hurt, left to suffer. Left to be empty.
When I write about what happened to us and its aftermath, I write it exactly how it happened. I’m trying to paint a vivid picture, nothing is exaggerated. This is a non-fiction account of what we have experienced, it’s a story that tells itself, I don’t sit down and make up what to write. I made an outline and as I’ve explained each detail I intended to, I cross it off and breathe just a little easier knowing it’s on record, it’s addressed. I won’t let anyone else tell our story, I won’t let that be taken from us too.
Those notes in my niece’s lunchbox that she couldn’t even read, were they really necessary on that particular day?
For our visits, was it necessary to try to implement new rules and contracts more and more?
Was it really a good idea to have our visits at 8am in a freezing park while they sat in their car and watched?
Was it really necessary to have it in writing that we couldn’t call her terms of endearment, we were only allowed to call her the name they gave her?
Does this adoptive ‘father’ have to call my sister and harass her, beating her down over the phone every time she calls to speak to her daughter?
Did the adoptive ‘mother’ really need to come up to me to tell me how hard it had been on THEM? ( I was beside myself, I didn’t even know how to respond to that.)
Did Lupita really get ‘things’ for my niece? (Yes, she did.)
All the little digs made this even more devastating. The things they said and say, did and do, all make it worse than it has to be. This couple is really in a fight with themselves, a fight that consists of hiding my niece hostage in regards to her identity and place in the world. All the little things they did to add onto this already huge thing, shame on them. All I hope is that they get exactly what they gave us, no more, no less.