Just An Average Day At Work

Just an average day at work.

As I drove into the parking lot, I felt what was happening before I saw it.

The first hint that something was not right was seen in the faces of the two children standing at the front door of the building. They were looking anxiously at a blue sedan in the parking lot. A man was standing on the passenger side, bending into the open door, looking like he did not know what to do.

I noticed an older couple standing with the children, trying to bring some calm to the moment. By the time I was parked, it was 5:37 pm, and I still wasn’t sure of the details, but I did know that we gave parents a fifteen-minute window before cancelling a visit. It had already been seven minutes.

As I sat in my car, I made eye contact with my co-worker, and then I knew. You see, my role as a Family Visitation Supporter finds me in the company of other front-line social service providers who face these scenarios daily.

Earlier in the afternoon, as I left my first shift, I had spoken to a co-worker who said she had concerns about the family visit that was to take place at 5:30 pm. The parents had shown up for a family support meeting beforehand, and they were in very bad shape. Both parents were obviously under the influence (hence their involvement with the Ministry of Children and Families) and were falling asleep, or let’s be honest, passing out during the meeting. And what I learned from the scene in front of me was that she had good reason to be concerned.

Minutes before, the foster parents had arrived with an eight-year-old girl and a ten-year-old boy for their weekly visit with their parents. These visits had been taking place off and on for years. In fact, for the children's entire lives. Both parents were deep into addiction, with prescription medications being their choice of poison. Because of their addiction, they could not provide a safe environment for their children…not even for two hours a week during supervised visits.

The children had run happily to the car to greet their parents. As their dad got out of the driver's seat, their mom remained in the passenger seat. The children could be heard saying, “Hi, mommy,” and then, “Mommy, are you ok?” Their Dad made it slowly around to the passenger side, telling the kids, “Mommy’s sleeping”. The smiles disappeared, and both children looked back to the family supervisor, saying, “We can’t wake mommy up. Can you please help?”

By now, the foster parents were aware of the gravity of the situation and led the kids away from the car. Within seconds, a supervisor appeared, crouched down to the children, and said, “I’m sorry, but there’s not going to be a visit today”. The foster parents looked at each other in disbelief, and each took a child by the hand as they went back to their car.

As the children drove away, the supervisor managed to rouse the mother. I was grateful to know she had not died, but I also knew this was probably just a reprieve, and so many questions raced through my head and heart. Why were these parents allowed to get into their car after the earlier meeting and drive back two hours later to have a visit with their children? Why were they allowed to expose their children to the trauma of watching their mom overdose? What was going through the minds of these sweet, innocent kids as their foster parents drove them out of the parking lot? Why does this keep happening? And what the fuck do we as a society think is going to be the outcome for these children?

And then I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And then another, before I went to sit with my client so that he could spend a couple of hours with his children…a couple of hours that I would sit through and have to suppress the trauma I had experienced a few moments before. And at the end of that visit, I went home and cried for the children born into this craziness.

Because that’s all I could do.