six and a half years

It happened and she’s here. She has been verbally abused for the whole time she had been there. I am so angry. Angry that I did not know. Angry that I could not do anything about it. Angry that my beautiful amazing child had to endure years of abuse. All I can do is try to help her to heal and pick up the pieces. And try to make the next 4 years lovely for her. I love her. So much.


There is a tiny bit of me that has allowed myself to believe.

To believe that my family may be restored and I may get my sweet daughter coming back to live with me. I know the rug could be pulled, I know I have no power, and neither does she. I don’t know what it will be like if it doesn’t happen, but nor do I know what it will be like if it does. All those ‘perfect family’ blogs I torture myself with, I might qualify for one of those! I am sure that the powerlessness of being the non resident parent is incomprehensible to those whos children live with them. The total lack of power over anything to do with your own flesh and blood. Yes, even with parental responsibility.

I even had to go to court to find out their address and what school she was going to.

I am suspended. I can’t believe it, I want to believe it, but I can’t, not until it happens.

6 and a half years  I’ve waited. there could be no more awkward explanations, no more car park collections, no more street corner drop offs.

 I pray, hope and wish.


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