Greetings from Mars -
Some couples create gobs of children and plaster the hallways of their homes from ceiling to floor with school pictures. Others thrive on quiet and solitude with one child as the focus of their energy.
I've met screaming families who would argue about the color of butter, but whose genuine love and deep loyalty kept them afloat during all manner of disease and heartache. I've met siblings that appeared loving but in actuality had swallowed gallons of anger until the day one of them burst into a murderous rage over funeral decisions for their dead mother.
Entering foster care exposed a different side of family life, a side where parents beat children senseless for wetting the bed. In this world, mothers twisted little boys' arms to the point of breaking them and fathers tore their daughters apart from the inside out with cutting words and deadly insults. Still, I'd never seen a family like Sandy's.
We officially met Darryl and Maricela Hooper on November 14th in a mediation room at the Laramie County courthouse. When they walked in the door, I recognized them right away because Maricela sported the same high-heeled boots she'd worn to the mall on Halloween.
Watching Darryl Hooper's precise demeanor reminded me of Sandy's comments at the dinner table. In the past weeks, she'd worked to make a connection with Raymond by discussing her father's military career. To me she'd said, "My dad's from Georgia just like you."
Darryl nodded to Jenny and Mrs. Benefield. Before sitting down, he leaned across the table and shook hands with Raymond. "Pleasure to meet you," he greeted my husband. And like a southern man should, he pulled out a chair for his wife.
Sandy's mother might well be crazy, but as I suspected, she possessed the same timeless, exotic beauty as her daughter. Maricela crossed her arms and slid into the seat. When she did, she seemed to shrink, to fold in on herself like origami. I wondered if I should reach out to her; introduce myself as the woman who'd stepped into her maternal shoes. Unable to act, I took a deep breath and somewhere in the middle of my exhaling, Mrs. Benefield spoke up.
She clasped her hands and rested them on the table in front of her stately bosom. "We all know why we're here. When a child has been a ward of the state for one year, there is a case review meeting between all parties involved. This is Sandy's review."
Sandy's father interrupted, "I got something to say before we go any further. My wife and I won't be takin' the girl back."
"Mr. Hooper…"
"Nope. No use in talkin' about it. We've made up our minds. You just go on and do what ever it is you plan to do. That'll be fine with us."
"Mr. Hooper, reunification is the state's ultimate goal. I'm compelled to ask why you don't want to be reunited with your daughter." Mrs. Benefield leaned forward. Her fingertips had turned white as if she were channeling her frustration into her clenched hands.
Darryl pushed back from the table. "Come on Maricela. We've said what we needed to say." Maricela unfolded from the chair, preparing to walk out with her husband.
"Sandy can't stay in foster care forever," Jenny blurted out.
Darryl turned to Jenny and pushed his thumbs into the pockets of his crisp Wrangler jeans, preparing for a showdown. "Won't be forever. She'll be grown soon." Before any of us could scream out in protest, he pulled the door closed behind them.
I held my breath and watched the door. For a moment, the knob seemed suspended in mid-turn. I wondered if the Hoopers wished to hit the rewind button and change the decisions that would surely follow. But, the lock slipped into place and the sharp click of boots on tile could be heard as Sandy's mother left the building.
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What you've just read is an excerpt from my memoir "All Things Temporary".
