As mentioned in Part 1, the first 24 hours after being notified of the assault/abuse of your child will be chaos. It cannot be worded any better, but that is what it will be. A hurricane of thoughts and emotions, questions that no one has answers to. The bomb has been dropped. Your own personal Hiroshima.
Instead of CPS coming to the home for the initial interviews, they will demand you report to their office first thing in the morning. They’ll tell you state law says all credible reports must be investigated within 24 hours. Can’t wait until after work or school. First thing in the morning. There are strategic and tactical reasons for this and its not in your favor. If you think your life is going sideways now, wait until you get to march your family into the courthouse, on a school day at 8:00 in the morning. Imagine what excuse you will need to make to your employer to get out of work. Or what your wife will need to put on excuse cards for the school children. Get used to using cover stories.
Embarrassment. Confusion. The how’s, what’s and where’s are still racing through your mind. Get used to this. Make peace with it even. It will stay with you for a while.
One by one, they take your children into a back office. You cannot go along. Each child’s interview will last close to an hour. You have no idea what they are asking. You have no idea what your child is saying. You will pace the hallway that much you will have all the floor tiles counted. You will know where every water fountain is because your mouth is dry. Your smaller children will come back smiling as the caseworker coaxed them with a coloring book and a box of crayons. The older ones that can read come bearing pamphlets and brochures, the front cover depicting a seemingly happy and functioning family putting puzzle together or sitting the couch or something just as corny and lame.
The family will sit on a bench in the hallway the whole time, the parents, if not pacing the hallway, are paging through whatever magazines are left there. Good Housekeeping. Sports Illustrated. Time Magazine. The children not being interviewed are becoming restless and keep asking “when are we leaving?”. Eventually the last child comes back and there is a lot of hurry up and wait. Twenty minutes later, you’re summoned into a small office. The caseworker sits behind her desk. Her supervisor stands behind her. Grim faces and forced smiles on both sides of that desk. This whole time you’re hoping, praying, that the whole thing is super-huge misunderstanding, that the entire “investigation” will blow over and you can get back to being a family again, a normal functioning family.
As mentioned in the beginning, this is your own personal Hiroshima.
Milepost 81 