Days Came Where I Cried for Them…

His Mom is always going to want to know the truth but I’ve learned that knowing and not knowing are both equally but yet differently painful. There is no win-win or win-lose, just lose-lose. And she can’t be a complete idiot either. He has a reckless and violent criminal record. Deep down, she already knows the truth and denial and grief can be mindfucks.

This guy’s shit goes back years, 21 years, probably right around around the time he became a legal adult. His juvie record is more than likely a mile long too. It’s who he is. I don’t have the capacity anymore to sit around and try to connect the dots as to why they’re pieces of shit or why they’re fucked up in the head. Some people just are. There’s no fixing him. He’s not broken. He was either born this way or manufactured this way. He wasn’t normal, nice, kind, loving and law-abiding and then someone or something slammed into him and he came out walking with a limp. No, this is his normal. This is, from my experience, most likely a learned behavior or mindset. Liars lie, cheaters cheat and abusers abuse.

Alcohol seems to be a theme in his life but that’s his fire to put out and he chooses not to. There’s at least two, maybe three times he’s been sued for back child support and lost which means he ain’t paying for his kids. He doesn’t pay any infractions and civil penalties either and he buys alcohol for kids. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. So, cutting all of them off is an understatement. You need to amputate that entire part of your past and present because it only spells gangrenous and septic infection for your future.

It would break my heart to see her pay her dues, right her wrongs, rebuild her life for her and her child only to end up in a safe house out there or even worse, an obituary.

I’ve seen five of those obituaries. I’ll never be able to un-see or unread them either because I knew these women. I sat and talked with them, laughed with them and cried with them.

And then those days came where I cried for them.

I think about them every day. How they’re kids are doing. A few ended up in Human Services custody. I try to block out my anger at the system that absolutely failed them, that left them waiting in a cold office room to talk to an officer for so long they gave up and left, for the Detectives that didn’t think a referral for External Service was necessary when External Service Protection is what saved them once already!

Yeah! I’m the one that pissed in your precious fucking Yeezies, Darnell!!

And how would your second wife feel about you keeping all of that porn in your locker, by the way?? Buy a padlock, you lazy fucking scumbag.

I went to three of the funerals. Two women’s bodies were never even claimed. It should have given me some solace or peace of mind knowing that I was one of just a handful of people that gave a shit about them. That drove them miles and miles away from their homes, armed and ready to die for them, when the system that took an oath to refused…and to their families, we were the only ones that truly protected them.

88% of the women we help in this region are Black. You want to know how many of those Black women are actually taken seriously by the cops? By our firm’s accounting? About 8%. 7.83% to be precise.

Where I’m at, to the system, Black lives, they sure as shit don’t matter. Not like they do to me. I will always be an ally.

And as I finished that sentence, a text message, our On-Call. Another referral and it’s barely Sunday. Time to get dressed and put on my emotional armor and do it all over again…

Because it’s what we do…

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