Sometimes, though...there's nothing I or anyone can do.
She shares my birthdate, but apart from that small coincidence we've really nothing in common. She's 14 years younger, half my size, has two beautiful children and an IQ in the region of 47-57.
She's been let down her whole life. First of all by her parents. Her father disappeared years ago, and her mother has difficulties of her own. As part of the matter with which I became involved, her mother was also seen by a psychologist. Her IQ is closer to 65. This girl told me no, my mum's not got learning difficulties, she can read and write. I can't do that.
Her mother decamped to Norfolk with her other children. She was left behind with her grandmother. She says she wanted to stay behind, but it seems she was left, at 9 years old, to care for her grandmother.
At some point, during her childhood, she was abused. I won't say more than that. She hasn't the ability with language to disclose much and obviously enough it's upsetting for her to think about that. It isn't really important to what we're doing (although it matters, it matters a great deal), so we haven't explored that.
Her mother came back from Norfolk with a new man by this stage, and she never really got along with him. The social worker saw him hitting her, but they're both adults now so she couldn't intervene, really...
When she was 15, an older boy raped her. She didn't really understand what had happened. She'd been truanting from school for so long that she was allowed to leave before taking any exams. Not that she could read or write, so there would have been no point, anyway.
Social services had some involvement with her, but it isn't clear what. Their records are patchy. Never easy to keep records in order, when offices move around so much, and they never made it onto computer.
This is her story, in more or less her words, since she turned 16.
She met a boy when she was 16. He was nice to her, made her happy. She fell pregnant and had a beautiful red haired boy. Like his dad's dad, that. Red hair. He started to hit her then. She couldn't get him to leave her alone, couldn't cope with the baby. Her mum and her stepdad looked after him, and she hated it, she really hated it, but they took over. Social services didn't want her to look after her own baby, she didn't know how to fight them...her mam let her see him, but he used to cry when she left him there.
She went with another boy a couple or three years ago, fell pregnant again. He was friends with the other boy. She had another boy, this time a beautiful blonde boy with big blue eyes. He looks like his dad, too. Neither of her babbies looks like her. Makes her sad.
Social services, this time, they let her keep her babby with her. She loved him so much, looked after him as well as she could. His dad didn't want to know him. His dad's mam did, but they never got on that well.
She loves her boys. She really does. Everything were fine, but then her older boy's dad come back and he were on drugs then and he wrecked her house, tore it all up. Wouldn't leave her alone.
She saw a solicitor, got an injunction against him. Forgot to go to court to get it again and it went, and he kept coming back and hurting her. Social services came back and put her little blonde boy with her older boy at her mam's. That hurt her so much, her mam didn't care about her. Got so angry, broke a window at her mam's. Police come. Police come round a lot. Been in court a couple of times. Her mam's fella, he hits her. Bloodied her nose in front of social worker. She didn't do nothing. He hit me and she didn't do nothing. She doesn't care about me, she just wants my babbies.
My mam had my babbies, mam and her man. They got sick. Took older boy to doctor, give him some medicine. Social worker took both boys to hospital, see a doctor there. Doctor said they was sick, really sick. Blamed me, blamed my mam and her bloke. Took them off us and put them with foster carers.
They love it with their foster carers. They're so good with them. Boys tell me all about it. Older boy, he's in school. He's doing right well. He's not like me, he can write his name, and mummy. Makes me things out of Playdough. He tells me, 'Don't cry, mummy. I can't come home right now cos you're poorly, but I'll come home when you're better. Don't cry, mummy'.
She wants her boys with her, but she knows that is never going to happen. Then her mam could have them, but they won't let that happen either. Boys have been through enough. Want them to stay with foster carers, they love it there. But foster carers can't have them. Older boy, he's going to be so angry, so hurt. Don't want them to get moved again, it's not fair.
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It makes me so very, very angry. This poor child - because, while chronologically she is 22, she is still a child - has been let down by everyone her whole life through. There has been social services involvement on some level through a large chunk of her life. She had difficulties at school, but it was put down to behavioural problems. She was written off as lazy and disruptive.
This is a very vulnerable girl, who has been used and abused by goodness only knows how many people. The shocking thing, for me, is that it was only when the local authority began care proceedings in respect of her sons that there was an assessment of her abilities on more than a basic level.
The first time we went to court, I remember standing in the solicitors' room and insisting we had to have a psychiatric assessment carried out because I did not think she had a clear understanding of what was happening and did not think she was competent to instruct me. I was told I was just holding things up and there was no need for it. I stood my ground. That is how we know how learning disabled she is. A psychologist confirmed this. The psychiatrist recommended a psychological assessment, and I am very grateful that he did so. I just wish that more good had come out of it for her, because nothing has been done to resolve her many issues.
Today, we took her to court, and the judge made final care orders. We go back in April for placement orders to be made. Her beautiful boys will be adopted by strangers. She will never see them again after April. Between now and then, she has two one hour contact sessions, and then a final goodbye contact. These normally only last twenty minutes at most because they're so emotionally hard on mother and children.
This poor, bewildered girl, still so much a child in so many ways, was distraught. She doesn't understand how or why this can have happened to her. She never harmed her children. Not intentionally...but the older boy had eight teeth removed after going into foster care, and four teeth capped. His developmental delay has all but gone, and he will most likely keep up with his peers. He seems to be of average intelligence, as does his little brother. She is happy about that.
Her own prospects appear grim. She continues to fight with her mother and stepfather, who has a terminal illness. They blame her for losing their grandsons. She blames them for not looking after them properly, not making sure the older boy went to school or to the dentist. They were supposed to be looking after him. He and his brother both became ill when they were looking them - she couldn't make them listen when she asked if they could see the doctor, and she wasn't allowed to take them anywhere on her own because the social worker wouldn't let her.
She's lost her council housing because her older boy's father came back on the scene. He kicked her back door in to get in to her house, and although she told the council repeatedly they never fixed the door so she couldn't keep him out. He and his 'friends' trashed her house again and started taking drugs there. The neighbours kept complaining about the shouting and screaming and the bad behaviour of the visitors to her property.
She can't live with her mother because they fight all the time. Her grandmother is ill. The council won't rehouse her. So, she's on the streets, moving from one friend's sofa to another and sleeping rough when she has to.
She hadn't eaten in two days. I took her to McDonald's on the way back from court. She wolfed down her burger then played with her fries. Too upset to eat more. She had a strawberry milkshake and talked about how much her boys loved McDonald's and how she hoped she could take them for one of her last contacts with them.
So many tears, today. I couldn't speak when we came out of court, her barrister sat with her arms around her and soothed her because if I'd opened my mouth to speak I would have started crying too.
I am afraid for her future, so very afraid. I cannot see any hope that things will turn out better for her in the long run. Her children will be - I hope - well cared for and very much loved by whoever is lucky enough to adopt them. They are very beautiful boys. Bright, cheeky faces, big smiles in the photos I've seen.
She asked me, in the car, do I like what I do. I told her that I do, a great deal. But not on days like today.
I had to stop speaking there, so that I could hold back the tears and keep the car on the road.
This is the down side of what I do for a living. No happy endings for this girl. At least I know that I have done all that I can to help her. My contact at the Official Solicitor's office who instructs me tells me I've done more than many of the solicitors she instructs would bother to do.
Sometimes all the caring about the outcome and worrying about the client and trying your best for them doesn't lead to a happy ending. I know I get too involved at times, but when you are dealing in matters like this, truly life-altering matters...how can you not become involved?
All I can do now is hope for the best. One comment that was made by the psychologist haunts me, though.
"I do believe that with the support of a loving and caring partner, K could parent safely, adequately and perhaps competently. However I do not think that K would be attracted to this kind of partner, or that she would be likely to attract such a partner."
I cried when I read that.
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