Within reach

On my very worst day, as I struggled to remember how to breathe, I held my child close and reminded myself that it could be worse. He could be dead. He could be missing. But he wasn’t. He was alive and I knew exactly where he was.

In the days, weeks and months that followed, I hardly let him out of my sight. The flimsy piece of paper that our order of protection was printed on didn’t give me what I was desperate for, a guarantee of our safety. I kept my child within reach so that I could protect him – or die trying. I changed locks, alarmed doors, slept with sharp objects on my nightstand, and bought enough baseball bats to stock a Little League team – keeping one by each door and one by the bed.

I scanned my surroundings from the moment I stepped outside until I slipped back in, locking the door as fast as possible so no one could follow me. I mentally rehearsed my plan of action day and night. I lived in a continuous state of vigilance. The Bastard with a capital B wasn’t going to take me by surprise twice. And if he did, I was prepared to do whatever necessary to make sure he never touched my child again.

I no longer trusted that my world was basically a good and safe place for me and for my child. PTSD is brutal. Hypervigilance and fear were my constant companions for more than a year, but I knew where my child was and I knew that he was safe. That was my comfort. That’s what kept me from completely falling to pieces.

Which brings me to other mothers and other children. I do not understand how my very own government can justify separating 2,000 children from their parents. This is not normal. This is not ok. This is what you do when you want to terrorize someone.

This is barbaric.

These mothers and fathers are just like me – they are just like you. These children are no different than our own. They need to stay together.

These families have already experienced countless traumas and tragedies. You don’t undertake a month-long journey with a child by your side unless you are desperate to find a better place – a place where you know you and your child will finally be safe.

Instead, our government has split up these families and sent these parents thousands of miles away from their children. There is no adequate justification for why this must be. We should not be locking these children up in cages and putting them into tent cities. We should be reuniting them with their parents so they have the comfort and love they need. We have taken away their security and, even if they are eventually reunited, they may never feel safe again. Ever.

These people aren’t going to be traumatized by their experience – they already are. And the longer this continues, the longer we deny these children the comfort and security of their parents, and these parents the comfort and security of knowing that their children are safe right next to them, the more difficult it will be for them to process and recover from this trauma.

Is this what we have become as a country? Is this who we are?

I hope not.

It’s time for our president to stop this insanity and do what is morally right – to do the humane and compassionate thing. And if he’s not willing, or able, then it’s time for the rest of the government to step in and make it happen. If not, then it’s up to us – we the people. These families must be reunited, with all haste, and laws must be put into place to prevent this from ever happening again.

It is time to act – not tomorrow, not next week. Reunite the families. Now.