Monsters Wake

Here is something I found that my mother wrote about her first home visit. I must warn you, it is very upsetting:

"The last time that I saw Toulle was in the springtime at court. He was eleven. I watched him from a distance of about eight yards. My baby was standing next to his foster mother and she must have said something quite amusing because he laughed and his cheeks turned bright red. I smiled with him even though he didn't know that I was there. I studied his body movements, as he tried to walk comfortably in his suit and tie. I was disappointed that they had cut his hair so short as not even to show his natural curls but, all in all, he looked smart.

I vacillated about my timing to approach the scene and mentally prepared myself to help him stay calm. It's best to engage the foster parent first to demonstrate an air of familiarity. After greeting Tootsie like an old friend; I did what friends do and asked her for some money. Ha-ha. No, seriously, I needed change for the pay phone and I had left my change purse in the car. She was amused and told her husband, Louis to cough it up. Toulle laughed again and his approval of my ice breaker was worth it all.

I didn't complain, even to myself about how the courts won't let us be together. I would tell him to hold on, that I will never give up fighting for his return. I can see in his eyes that he doesn't want me to either. I see hope but I know that he can't dare talk to me when they are around and inside I weep for us both.

Toulle was taken from me on November 1, 2000; he was only a baby, still nursing at twenty-two months. On the forty-fifth day the Virginia Beach Department of Social Services let me see him. When I held him in my arms, I couldn't imagine ever being able to let him go. He was two and I was allowed a 'home visit', that's what the senior social worker, MaryAnn White kept calling it. She said it as though she was trying to condition me to the idea that he would never be coming back home; not permanently at least.

MaryAnn sat down at the table, exposing paperwork and brochures as social workers typically do. I couldn't help but notice how socially inept she seemed. She was abandoned, desolate; like my once lively apartment. Toulle was smiling at me and I could tell that I had not been forgotten. He was reaching for me and I figured that I was supposed to ask if I could hold him. What surprised me was that he wasn't verbal.

Oletta, 19 and Jerrus, 18, my daughters; walked into the apartment and whisked the baby out of my arms and out of the door. MaryAnn was quite startled. I told her not to worry, that they'd bring him back shortly. I secretly admired the way that they did that. I knew that I wasn't at liberty to pull off such a maneuver.

I tried to pretend that I was listening to her presentation/ orientation about the agency that had stolen my child; but my ears were filled with water and my eyes saw through the walls- outside, watching Oletta and Jerrus with their baby.

When my children returned, Toulle had a mouth full of chicken nuggets from Wendy’s (his favorite) and his two little hands straddled a kid's frosty. They were laughing and the baby was ecstatic. He was also, talking. Weirdo, MaryAnn frowned with perplexity; as though a joke had been told but that she didn't get the punch line... because 'it' was her and everything that she stood for.

I took Toulle into the bedroom to change his diaper. I could hear MaryAnn trying to engage two disinterested teenagers in the dining room. As I was removing Toulle's green pants, his eyes became worried and I cocked my head, straining to hear unspoken words. Heart in my hand, I opened his diaper expecting to see a rash which was causing him pain.

It was worse. The skin had been rubbed off most of his penis. The slit was grossly swollen and protruding. Inside, I gasped in horror but kept a reassuring gaze. "Oh, is this what hurts the baby? Mommy, fix it", but he looked terrified; like he wanted to get up and run. I called the girls in the room. Oletta smiled sadly, saying, "Diaper hurt?" He didn't answer but his eyes narrowed - mad like. "Somebody hurt the baby Toulle?", and he nodded affirmatively with a pout.

Jerrus broke into covered tears and Oletta smiled at Toulle and said, "It's alright now...we fix it - OK?" Then she turned her back and started for the bedroom door. I saw her face and I had to stop her. She had 'REDRUM' on her mind. MaryAnn called out, "Is everything alright? Do you need help changing him?" "No, but would come in here?" I responded in a controlled manner. We showed her the bruising on his legs, buttocks, anus and thighs- and of course, the noticeable worn off condition of his genitals. We asked a few questions so that she could note that his responses were accurate and then we asked if someone had hurt him and he nodded in the affirmative again. She looked worried as hell but she kept trying to explain it away.

"Perhaps it’s a rash?" - But rashes aren't black and blue.

"Maybe the foster mom put his diaper on too tight... I'll tell her about that".

-That could explain the bruising on his hips, but not the butt and thighs or the anus.

"Well it does look strange but Charlotte, what do you think it is?"

I didn't answer her. I struggled for composure. As I dressed him; the girls escorted MaryAnn into the living room, demanding that she take us to hospital... again with the perplexed look. She explained that she couldn't possibly take us to the hospital. She didn't have the insurance coverage for us to be in her car. She insisted that we didn't understand ‘how these things work.’ “It’s just not that simple. I'll tell the agency about your concerns and they will look into it. If they decide that he needs to go to the doctors then they will have that done but like I said, it's just not that simple.”

At that moment all I could think about was grabbing Toulle and running all the way to the hospital but...if I did that, they would probably arrest me for kidnapping before I could even get him to a doctor. Toulle and Jerrus were playing hand games, giggling. Oletta looked like she wanted to stuff MaryAnn in the trunk of her own car in order to get to the hospital; but, I couldn't let her do that.

For the girls, it was unthinkable what I had to do next. I didn't have a car or a phone or I would have called the police myself. A wave of defeating illness washed over me as MaryAnn's expression turned into the cunning smile of authority. Immediately, I knew two things:

1.) Because we were naive and caring; we would never make a scene that would startle Toulle; I was going to have to relinquish him, and

2.) DSS cared more for their reputation than my baby; for that, they would not take him to the hospital right away, but they will stop us from seeing him because they can.

This was a proper introduction of the monsters that stole their childhoods and psychologically damaged us all in its wake."

Toulle Styles was born on January 13, 1999. He was a "village child." By that I mean everyone in the house had a hand in raising him. If one person was too busy to care for him, there were six other people just as willing and capable of getting him what he wanted or needed. Well, maybe not Carri and India so much because, they were still small themselves, but they definitely did their parts.

When we (my siblings and I) found out Mom was pregnant, we begged her for another boy. I mean, we loved Carri and all but gosh, was he spoiled. Ha-ha. We knew if Mom had another boy then Carri would have someone to "crash" (his cars and toys) with later and we would have another boy to dote on. Carri was getting way too much attention as the only boy.

Mom never had to go to the doctor for her pregnancy, she had had 6 children already without needing prenatal care and we had all come out healthy as can be. We knew, when Toulle started kicking in the womb, that it was a boy. We just knew. And we were ecstatic.

When Mom's water broke, Di-Di (Oletta) went to the hospital with Mom and the rest of us stayed up all night into the morning awaiting her return. Apparently, Toulle was a very healthy baby. So healthy in fact, that instead of making Mom and baby stay in the hospital for 3 days like every other mother, they were released shortly after his birth.

So eager to be around our brother, we all huddled around Mom as she cared for him. We were going to drive the poor woman crazy. So one by one, we learned how to hold a baby. We learned to change a diaper. It was gross but cool. We learned how to heat a bottle old-school style, by putting it in a pot of warm water just like on Look Who's Talking. Then we began getting to know him. We all had our favorite songs that we liked to sing to him and we all knew the TV shows he loved to watch with each one of us.

Toulle is now 12 years old. The last time I saw him, I was 17. It was 2008. He was 9. It was a good visit. I brought him a toy rubix cube and a "20 questions" toy. He loved them. We had to visit in a room at the Virginia Beach Department of Human Services building (bka Hell) in a room with a 2 way mirror. Mom had him try eating a small salad. She's really into the vegetables. He said that he never had it before and he didn't like it. That's was ok- see they had this deal...on Friday's, Mom would introduce him to a new food and he'd have to at least try something new. He grew a fancy for backed potatoes with cheese and butter (on the first try); cola champagne; cheesecake; stromboli - you get idea. Anyway, they were able to leave the building and eat togeter before. But now she has supervised visits where they have sit in a little dirty room. On this visit when I came along, the entire time Nina Pearson and her colleague Gwen Corbin sat in the room connected to ours and watched us. It was like we were specimen. No privacy. We all knew we were being watched and it made the visit almost impersonal.

They have been trying to make our relationship impersonal with him since they came into our lives. When they came to get us, they snatched Toulle from mom and they snatched me out of my cousin,Joy's arms. When they took us to our fist foster care placement with Louis and (I think her first name was Carlene) "Tootsie" Capois, Toulle used to sleep with me. He was terrified of these people. Their house was dirty. They would come in the middle of the night and take him out of my bed. They said that he was falling on the floor, but I slept on a bunk-bed that was pushed up against the wall and he slept on the in-side, so how could he possibly fall?

It was really overwhelming taking care of Carri, India, and Toulle. Louis and Tootsie never cooked. I had to figure out how to prepare the meals by myself in their kitchen. Toulle clung to me all the time.

I remember the first time anyone had hit me. I had just finished changing Toulle's diaper and I needed a break away from him. So I got up and started to walk away and he began chasing me. I started to half-way laugh, half-way cry while I ran away from him; hopping over the baby-fence in the kitchen as he reached up for me. Tootsie came over to me, grabbed my hands and hit the back of them, calling me stupid. I still think about that day and cry. Not because she hit me, but because that was a time I missed out on holding my brother. I had no idea that I wouldn't have that many chances in the future to be with him - that one day, he wouldn't recognize me right away - that one day, he wouldn't reach for me anymore.

A lot of bad stuff happened in that home, but I'll touch on it later. Carri, India and I moved out about a month or 2 after we arrived there. Toulle had to stay.

I know it seems like I don't have much to say about Toulle. All I have are memories from before he was gone from us. Like singing to him all night until my voice was hoarse, just because I loved him. I remember promising my mother, when Toulle was just 5 months old, that I would watch over him, protect him no matter what. And I promised him that every day. I remember holding onto him at night when we went into foster care, and feeling empty when they took him from my arms. I remember his smile, how it used to make him so happy when my sisters and I dressed him up or when we would lie on our backs and put him on our feet and lift him into the air. I remember pushing him in his stroller for walks around the neighborhood, or to the beach. I remember staying in the Marjac hotel on the oceanfront, watching Saturday morning cartoons with him in bed, drinking hot chocolate with marshmallows.

I remember not seeing my baby brother for months and having to show him pictures and remind him that I loved him and that I was his big sister. I remember that sadness in his eyes every-time they took him from us again. I remember our first Christmas, at VBDHS building and MaryAnn White, our social worker, telling me not to try to force Toulle to remember that we were brother and sister, not to make him uncomfortable. That was around the time that Tootsie began showing Toulle ultrasound pictures, telling him that he came out of her stomach. He used to call me "O-Mama," for other 'other mommy.' They said he couldn't do that anymore. He had to call Tootsie Mommy. They began telling Toulle that Mom was "Nice Lady." That's what he was supposed to call his own mother: "Nice Lady."

I remember not seeing him for another long stretch of time and him staring at me blankly, with no hope in his eyes. I could tell he was happy to have someone to play with but that he also had no idea who I was. I remember seeing Toulle when he was four, and asking him if he knew who I was and him saying, "No, but I know that I'm s'pose to." I remember how they made me break my promise to protect him. I remember crying at night thinking about what my brother was going through, how Louis was probably touching him, just like he did me and my sister. I remember having to stack my bears on top of each other at night and imagine I was holding onto a baby, so I could pretend no one was hurting him and he was safe in my arms.

I've been asking to visit with my brother for years now, they keep telling me no. They told us the reason they never sent him home is because his bond with us wasn't strong enough, like he hadn't been alive long enough for us to feel connected to him, for us to love him. And vice versa.

I don't know my brother anymore. And he doesn't know me. People like Megan Morrison, MaryAnn White, Nina Pearson, Judge Ron Marks, ADA Nianza Wallace, Art Ermlich (who was supposed to be our guardian ad litem...he knew about it and he was supposed to protect us), Ophelia Watley...they made sure that never happened. They didn't let us love him too up close, they didn't want him to know who he was or that he had a real family who loved him.

When Toulle was born, we knew we would call him that, but we wanted to leave his name as Baby Boy Styles on his birth certificate. It was a family vote. We thought our brother would be an amazing superstar or public icon and when he walked down the street people would scream "Baby Boy!" We thought it was awesome. VBDHS...not so much. So last year, they changed his name to Devon. When they talk to us, they call him Devon. Do you know how bad that hurts? This year they are trying to change his last name to Capois. They are trying to name my brother after the people that abused and molested 3 children at least, including Toulle.

And why? To prove they can. I can't think of any other reason why someone could do something like that. It hurts me to think that they'll never give my brother back to his family, never admit that they are wrong, never even just move him from the home that he is in, even though he was obviously molested and abused there. It's sad to think that these are the people that will come for YOUR children if anything should ever go wrong in your household. Are you ready for that? I was never ready. I've been dealing with this for 11 years and I'm still not braced. But I can't stop. I can't let him go. No one in our family can.

Give us our children back, you've already stolen our childhood. They are not lost. They are not forgotten.

*I feel horrible because I have no pictures of my brother. They refuse to let us take any. All we have are polaroids of him as a baby. All we get is to imagine what he looks like now.*