The Name Game

Among the louder echoes in the grieving of my DIL are the FB cliches of MILs who ? ? ? The words for those cliches rapid cycle faster than a TV sitcom, but for this sorting I will call ^it^ turn children from good mothers. I cannot quote my DIL directly because her accusations were ALWAYS spoken in the low range, grumbling tones of anger. Even when dressed in friendly tones, the lower ranges are immensely difficult for me to interpret. To my ears, they sound something like gravel being dumped from a truck. I hear it fine. Interpreting the words is iffy, at best, even when I feel safe asking for repeats. Angry tones do not create feelings of safety. I can no more quote my DIL's angry accusations than I can tell you which piece of gravel said what as it was dumped from that truck.

Flashbacks to those fierce arguments were already active and frequent during the Protective Custody shift. With much help and support from CPS, my peer support network, my husband and YS, I was able to managed those flashbacks well enough to stay on task. Pre-Corona, CPS was asking me to resume pro therapy as part of the custody agreement. That piece of business was CFC. Closed For Corona.

The flashbacks intensified painfully after the funeral when Big Sis went OCD on the question, "Are you my Mommy now?" They escalated even more while Hubs was working with CPS to pursue the preferred adoption process. Circumventing the very legal games the DIL's elder sister is now playing was the strongest logic for preferring the adoption process. The family's litigious history made this very move quite predictable. Even **I** was able to see that through my grief/PTSD fog.

And here we are. . . The bigger surprise is that she found a lawyer willing to take her case on a disability pension budget. Given the number of hungry lawers in the U.S. the surprise is not allot bigger, but enough that I will wait until the lawyer makes contact before I take the DIL's sister at her word. Can we expect her to play The Race Card? Setting that body of yaddah blah in God's Hands for now. . .

I am still reacting intensely to being called, "Mom" in relation to my GK's but seem to be losing the reflex of correcting people when they call me by that name. At the very least, it is an accurate job description.

Processing. . . Sorting. . . Praying. . . The stress knots in my colon are quite painful this morning. Ouchie mama.