JANE
As most of you know, I was removed from my home at the age of five. Even after being removed, I would end up back there from time to time—whether for a home visit, a trial placement with my family, or just between places to stay. One thing was certain: I always had to make new friends and adjust to a new neighborhood.
Looking back at this story, I understand there was a reason for these temporary stops in my life. Some of you reading this, who have been removed, can relate to my story. Home is always where we wanted to be, no matter how bad it was. We always sought the words that screamed home. It was a tradeoff to be home and endure the torture that was soon to come. No matter what that looked like, the rest stop was a much-needed break from the mental and physical stress that living outside of the family brought. Unless you have lived this, it’s almost impossible to imagine these emotions. That’s why I am writing about this now—to give insight into what I call a rest stop. It seemed to be a beautiful place because for the first weeks at the rest stop all the principals involved had to be on their best behavior. This could last for weeks, but eventually, the transition would happen, and the removal would inevitably take place. It was a part of the system—a process that, while not perfect, did offer me some degree of protection.
If I remember correctly, I was about nine or ten years old and at yet another rest stop. I found myself back home in a single-wide trailer in a new trailer park on Buffalo Road in Raleigh, NC. The trailer was nearly brand new, and my brother and I had our own room to share. It sat at the end of one of the many streets in the trailer park.
By the time I arrived, my family had already settled in, but for me, it was unfamiliar—I was a new kid. The neighborhood kids had plenty of questions. Who are you? Where did you come from? I didn’t know how to explain it, so I said I was there for a short time. Eventually, the questions faded, and I found my place in the social order.
At the end of the street, I was met by a family who lived in a double-wide trailer; if you’ve ever lived in a trailer park you know that the double-wide people seem to have a step up on the regular park people, but that was not the case here. My first encounter with them was so irregular that I was caught off guard. Their daughter, Jane, saw me riding my bike at the end of the street, and she came out to talk to me. She invited me into their home, and I was met by her younger sister, Elizabeth, two older brothers, Rusty and Tommy, and, of course, her mom and dad. Her dad was an extremely tall man with a raspy voice; Jane’s mom had a voice that would warm anyone’s heart. Entering their home was calming, and I felt so safe. It was restful to my soul and spirit.
Jane and I became best friends over the next few weeks and then that turned into months. My principals were maintaining a strict code of conduct, and I was even trying to be better at being better. I spent most of my time at Jane’s house and even spent the night there on many occasions. I had dreams that they might even adopt me. I had all but moved in with them. I had become good friends with her brothers as well. This family was one of the first of many rest stops who brought peace to my soul and showed me an unconditional love I didn’t know how to accept.
Jane and I would put playing cards in the spokes of our bike wheels and ride around the park, laughing and having the best time that life could bring anyone. We built forts in the woods and sat for hours talking about our lives. She accepted me for who I was. But in the back of her mind, she knew I wouldn’t be there forever. I had shared with her on many occasions that I would soon be leaving, moving on to yet another place. Even now, as I write this, I feel a mix of sadness and peace. This was the first of many rest stops in my life.
Then, the time came for me to leave. Jane and I had one last conversation, asking the same questions: Will I ever see you again? Will I ever talk to you again? The answers were always, Of course, but deep down, we knew the truth.
As the car drove away, I turned back to see Jane standing beside her bike waving goodbye.
I never saw Jane again. I’m sure she grew up to be a wonderful person, and I know her family welcomed the next person at the rest stop. That was their gift to humanity—to be that place of solace and refuge for those in need.
The rest stop. Be sure to take one now and then. They are placed in your life and have a purpose. Take the time and allow yourself to pause—even if it’s just for a moment—to rest.
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