And the beat goes on. The more I think about it, the angrier I am that no one in that lovely little, fog-bound town, no one in that dessicated family found a way to let my son know things were spinning out of control in the lives of his kids.
Did the neighbors, the IS's family not notice? Did they notice and think she had flu or PMS or not enough protein for breakfast? I mean, please! What is the responsibility quotient? What about the fact that the IS was driving places, often with children in her vehicle? Would they have hesitated to sue her if their own children had been hurt or killed by her drug-infused driving decisions? These silent, complicit enablers: will they let their kids go to the senior prom in cars driven by drunks? Will they avoid talking about the perils of attention afflicted people behind the wheels of cars because ignoring the issue will mean it doesn't exist? Come on!
And one step further. What do you want for your own kids, you friends of the abuser? Shouldn't the kids at least have a chance at not having to keep such heavy secrets? Shouldn't someone have at least called the Dad, if not Child Protective Services? Isn't the point of having children to raise them into healthy, functioning, responsible people? Because, if all it's about is making you - the parent - look good, hang it up, folks. Let someone raise the sprouts who loves them and will truly protect them.
End of rant, for now. I'm not done being pissed off.
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