The Visits That Broke My Heart – Supervised Moments with Anna
After we were taken away from Anna and placed in foster care for a while that seemed forever, we still had visitations with her—but they were always supervised.
The visits took place at the DSS office, in a small room with a couch, some toys, and a small TV. There was a mirror on the wall—a kind you couldn’t see through, but the social workers could. And in the corner, there was a camera.
I noticed it right away.
Whenever I walk into a room, I examine it—every detail. That’s how I was even back then. Always watching. Always taking it all in, even when no one knew I was.
But even though I saw the camera and the mirror, I didn’t mind. I understood why they were there. What mattered more to me… was being with my mommy and my siblings.
No matter the room, no matter the rules—I just wanted time with her, with Anna.
When she walked in, I’d light up inside. No matter what had happened, I still loved her. I wanted to hear her voice, sit close to her, and believe that maybe—just maybe—we could go home again one day. Maybe things will change…
We would ask her questions:
“How have you been?”
“Are you doing better?”
“Do you have a job now?”
“Can we come home soon?”
She always had answers ready.
“I’m getting clean.”
“I have a job.”
“I’ve got a car now.”
“I’m working on bringing you back.”
She said all the things a kid wants to hear.
And I believed her—because I needed to.
Because hope felt better than truth, even when it hurt later.
But as time went on, it became clear that the things she promised weren’t real. She wasn’t clean. She didn’t have a job. There was no car. No plan. No stability.
Just more empty words. More stories.
DSS noticed the pattern.
The false hope.
The emotional toll.
And then… they stopped the visits altogether.
No more sitting in that little room.
No more watching the door, waiting for her to walk in.
No more hoping that this would be the visit that everything changed.
They said it was for our protection.
And maybe it was.
But part of me still ached... in a way I didn’t know how to let go of.
Because I loved her.
Even through the lies.
Even through the heartbreak.
And letting go of those visits—felt like letting go of the dream I had held onto the longest, but I still believed.
“I have loved you with an everlasting love;
I have drawn you with unfailing kindness.”
—Jeremiah 31:3
