The above story is in no way related to the below post (except for the commonality that kids go to kinship carers through the same avenues) Looking at my ice dealing son, I wonder how I got here? If I am honest I wasn’t the best or the most doting parent, but I tried my best to put a roof over his and his three siblings heads and a meal on the table. I was a single mum who escaped domestic violence in a time when the laws were very different. He grew up rough really in a suburb that had been deemed low socio-economic with high unemployment. But he has grown up in church knowing I loved him and so did God. We moved around a bit but I always tucked him in and held him tight. I could blame myself which at times i did for the mistakes I made. I fought bitterness and hurt with his father who moved on too quickly blaming me for his fists. But still I got up every day and loved those kids with all my heart. So looking at this handsome son who once came to my home full of psychosis with a huge hunting knife, needing to get those after him before they get him. Calling police after hearing that terrorists were infiltrated robots owned by the CIA. A son, who has cash up to his eyeballs and tattoos of “tomb stones and death” and “brotherhood.” I see that little boy behind his eyes sometimes, frightened and pleading for help, but I can’t get to him now, he is trapped there unable to escape the drug dealers gaze, now too far gone to reach. But still I pray. She was a young girl full of rebellion and mischief, she became a mum too early with an established taste for parties and grog. The drugs came soon after and have turned us upside down with fear. At first she was a good mum but that soon changed, with every cop car or watch house stay, then court cases, prison and fist fights, home invasions and stolen goods. It never ended, still we watch her, high on drugs with another belly full of baby. Our other grandson here for visits with the same tell tale signs of neglect. I teach him to write his name, his colors and abc’s, he can’t count but is a sponge to learn. He sings and jumps with laughter, but says he doesn’t want to go back. I am powerless at this time to keep him, I have to wait and pray. But he will come, I know it! The hardest part is waiting it out now, till bio mum is picked up for yet another outstanding warrant and gives birth flagged by Child Protection. We wait and gather clothes and baby things till we have to fight again to give these kids a voice. Praying that the ice doesn’t harm this baby or her little brain. It’s harder still seeing a baby you birthed, one you loved beyond love, protected with your body and did everything humanly possible for, as part of the cause to the community misery of ice addiction. Broken hearted parents raising their grandchildren in a system that says we are not important enough to reimburse (which is federally legislated), acknowledge or thank. In the eyes of system WE ARE ""ONLY"" GRANDPARENTS #ImOneOfMany