I celebrated my son Kimoni’s first birthday under surveillance. I brought him cake, gifts, and party favors—I wanted to make it as special as possible considering the fact that he was in foster care with strangers and I was being watched like a hawk by a social worker who acted like a police officer.
Kimoni had just learned to clap. When I cheered him on and said, “Yayyy,” his face would break into a huge smile. My other son, Mansa, was three years old at that point. We had spent every day of his first twenty-two months of life together; he did not understand why I had practically disappeared. He would leave the visitation room screaming and crying every time. I tried to ease the trauma of our separation by reassuring him that I would return.
During one visit in September 2019, I kissed his hand goodbye, told him I loved him, and promised I would see him again in just a few days. But hours later, the judge overseeing my CPS case terminated my visitation rights—forever. Since that day, I have not seen either of my sons.