broken by the system

living without them

As the months dragged on, the reality of living without my children began to settle in. The house was quieter than it had ever been, and that silence was unbearable. Every corner of the house held memories of them—the sound of their laughter, the sight of their toys scattered across the floor, the smell of their clothes still hanging in their closets. It was like they were still there, but just out of reach.I tried to stay busy, to keep my mind occupied, but there was no escaping the emptiness. Every room felt like a reminder of what I had lost, and every day felt like another day further away from them. I clung to the hope that this was temporary, that they would come home soon, but it was hard. The days without them felt like they stretched on forever, and the longer this dragged on, the more I feared they would forget me.I knew that wasn’t true, of course. I saw them every week, and each visit was filled with love and connection. But living without them—it broke me in ways I never thought possible. I missed the chaos, the noise, the constant demands of being a mother. I missed the little moments, the bedtime stories, the hugs and kisses before school. I missed being their mom in the way that mattered most—by being there for them every day.