I’m in Missouri. It feels peculiar to be here. Nothing seems familiar; yet everywhere I turn, I have been a thousand times before this time, this day.
I spent the morning in court on a case that would give any loud talk show a run for its money. Afterwards, I had to draft and file no less than four motions for various orders to try to impose a little sanity on the situation. Mom, Dad, Mom’s boyfriend, Dad’s girlfriend, Mom and Dad’s child, Dad and girlfriend’s child, Mom and boyfriend’s child: seven human beings impacted, three of whom have no control over what the adults decide to do with their lives.
I tried to recite only facts and seek only an orchestrated orderly process for these people to manage themselves until we can get a final disposition. I tried not to impose my judgment on their conduct. It’s hard, though; I represent the children, the helpless children, a five-year-old, a one-month old, and a six-month old. What will these machinations do to them? We can guess. What we strive to avoid is a cycle, the same cycle which probably prompted their parents to act as they did to position themselves for this drama.
Then I sip coffee and read about seventeen souls drowned at Table Rock Lake. No one would call me a religious person by anyone’s standard. But i am left, at the end of this day, with one solid thought:
There, but for the grace of God, go I.
And now, I’m off to dinner with friends. Tomorrow, I will move files to storage. On Sunday, I visit Corleys on the eastern side of the state. Then, on Monday, I fly west, to my Pacific, and home.
It’s the twentieth day of the fifty-fifth month of My Year Without Complaining. Life continues.