Bodycam footage showed one of the LMPD officers giving a citation for unlawful camping to a homeless woman who said she was pregnant.
My dad's heart attack in November took us all by surprise. He is only 53, and he was in what we thought was good health. As I made my way to the hospital, my mind raced with fear, worry, discomfort, and one question underscoring it all: "What about the boys?"
While the nurses and doctors in the ER saved my father's life: "What about the boys?"
While they placed a stent so he could get strong enough to have surgery: "What about the boys?"
While he rested at home, where small children posed health and safety risks in his weakened state: "What about the boys?"
While he underwent a quadruple bypass, a surgery I wondered if he would survive: "What about the boys?"
Losing a loved one to substance use disorder
In 2021, my little sister died after a 15-year battle with substance use disorder (SUD). She left behind three beautiful children, ages 14, 9 and 5, and like so many families who have known the pain of losing a loved one to SUD, the boys were living with my dad, their grandpa, and learning to grow up without their mom.
The best thing for everyone was for the kids to temporarily move in with me, my husband, and our 5-year-old. We packed their necessities and brought them to our home for the holidays.
Just as we got settled and into a kind of routine, though, my biological mom showed up. I hadn't spoken to her in over a decade, and here she was in my driveway, high on meth, and threatening me. She claimed to have a loaded gun. She looked terrible, made little sense, and was struggling to speak and breathe.
And still, "what about the boys?"
So, we fled. My husband and I were already planning a move over to Louisville, so we accelerated our timeline and relocated, nephews in tow, so my mother could not find us. It had been two weeks since my father's heart attack.
Homeless pregnant woman: a literal Nativity outside my home
As I struggled to create some sense of normalcy for my nephews -- celebrating the youngest's 5th birthday, coordinating with the school to try to explain why the 9-year-old is having behavioral issues and can't sleep, attempting an atmosphere of Christmas joy -- a literal nativity took place outside my new home:
A pregnant woman went into labor as a Louisville Metro Police Department lieutenant detained her for street camping. While her broken water ran down her clothing to the pavement, a city truck took her only possessions and mixed them with the city's trash. The lieutenant, who has accosted dozens of people whose only crime was having nowhere to go, handed her a citation before he called an ambulance.
This is the reality in Kentucky, thanks to the so-called "Safer Kentucky Act." There is no room at the inn. There is no affordable housing, no accessible mental health care, no SUD prevention or treatment unless you are a person of means. The city is a minefield for my son and my sister's children, and in my eyes every person who falls through the cracks of our broken systems represents one of them. Will they fall victim to our genetic pitfalls? Do their innocent brains carry the susceptibility to addiction, like my sister, like my mother? Do their hearts tend to weaken with age faster than others'?
This is an American Christmas. Not enough resources, not enough support, not enough empathy, not enough community.
The boys are still living with us, as I try to get them healthy enough to go back to my dad's. I am trying to keep it together as I run a business and parent more children than I ever wanted or have the resources for. I can barely pull together a decent holiday for my family and my sanity is hanging by a thread.
What about the boys?