| Safe in the arms of love

On Wed, 27 Aug 2003 13:01:59 GMT, "Ron"
wrote:

What is most interesting about this Ron, is that it is, as you know,
not the exception, but is repeated in its many variations by foster
parents and the courts over and over again.

Fosters are trained to let go and even assist with reuniting, and
often work directly with the natural parent or parents or the extended
family to effect that goal.

It's one of the main reasons I have such a high regard for foster
parents generally. They do it even when it hurts. And take justifiable
pride in their part in helping families and children.

Of course there is always the "get rich quick factor" (R R R R R)

Best. Kane


Safe in the arms of love

BY TODD COOPER

WORLD-HERALD STAFF WRITER

It took a judge's declaration Monday to make official what was in a
little
girl's mind all along.

Little Rose Flynn - who was beaten and neglected so badly that part
of her
nose was eaten away - officially has new parents, a new name and a
new life.

With the slap of a gavel, Pottawattamie County District Judge Charles
Smith
proclaimed Dan and Paula Christensen parents of Ayrissa Rose
Christensen.

But in Ayrissa's chocolate eyes, Paula and Dan had always been Mom
and Dad.

They had been so since her birth almost three years ago, when she was
taken
from her birth mom, Sally Flynn, because Sally was on drugs.

They were Mom and Dad until she was 15 months old, when Sally and
Kevin
Flynn decided they wanted their daughter back.

And Dan and Paula were Mom and Dad when she returned to their Council
Bluffs
home after five months with the Flynns - unable to walk and barely
able to
talk because of the abuse.

"It's been so long," Paula said Monday after finalizing Ayrissa's
adoption.
"So long."

In her 10 years as a foster parent, Paula Christensen figures she has
cared
for more than 150 children.

"I have a list this long of kids I wanted to adopt," she says,
holding her
hands about 18 inches apart.

"But you realize, you give them the best that you can give them while
they're here - and then you have to let go."

Still, something was different about this baby named Rose. Maybe it
was
because Paula and Dan, a former priest turned computer professor, had
cared
for her since her birth. Maybe it was because they were told her
parents had
abandoned her.

Whatever the case, when Rose was 6 months old, Paula told a
caseworker: "I
want this baby."

"Usually, you keep your mind trained to, 'We're trying to reunite.
We're
trying to reunite,'" Paula said. "You don't go past that point of no
return.
But that's what we did with Rose."

It wasn't until April 2001, when Rose was 7 months old, that Kevin
and Sally
Flynn initiated contact with her and began the court process of
trying to
get their youngest daughter back. They started with phone calls, then
with
brief visits. Then they took Rose for overnight stays in their Omaha
apartment.

On Christmas Eve 2001, the Christensens invited the Flynns and their
four
other girls for dinner and presents.

"They were very congenial," Dan said. "We had a nice Christmas. But,
you
know, they had manipulated the system. And they were further
manipulating
us."

Paula noticed something else. Though the Flynns were there for six
hours,
they never once changed Rose's diaper.

"There were red flags," she said. "But there wasn't anything overt,
anything
that a judge could point to to terminate their parental rights."

* * *



By February 2002, a judge had handed Rose back to the Flynns. And
though
they promised to keep in contact, they wouldn't answer the
Christensens'
calls.

Then the Flynns' phone was disconnected, causing Dan and Paula to
believe
they had moved. "I was devastated," Paula said. "It was one of the
most
painful things in my life."

Though they had been conditioned to let go, they couldn't. Dan dreamt
one
night that he was holding Rose in his arms. He woke up and told
Paula.
Together, they wept.

One day in June 2002, Paula returned home from a garage sale with a
bright
pink sweater, size 24 months.

"I know it's dumb," she told Dan, "but I bought it for Rose."

The next day, Omaha police and foster care investigators pulled Rose
from
the Flynns' care. She had dropped a third of her body weight in the
five
months she had been with them.

* * *



Paula found out about Rose's removal by chance, as she was dropping
off
another foster child's belongings.

"Did you hear?" a worker asked Paula. "They pulled Rose. She's at a
foster
home in Nebraska."

Paula's heart pounded.

"I said, 'You're kidding! Where?' He said, 'I can't tell you.' I
said, 'Is
she all right?' He kept saying, 'She's safe. She's safe.' I said, 'I
have to
see her.'"

Investigators in Nebraska were trying to find the Christensens - to
determine whether any of Rose's numerous injuries were from birth.

Meanwhile, Dan e-mailed Iowa Gov. Tom Vilsack, detailing Rose's story
and
urging him to expedite the interstate compact allowing a child to
cross
state lines.

The process can take three to six months. In this case, it took less
than
three weeks.

* * *



On July 3, 2002, Dan and Paula paced their sidewalk, camera in hand.
Ayrissa - they had long ago decided to change her name - was two
hours late.

No matter. When she arrived, they ran to the minivan. Dan opened up
the back
door and took her in his arms.

Paula snapped a picture of the moment. In it, Ayrissa is slumped on
Dan's
shoulder, her cheek pressed into his neck, her arm dangling like a
child who
just awoke from a long nap.

Or nightmare.

Dan has a title for the picture. "Home . . . at Last."

* * *



Omaha attorney Tom Harmon has advocated for dozens of children in his
15
years as a guardian ad litem. But he said he had never encountered
anything
like Rose's case.

Harmon said the photos of Rose in June 2002 were worse than any
autopsy
photos he had seen. Her back and stomach were covered with long, dark
hair -
her body's attempt to stave off the cold caused by malnutrition. Her
buttocks were covered with ulcers from diaper rash. And her nose was
eaten
away.

Now, the wound to her nose is barely noticeable. She looks like she
has a
pug nose with a slight scar under the tip.

That's where the cartilage between her nostrils was separated from
her face.
A doctor determined that the separation was consistent with someone
repeatedly jamming her nose with an open palm, Harmon said.

Her most noticeable scars are elsewhe a scar on her left arm from
where
officials believe she was strapped for hours to a high chair by a
dish
towel; on her legs, from where officials think the Flynns snuffed
their
cigarettes; and on her buttocks, from severe diaper rash.

Then there are the psychological scars.

Ayrissa hates anything that confines her - from the high chair to the
car
seat. In fact, Dan and Paula have had to delay plastic surgery on her
nose
for fear that she would panic if her arms were restrained after
surgery.

She can't stand it when anyone fights or argues. And, because of the
hours
she spent in a closet alone, she hates the dark. She sleeps between
Mom and
Dad, occasionally crying out. "'We just grab her and say, 'You're
safe -
nobody's going to hurt you anymore,'" Paula says.

Harmon said therapists don't know what long-term effects Ayrissa will
suffer. There have been no signs of a detachment disorder - a serious
psychological condition that requires years of treatment.

"She is one of the most resilient kids I've ever been around," Harmon
said.
"The first time I saw her, she ran to me, jumped in my lap and sat
there for
a half hour. That says a tremendous lot for a little girl who really
should
have no faith in any other human being."

* * *

Ayrissa brings Paula three ceramic dolls. Cupping them in her hands,
Paula
lets out a hearty "Thank you!"

"Shhhh," Ayrissa interrupts, pressing her chubby finger to her lips.
"Babies
sleeping."

Bubbly and constantly busy, Ayrissa loves to play with Clifford the
dog and
Lala the Teletubby. She plays house with Mom, feeding Froot Loops to
her
dolls. Dad tickles her until she squeals. And she occasionally locks
both
out of the house, giggling until Dad counts to 10 and the fun is
over.

In effect, she does all the things any toddler does.

She doesn't ask about her birth parents, who are serving 8 to 10
years in
prison for felony child abuse. And she doesn't see her four sisters,
who
would sneak food to her. They're living out of state with an aunt.
"They
didn't have a bond," Paula said.

The bond between Ayrissa and the Christensens is abundantly clear.

"She is the child she is today because of the care and compassion she
received from Dan and Paula," Harmon said. "They have given this
child just
unquestioned love and affection. It's truly remarkable."

Even more remarkable, Dan and Paula say, is Ayrissa's zest for life.
It's
what has kept them from being consumed by rage at the Flynns. It's
what has
led them to receive dozens of letters and e-mails - support for which
they
say they are forever grateful. And it's what has given them the
energy to
care for a little girl, even as they enter their mid-50s.

"I'm telling you - it was all part of God's divine plan," Paula said.
"There's no other way to explain it.

"There was a bond there. And that bond could not be broken."