This is the most heart-rending account I’ve ever put together. It tells of the love between siblings despite having to face the same abusive father. Their travels, what happened on the way, and resolution are all truly profound. It deserves to be read in its entirety– I guarantee it. This is all from her perspective.
9 years ago, I encountered my biological dad and learned of the existence of two little brothers. Not shortly after that, our father inquired if they could relocate to my house while he was working overseas. The night they joined me, they were merely 6 and 7 years old while I was 19. Since I had only known them for a few days, my affections for them resemble that of a guardianship more than that of a sister.
This is Quinten. When he was 7, he appeared at my residence. Quinten suffered from a rare form of chromosomal abnormality (Ring 9 Chromosome) and was unable to walk, communicate, or take care of himself.
He was truly the elation of childhood. Anything could make him laugh and giggle. His passion for music and water was unparalleled; he enjoyed being cuddled, spun around, and treated like a BOY. It just had to be done responsibly; we simply needed to be careful. He was not ill or delicate- except maybe when he faked a tear or two to get a bit more food!
Wherever Quinten went, Cameron was ever-bound to follow. Cameron, although the younger, acted as Quinten's defender. He safeguarded him, confided in him, and showered him with through care when he was not doing so well. In fact, due to his concern for Quinten, I had to home school him when he was in first grade- classroom instruction being too much of a distraction.
For Quinten's birthday, it was white cake I brought him- with the goal of not having a chaos. Despite this, he craved for chocolate. Quickly, he reached over the table, pulled the cake into his possession, and began to eat. It was such a surprise how he was with food; when everyone expected it was beyond him, he'd have it in his mouth in the twinkle of an eye.
After providing for them for nearly 4 years, I could no longer sustain the emotional and financial needs of our children. Our father was contributing, yet I still had to work. It proved unmanageable for me to locate inexpensive daycare, and Cameron was old enough to start looking for his Dad. Therefore, I asked our father to come back to the U.S. to keep them. This is our farewell at the airport. I seemingly died that day.
Two years had passed, and our father had come back to America. I was ecstatic that they were now only four hours away, I visited them frequently, my brothers being 12 and 13. However, soon enough I started seeing a difference in Quinten – he was pale, thin, and no longer content or cheerful.
Whenever I came to town, the refrigerator was almost always empty, the house was a disaster and the mood was despondent. Even with my expenditure on groceries and my persistent cleaning, when I returned the condition was the same. Despite my brothers ever present colds, our father never allowed them to get medical attention.
It struck me that our father had been disregarding his duties to the kids- Cameron, 14 at the time, had to assume the responsibility of tending to Quinten and himself, from washing to taking care of the diaper. On top of this, our father was also subjecting him to physical and emotional harm. To address this issue, I committed one of the greatest acts of courage in my life up until that moment- on December 17th, 2012 I contacted the authorities and made a child abuse accusation condemning our father.
The social worker came down to the boys' school and interviewed Cameron. She promised she would come to their home for a home study. However, after three weeks of waiting with no response, Cameron reached out to her cell phone several times. Unfortunately, no one ever showed up. Despite his feelings of despair, Cameron continually reassured little Quinten that a savior would soon come and take them away from their suffering. Unfortunately, commitments never became reality.
Attempting to drive down and retrieve my brothers was a difficult and unfruitful endeavor - the social worker had apparently chosen Christmas shopping, or a comparable activity, over making their removal from such a dire situation possible. No matter how many times I called the Department of Human Services, they simply emphasized patience with the assurance of imminent assistance. Obtaining them myself was a distinct risk, for the consequence of interstate kidnapping is felony charges, which would result in me forever being separated from them; the boys would simply be placed right back with our father.
On New Year's Eve, Quinten fell sick yet again and was not taken to the doctor. Instead, our father purchased Nyquil and some Vick's vapo rub and instructed Cameron to administer it. On January 3rd, Cameron gave me a call, panicked, and said, "He isn't improving; he's not eating, crying, and nothing can stop him". He gave Quinten the phone, and I told him, "Bubby, I love you. We'll make it alright. Tomorrow, I'm coming as fast as I can - I want to hug and kiss you and take you home with me." Cameron said he had a faint smile on his face after he heard me. After Cameron and I urged our father to take him to the hospital, he said he would later on that night - however, he did not. Therefore, my husband and I decided to travel to town at noon the next day. We made a plan to contact the police from the house. We would inform them to either take custody of the kids or let us take them but they had to get them out of there.
I instructed Cameron to hold Quinten, rock him, and caress his hair- comforting him that even though medicine can not cure the illness, hugs and snuggles can sometimes help. Cameron subsequently brought his mattress out to the living room and set it next to the couch where Quinten was suspended- owing to the fact that the mattress had too many pee stains. If you concentrate on the corrugated cardboard in this photograph, you can discern dried excrement on it. Human and animal waste permeated the entirety of the house.
On the morning of January 4th, Cameron roused from his slumber, discovering that Quinten had passed away. He had still been holding his brother's hand in his sleep, yet upon waking it was cold. He quickly alerted our father, who was always found in his bedroom at the computer, and it was him who attempted to revive Quinten through CPR. Yet there was nothing to be done, and once the paramedics arrived they said he had been deceased for at least three hours. From then on, this couch has become a reminder of what happened here. If you focus on the picture, you can spot discoloration on the upholstery - this couch was soaked in urine to the point that if someone sat it, their entire outfit would later smell of urine, even after a wash. It was not until recently that we heard of something even more disturbing, the fact that our father asked Cameron to change Quinten's diaper while the paramedics were arriving in order to conceal the foul excrement that Quinten had been sitting in.
I'm doing whatever it takes to bring about justice for our dad. Imprisonment is the only recourse; someone unable to confront child deprivation should not be allowed to stroll free. Unfortunately, we're not going to be able to put him behind bars because no one recorded the mistreatment.