Justice is not for those departed but for those that remain.T. Risen
My name is Avery Cupcake Hobbs. I was 4 yrs. old when my mother took my life. I was under the care of Child Protection Services. They failed me & claimed they dropped the ball.
October of 2011, my mother fractured my tibia, ulna, & my skull around a bathtub. All before I was alive an entire month. My great-grandmother was there as a witness, but my mother told everyone it was an accident. Similar to the year before when my sibling had an “accident” in my mother’s care.
My mother never told the truth and changed how I got hurt many times & no matter how many times the story evolved, child protection always believed & supported her lies in court. But in the beginning, a social worker trusted the doctors & decided that I would live with my Mama & Pappy (Jonathan & Tammy Risen). This decision lasted until my mother completed her six-month prison sentence & the life I knew changed.
A few months after my injury, my mother and father signed my custody to my grandparents. They did so to stop the involvement of our State. The social worker was to turn that legal document into the courts the following morning. However, the social worker claimed no one wanted me. That falsification gave my custody to the State of Ohio under the care of Hamilton County Jobs & Family Services. How? No one will ever know why the social worker illegally altered the document she submitted to the courts or who signed them. Nevertheless, I was stuck.
I lived with my grandparents for almost four years on a kinship plan. I was happy. I was advanced. I was well-rounded, and I was smart. Sadly, no one but my grandparents would listen to me, not even when it was apparent that my end was near.
You see, when CPS was involved, they thought the best place for me was with my mother. That was the furthest thing from the truth. Yes, I loved her as all children do, but I didn’t like her because she hurt me. She did so almost every time I saw her & no matter how badly the assault was, a social worker, guardian, and therapist would cover up what my mom did. Rarely did social services ever allow the courts to know the truth. They would all tell the courts that they saw nothing wrong with my mother or myself. According to them, everything was great.
When I was almost 4, the courts gave me back to my mother based on the guardian’s recommendation. Even though on my 4th birthday, the courts removed me from her for the second time. You see, my mother beat me so bad that no one could hide that she abused me & for a brief moment, I thought I found salvation. I was wrong.
It was my understanding according to Mama, if child protection removed me from the care of my mother, the court was to notify Mama. So she could talk to the judge to bring me home. That never happened because the guardian and social worker chose to destroy the one chance I had at a safe life by going against a court-mediated agreement. That choice put me back into the hands that harmed me.
I tried to help myself. I tried to tell. I told the therapist that my mother was touching me inappropriately & she said that my mother could do what she wanted because she had parental rights. I told the social worker that my mom would beat me & she called me a liar. I told the guardian how my mother “cared” for me. Yet, she, along with others, decided that I misbehaved & should be the one to go into therapy and take mood-altering drugs. You know, my Mama always told me to tell the truth, but it never helped me. No one wanted the real story. I was just a ball that they all kept bouncing.
During my final months on earth, my mother drugged me, beat me, & ripped my hair from my scalp. I was starved & kept in the dark. My step-father (Charles Mayes III) would kick me in the stomach if I got up from a corner that he & my mother kept me in. I was bound, gagged, & kept on the floor like a dog. They kept cameras on me for their sadistic enjoyment. Charles & my mother also forced me to run in place or do push-ups until my malnourished, beaten body collapsed. Often, I was pushed into a tub of water while fully dressed & bound as punishment or as a threat not to tell. Under a therapist’s supervision, my mother kept touching me sexually. I could no longer be in sunlight because it hurt my eyes. My mother & Charles would whip me with leather straps & newspapers crafted into weapons. What made this more heinous is that the guardian saw me in this condition and reported I was okay. That was a choice. A choice the guardian made not to protect me, which should be criminal.
On July 29th, 2016, when my step-father went to work, my mother, the court-appointed fit custodian of my life, assaulted me by inflicting trauma to my skull around another bathtub. I perished at that torture house & was placed on life support to live three more days. On August 1st, 2016, before my 5th birthday, before my father’s family could get to the child they fought to save, died from the assault.
I died because the social worker, therapist, and guardian lied. Why? Why did they choose to protect my mother, blame my father, & tell everyone my grandparents were not fit for my care. Why?
After my death, I laid for 17 days on a coroner’s table. Because just like in family court, my mother still had rights over my dead remains. My father, who all knew loved me, had to fight for custody to lay me to rest. That took 19 days because of parental rights & after that 19 days, my beauty was gone. No one could see me, touch me, or kiss me goodbye. I was alone. Dead, beaten, butchered, & alone.
You know it took almost as long as I lived for my mother to admit her guilt & she only did so to spare herself from a death sentence. My step-father was never charged with my death. The police said they had nothing on him.
If I were to recap my life in Charle’s care, I would say that I was in his home & under his constant supervision while my mother did this. That my voice was recorded telling what he had done to me & that too was not enough? Evidence pointing to him was also not enough?
No, I guess not. He was a “innocent” bystander to my mother’s crime.
Whatever happened to guilty by association? Or did the police forget that in crimes such as “MURDER,” those involved are equally charged? Much like the social worker, therapist, & guardian who also hid my mother’s crimes. Yet, here I am, left to watch from heaven as my Mama tries so desperately to spare others from the abuse I endured. Trying to again be heard & maybe if they listen, she can spare my younger sibling. You see, child protection now thinks my step-father is also appropriate in a child’s care. I guess they will never learn. Or maybe, the almighty dollar signs over the heads of abused children will never allow the system to change. I do not know, but please, help my Mama try so more children don’t end up like me.
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