LAST CHANCE TO KEEP KIDS PLAYS OUT IN COURTROOM

For the mother who made a promise she couldn't keep, the reckoning
arrives at 10:50 a.m. in a Travis County courtroom.

Papers relinquishing her parental rights are ready to sign, but
letting go of her 2-year-old daughter is proving to be too much. Tears
flow down both cheeks and onto her blouse. Words catch in her throat.

But for H, there's no way out. She promised to give up her daughter if
her drug test came back dirty. It did.

"I don't understand how cocaine got into my system," she says in a
quivering voice. "I don't have a drug problem."

"That's not what the evidence shows," Judge Rhonda Hurley
snaps.

H is in court for a permanency hearing, held six and 10 months after
Child Protective Services removes a child from the home. They are the
last mandatory hearings following seizure of a child, and they're
meant to steer each case toward a final solution -- family
reunification or separation.

As always on the CPS docket, a deadline is pressing. Courts have one
year to resolve each CPS case, and by the permanency hearings, time is
critical.

For months, H has been skipping drug treatment and ducking calls from
her CPS caseworker -- lapses that put her at risk of losing her daughter.

So she made a deal. If she could pass a hair follicle test, which
detects long-term drug use, she would get a six-month extension on her
case and more time to succeed in drug treatment. Fail, and she gives
up her child.

"It's time," Hurley announces, and H sobs because what the judge means
is: Time's up.

'Good Luck To You'

Some family breakups are all too predictable. Parents relapse into
addiction, end up in jail or drop out, unable or unwilling to complete
the parenting classes, therapy and self-improvement courses needed to
regain the right to parent their children.

The more difficult cases involve parents who are making sporadic
progress, or children who are not -- particularly kids with mental
health problems that complicate their relationships.

No matter the difficulties, by the last permanency hearing, parents
are either preparing to bring their kids home or choosing from four
remaining options:

Voluntarily relinquish parental rights.

Go to trial, where prosecutors will fight to terminate their parental
rights.

Go to mediation, which usually ends with families being separated. But
at least parents can designate a relative for adoption or negotiate
some other favorable outcome, such as shared custody with an in-law.

Ask the judge for a six-month extension -- rarely granted and reserved
only for parents showing progress.

H, 25, does not meet that definition.

"(Your daughter) needs to know where she's going to be. She needs a
forever home," the judge says. "At some point I need to stop focusing
on you and I need to start focusing on the child."

Then Hurley softens her tone, calling another case to give the mother
time to sign the termination papers in private. The judge adds that
she will do the "prove-up" -- a short, formal hearing to forever sever
parental rights -- today.

"Mom, you don't have to stay for that. You can go," Hurley says. "Good
luck to you, Mom."

H nods and mouths a silent thank you.

Her chair is empty 20 minutes later when she ceases, legally, to be a
mother.

'You Had Your Chance'

The father, in federal prison until 2014 on drug charges, is out of
the picture.

The mother, a drug user for 16 of her 30 years, is in jail for another
five months -- but the one-year deadline on her CPS case is three
months away.

Addicted to methamphetamine, she's failed numerous treatment programs
and appears to have little chance of keeping her 2-year-old son. But
guided by reports that she is doing remarkably well in her prison
drug-treatment program, the judge grants a six-month extension to her
CPS case.

"She's on the right track," Hurley concedes. "But the test is when she
gets out of prison and has access to drugs again."

Hurley handles most of Travis County's permanency hearings and has
learned to be skeptical of addicts -- and few drugs are trickier than
methamphetamine, a highly addictive stimulant. In fact, a similar case
- -- a father in jail, the mother a longtime drug user -- results in a
different decision.

"If given a drug test today, will you pass?" Hurley asks the mother,
21.

"I should. The last time I used was a week ago," D replies. It's not a
winning answer, especially from a woman who skipped a
taxpayer-financed stay in a Fredericksburg drug-treatment center.

"I don't understand why you don't understand what's at stake. She's
been away from you for almost a year, and she's 2 years old," Hurley
says.

Quietly sobbing, D doesn't answer. Finally, she chokes out: "All I'm
asking for is one more chance."

"You had your chance," the judge says.

'Can I Go Home'

A year ago, J was racing toward the grave, though barely a teenager.
She skipped school, ran away regularly and was sleeping on the
streets. One day she stole a car, flipped it over and was caught.

Her single mother was overwhelmed and unable to cope. CPS ordered
family therapy and placed the girl in a residential treatment center
to address self-destructive behaviors. Slowly, mother and daughter
repaired their relationship with help from their church, the mother
tells Hurley.

"I think it's going really well," she says. "It's just about keeping
each other accountable."

Told that J is outside the courtroom, Hurley invites the ninth-grader
in. Unless they are too young to understand what is being said,
children are never in court while cases are discussed -- but every
judge makes time to meet them afterward.

J, in a black T-shirt and silver necklace, smiles shyly as she sits
next to her mom at the defense table. "Can I go home?" she asks the
judge.

"I am going to let you do that," Hurley says. "But still go to school.
Still work on your grades. Because you still have to see me."

Hurley orders J home on a "return and monitor" program -- a common
early step in family reunions. CPS caseworkers will make about eight
weekly home visits, followed by monthly checkups. If all goes well, a
judge will transfer custody from CPS to the parents.

"I'm almost as proud as your mother," the judge says. "Congratulations
to you both."

'Convince Me'

CPS found the four children, ages 8 to 2, living in filth, caseworker
Willimae Fulton testifies.

Trash, rotting food and dirty diapers -- enough to fill seven large
garbage bags -- covered the floors. The bathroom was a horror, the
stench overpowering. It was even worse than conditions CPS
investigators found in 2003, when the same family had to move because
their home was too filthy to properly clean.

"Even though we've been working with the parents, there is still no
progress with them actually comprehending what is wrong with their
house," Fulton says, recommending that Hurley terminate their parental
rights.

Hurley agrees.

Canceling parents' legal right to raise their children is a drastic
step. If parents object, the termination hearing can last for days and
involve dozens of witnesses. But the vast majority of these hearings
in Travis County -- about 94 percent in 2007 -- take only minutes
because the parents do not fight termination.

The burden of proof in these perfunctory "prove-ups" is the same as a
long trial: There must be "clear and convincing" evidence that
permanent separation from parents is in the child's best interest.
It's the highest burden of proof in the civil court system, where CPS
cases are tried.

Because most terminations are unopposed, some of the most difficult
decisions on the CPS docket are not whether to sever families,
butwhether to reunite children with their parents.

Such is the case of the 2-year-old with a huge head of hair, sitting
in court with her parents. She's been home for four months under CPS
supervision. Her parents have passed random drug tests and excelled in
parenting classes, couples counseling and drug treatment programs.

"I know a lot more about myself, my daughter, my family," the mother
tells Hurley. "I grew up with my parents doing drugs. What I've been
through ... I don't want to put my daughter through."

Most courts render a verdict based on the past -- was a law broken, a
contract violated? But with CPS cases, a judge must look into the
future to decide whether each child will be truly safe if returned
home.

No case is dismissed lightly. Hurley questions the parents for another
five minutes before she finally sits back.

"I'm a little concerned that once everyone goes away, you will return
to your previous lifestyle," she says. "The last thing I want to do is
pick her up again. If I do, you won't get her back."

Hurley pauses. Sighs. Speaks.

"So, I dismiss the case. Please tell me I will not see you
again."

"Not unless it's in a restaurant or something," the father says to
light laughter, including Hurley's. Even so, the judge can't resist
one more warning.

"She's a beautiful little girl, and you've got a lot to lose if I see
you back here again."

RECURRING ABUSE

Among Travis County children removed by CPS but returned home in 2002,
about 1 in 8 was later seized again by CPS. The local rate was better
than statewide, where 1 in 6 returned kids was later removed by CPS.

Texas Travis County

Children removed in 2002: 11,309, 557

Children returned home: 3,349(30%), 141(25%)

Returned children seized again:* 542(16%), 17(12%)

*As of May 31, 2008

Source: Department of Family and Protective Services