Series: Four Lives, One Last Chance - A Year In Drug Court: Part 25 Of 41

ACT IV. JENNIFER'S BIG DAY

After more than a year of waiting, Jennifer's big day has finally arrived.

She rises early on a bright, clear morning to pray about her trip to the
courthouse. She asks God to let her win back her right to be a mother to
her children.

She asks God to let the judges see that she's changed, to know that her
children want to come home to her.

Then she dresses, applies her makeup and heads to Chesapeake for the
hearing before a three-judge panel of the Virginia Court of Appeals.

The girls will not be there. Jennifer will not testify. Her lawyer will get
15 minutes to make an argument, sandwiched between other lawyers appealing
other cases. And the actual decision will not be handed down for months.

It will be an antiseptic, anticlimactic day after a long struggle and a
seemingly interminable wait.

Still, she's nervous.

As the car pulls into the parking lot outside the courthouse, Jennifer
feels her stomach churning.

"I feel sick," she says. "I feel like I'm gonna puke."

The court of appeals is in a small, brightly lit room with four rows of
cushioned theater seats and a giant seal of Virginia over the bench.
Jennifer sits in the back, sighs heavily and closes her eyes.

As the judges listen to the first case on the docket - an appeal on a
cocaine conviction - Jennifer prays again.

"God, let them give me another chance," she thinks.

Soon the emotions overcome Jennifer, and she starts dabbing the tears
welling up in her eyes. A few minutes later, she leaves the room and comes
back with a knot of tissues clenched in her fist.

After the first case, she moves behind her lawyer and reads some legal
documents over his shoulder. Then she sits back in the chair and fidgets
with her ankle bracelets. Still restless, she leans forward again and
places her chin on the seat in front of her.

Then her case is called and Jennifer perks up.

"Oh Lord," she says, as she moves to the front row.

But the arguments don't measure up to the drama of Jennifer's life. A
technical matter takes up most of her lawyer's 15 minutes. He failed to
notify the guardian ad litem - a court-appointed guardian charged with
determining the best interests of children - of the hearing.

The judges grill him on this point for several minutes, while an anguished
Jennifer continues to squirm around in her seat. One of the gray-haired
judges sneaks several looks at her.

"God, touch him," she thinks. "Maybe he got grandchildren."

After the legal wrangling, Raphael Connor, her lawyer, finally gets in a
few words about Jennifer's recovery. He touts Drug Court and its success
rates, and he says the legal system should take every opportunity to
preserve the bond between parents and children.

"She substantially took strides to correct the problem that led to the
abuse," he says. "Here we have an opportunity to preserve that relationship
because she's taken necessary steps to correct the problem."

Connor had argued in his brief that the court failed to account for
Jennifer's progress, and the system didn't provide her with enough help.
The social services lawyer disagrees, saying the system can't sit around,
hoping that Jennifer completes the program.

"A myriad of services have been offered to her since 1993," the lawyer
says. "The court found that we met our burden."

After the hearing, Jennifer is furious with what happened.

"They talking about how they gave me resources. Huh!," she says. "They told
me to go to meetings and do all this stuff and I didn't know how to do it,
didn't have the money to do it, and didn't have no transportation."

Because the guardian ad litem wasn't there, she knows she may have to come
back again for another hearing. With her oldest daughter approaching high
school, the prospect of the case dragging on even further is daunting.

"He spent the whole time arguing with the judges," she says of her lawyer.
"Stupid, stupid, stupid."

So Jennifer waits again for the legal system's wheels to turn.

Weeks later, she still hasn't heard from her attorney, so she calls him. He
tells her that the petition was denied because the guardian was not at the
hearing. He'll have to file another petition to rehear.

Jennifer feels powerless to win back her children.

"It's out of my hands. They're gonna do what they want to do," she says in
her darkest moments. "No one cares. They just want to push you under the
carpet because I messed up and I did drugs."

A few weeks later, her lawyer sends a letter that says he didn't file the
petition in a "timely manner." The case has been closed.

With that note, all her hopes and prayers are dashed, leaving Jennifer as
angry as ever at the system. The appeal never became centered on what she
believes is the most important issue - her ability to be a mother.

"It's supposed to be about my progress, not about the guardian ad litem,"
she says. "What can I do? I don't know what to do."