November 10, 2025

Today, I received a letter from James Wale, Deputy Director of Child Welfare for the Ministry of Children and Family Development.

It was dated November 10, 2025.

Two weeks after I formally requested a review of how this Ministry has handled my son’s case; a case filled with contradictions, unaddressed warnings, and a trail of paperwork that tells the story of a system collapsing under its own weight.

The letter thanks me for my “commitment to advocating” for my son Bennett. It says my “frustration is heard.” It points me toward the same channels I’ve already been navigating for months; the Complaints Program, the Representative for Children and Youth, the Ombudsperson.

It reads like a door politely closing.

What it doesn’t do is address the substance of my complaint; the evidence of medical neglect, the system’s failure to coordinate care, the trauma of a child with complex disabilities who was removed from safety under the guise of “support.”

It doesn’t acknowledge that I’ve already been through every internal process they suggest.

That I’ve been writing, documenting, recording, pleading… not for attention, but for accountability.

The words are careful. Sanitized. Bureaucratically neutral.

And that’s the problem.

Because behind every “thank you for writing” and “I hear your frustration” is a refusal to name what’s really happening… that a six-year-old medically complex child has been left in the care of an untrained system, and his mother is being told to start another round of process while he continues to suffer.

The letter ends with:

“Thank you again for writing, I appreciate the opportunity to respond.”

Every mother who has ever tried to hold a system accountable knows this tone; the polite non-answer that loops you back into the same maze. It’s designed to tire you out, to make you doubt your own endurance.

But I’m not tired. I’m focused.

This letter will be added to the record — Exhibit [number], part of the growing archive of how the Ministry talks around responsibility while children like Bennett fall through the cracks they refuse to see.

If James truly “hears my frustration,” then he should also hear this:

I’m not giving up.

Not until truth cuts through the script.

Not until the words in their letters start matching the reality of their actions.

Because it’s about a little boy who deserves to come home.

Before you read the letter below, I want you to see it for what it is; another polished piece of paper from a system that has mastered the art of saying something while meaning nothing.

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