Baby Briana's arms twitched and legs flopped against cold concrete. She stopped breathing.
The 16-month-old needed an ambulance to arrive within minutes and someone to pump air into her lungs with infant CPR until it got there. Briana's life depended on who was with her when a hidden health condition stole her breath.
A few weeks ago, it wasn't clear who that would be.
Texas child welfare workers removed the girl and her brother – both under age 2 – from their parents' home in January 2025. Their nana Rochelle cared for them for months until, one day last September, a state officialtook the childrenfrom daycare without notice or explanation. Eventually, the kids were driven 170 miles to live with strangers.
Afraid she'd never see Briana and Jayden again, Rochelle decided to fight to bring them home. It would only happen if she could assert her voice in a court where she had, so far, felt voiceless.
"I am doing everything I can to keep our family together," Rochelle, who is in her 50s, said weeks after the state took her grandkids. "I hope in the end, like my chaplain said, I don't make any mistakes that can't be undone."
She was not, technically, part of the court case that will decide her grandkids' future. She was the relative who cared for the kids a few days each week since birth, did so full-time for seven months as a kinship foster parent and committed in writing to be their permanent caregiver should the court terminate parental rights for her son and his partner. But in the eyes of children's court, she wasonly a grandmother.
Associate Judge Raul Perales, who oversees the case involving Rochelle's grandchildren in Bexar County, said rules of court that "intimidate" and "confuse" many relatives are nonetheless necessary to ensure the best outcomes for kids.
"I wish it could always go extremely smoothly," he said. "But it is an adversarial setting."
Tight family bonds have no bearing in courtrooms unless a judge says they should. At hearings where child welfare and court officials discuss a relative's care as a kinship foster parent or future as an adoptive parent, judges can tell loved ones such as Rochelle they "don't have standing" to participate. No state guarantees a chance for relatives to speak in court after a child welfare agency has taken kids from their parents.
Few can affordrepresentation to file a motion to join the case. One lawyer who returned Rochelle's call about intervening asked for $15,000 up front.
USA TODAY is using first names for Rochelle's family to protect the privacy of children too young to consent to sharing sensitive personal information. A reporter confirmed her story through dozens of interviews with the parents, extended family, friends and officials as well as a review of hundreds of pages of emails, text messages, contracts, court transcripts and other documents.
"I'm not seeing any good come out of this," Rochelle said a few days after the state took her grandkids. "I don't have the financial ability to hire a decent attorney."
Still, she would not give up.
More was at stake then she knew.
Nationwide
Each year, more than500,000 kidslive in foster care after a civil judge removes them from their parents' custody. Child welfare agencies placeabout a thirdin a relative's home throughkinship foster care.
Federal law requireschild welfare agencies to prioritize placing kids in the care of relatives rather than strangers.Decades of researchshow children have better long-term outcomes for health, education and employment even thoughrelative caregiverstend to be older, poorer and sicker than stranger foster parents.
Despite that preference policy, kinship foster parents are not guaranteed a voice in court proceedings that will shape their family for decades.
"Grandparents don't have the same constitutional rights as parents," said Amy Harfeld, the National Policy Director and Senior Staff Attorney for theChildren's Advocacy Institute.
The decisions to take kids, return them or terminate parents' rights are all made by a civil court. The judge evaluates evidence presented by the child welfare agency's attorney and the parents, who, inmoststates, are guaranteed legal counsel if they can't afford a lawyer.
A1971 federal lawalso requires representation in courtfor children, although itdoesn't have to be an attorney.
"There is no one appointed to represent the kinship caregiver," said Perales. The Texas judge is a former family law attorney who previously represented the state's child welfare agency.
Yet experts say judges have wide discretion in choosing who can speak in their courtrooms. Some only allow attorneys to talk, trying to stay on schedule and focus hearings on predetermined issues.
"It depends on the case," Perales said.
Daycare
Rochelle moved to Texas years ago to give her teenage son a fresh start, to remove him from the friends pulling him into drug use. With the support of a family-oriented treatment program, he graduated from high school.
Then he and his girlfriend found out she was pregnant.
Since her grandson's birth in 2023, Rochelle, a former child nutritionist,cared for him– and later his newborn sister – a few days each week. She read them books, played with them at the neighborhood park and took them to doctor's appointments.
"I'm no fly-by-night grandma," Rochelle said. "I've been there from the beginning."
The kids' father and mother, now 22 and 20, struggled financially and with the responsibilities of raising kids while growing up themselves. Rochelle's son lost his job while in jail.
In January 2025, someone filed a suspected abuse or neglect report with the state's child protection hotline. It might have been a mandatory report made by a hospital worker after the infant Briana was brought there by ambulance twice in 10 days for breathing problems. The resulting investigation by Texas Department of Family and Protective Services deemed the young parents unfit caregivers.
Rochelle stepped up to raise the little ones: Jayden, who loves to patter across the floor in his push car, was not yet 2, and Briana, who required a nebulizer to help her breathe, was three months old.
Texas DFPS declined repeated requests to discuss Rochelle's situation.
As USA TODAYpreviously reported, Rochelle's stability faltered when the state took weeks to secure childcare for the kids in San Antonio, not Austin as promised.
Although Rochelle lives in San Antonio, she commutes 80 miles up to four days a week. She attends Austin Presbyterian Theological Seminary, where she also works, as a master's degree student and pastoral ordination candidate.
The daycare approved by state officials dictated Rochelle's schedule. She missed classes and work to make drop-off and pickup times. With her income cut by half, she struggled to keep up with mortgage payments. Her home temporarily went into foreclosure.
Rochelle wanted the kids in an Austin daycare so she could check them out for lunch or bring them to her campus office to play while she studied. It would also let them commute in the early morning before rush hour.
Whenever the daycare noticed Briana wheezing, they called Rochelle to pick up the kids early because workers would not administer her nebulizer. She had to drive two hours to get there.
Rochelle's persistent push for Austin-based daycare sparked conflict with the children's caseworkers and the attorney appointed to represent them. She doubted the officials were listening to her pleas – or understood why the daycare location mattered.
"You cannot say you care about the children and not care about their caregiver," she said.
Hope
At court hearings in May and August, Rochelle tried to tell Judge Perales about her struggles with the department covering daycare in the wrong city. He swore her in and let her speak.
She was hopeful when he seemed to tell the caseworker to secure childcare in Austin.
"We've got a grandparent very dedicated to providing a home for these children," he said, according to a transcript of the hearing. "Let's do what we can to facilitate and ensure that placement doesn't break down."
But the judge also told Rochelle that, in the future, she should not speak in his court unless called to testify.
Perales said she needed to share her concerns with the kids' caseworker or Shawn Sheffield, the children'sattorney ad litem, who is supposed to argue for the children's best interests. She did not have legal standing.
"Mr. Sheffield will contact you," Perales said. "He'll go out and see you. Certainly, you can share whatever is going on with the children. His duty is to report back to advocate for the children."
Rochelle could not catch Sheffield before he left court that day. She missed him after the next hearing, too.
In the intervening weeks, records shared with USA TODAY show that he did not respond to her emails or calls. She said he talked with her on the phone twice: for five minutes before the May court date, saying he'd call back but didn't, and again in August to schedule an in-person visit. Sheffield told a reporter by email that he called whenever she asked.
Rochelle lost hope that Sheffield would help her navigate the conflicting messages from caseworkers and fight for the daycare she needed.
So she stopped trying to call him.
Visit
More than six months after the kids had moved in, Rochelle was with them at the pediatrician's office when Sheffield called to arrange his first home visit.
Rochelle agreed to meet him later that day. She canceled plans to attend class and go to work because the judge had said Sheffield was the person who could share her concerns at court.
In an audio recording of their conversation shared with USA TODAY, Rochelle explained to Sheffield the bind she was in because, among other challenges with the department, the children's daycare was in the wrong city. The attorney interrupted Rochelle every time she talked.
"I am trying to help you," Sheffield said, speaking over her.
"It doesn't sound like it," the Black nana said to the white attorney.
"To a point. To a point," he said, interrupting her again. "You're saying you want these kids to go to Austin every day. That's where I have an issue."
"I don't understand why you have an issue with that. It's common sense. If I'm in Austin and something happens with the kids …" Rochelle said, speaking louder when Sheffield tried to interrupt. "… I can't get to them for two hours."
Sheffield reiterated that he did not want the kids in an Austin daycare. He continued to talk over her as he began to leave. On the recording, the screen door squeaked as he opened it.
"If you're not able to take care of these kids, then maybe we need to look at a different placement. That's all I'm saying."
The screen door whined closed, and Jayden said, "Bye!"
At the next court hearing, Sheffield told the judge that Rochelle was not communicating with him. He said the children "may need to" be placed in a different home.
She was in court that day. Perales admonished her for not cooperating but did not let her respond to Sheffield's characterization, point out a factual mistake made by a caseworker or explain her situation.
Sheffield did not relay Rochelle's concerns, as the judge had previously suggested he would. And Sheffield did not mention he had seen her just three days earlier.
When a reporter asked why, Sheffield seemed confused by the question.
"Just so you understand, I represent the children in this matter," he wrote in an email. "Not (Rochelle)."
Apart
On Sept. 22, Rochelle left school early to pick up the kids and donated diapers.
As she was driving home, the car's Bluetooth system pinged repeatedly with text alerts and incoming calls from family. They told her that state caseworkers had come to the daycare and taken her grandkids. She became numb with shock.
In Texas, kids taken into state custody leave a kinship placement twice as often as the nationwide rate, according to a USA TODAY analysis offederal datatracking kids removed from their homes in a four-year period.
A spokesperson told USA TODAY the state would take a kid from a relative's home for three reasons: that caregiver's request, reunification with the parent, or safety concerns.
In this instance, the department caseworker had come to the daycare and taken Jayden and Briana without warning, an intervention state policy allows only when officials believe children are inimminent danger. A Texas child welfare spokesperson declined to explain the decision.
Sheffield later told USA TODAY the kids were removed "due to access issues."
AJ Juraska, a seminary classmate and former foster parent who joined Rochelle at a meeting with court and department officials, reached a different conclusion.
"The children were not removed because of a concern about their safety," Juraska said. "They were framing it a little bit like Rochelle wasn't responding to them, but I think what they really meant was, 'We don't like how you talk to us.'… I think they just got tired of her advocating (for daycare in Austin) … and they responded by removing the kids."
After staying a few weeks with relatives they'd never met, Jayden and Briana landed with strangers in a Houston-area foster home, more than three hours away. Rochelle saw them three times in those three months. The state canceled at least seven visits for the kids with their parents, citing an inability to schedule transportation.
Rochelle had two ways to get her grandkids back. She could convince the department and Sheffield to return them, an outcome she considered unlikely. Or, she could figure out how to file legal paperwork to join the court case and then convince the judge to reunite her family. That wouldn't be easy, but it felt like the only winnable course.
She knew her grandkids needed to be with a loving family member. It was common sense backed by research: Foster kids raised by relatives rather than strangers have fewer behavioral challenges. Family members help make sense of their shared history and culture. They have reduced odds of becoming homeless or incarcerated as adults.
Rochelle was so worried about losing her grandkids, she didn't even try going to bed some nights. She skipped writing academic papers so she could research Texas law, uncertain whether professors would let her turn in the homework late. Rochelle felt like she had no choice if she wanted to protect her family.
The nana hoped the kids wouldn't remember these hard days, but she learned that separation trauma alters the brain wiring of young children and newborns. They are too young to store explicit memories – the kind you can picture later – but their brains and bodies do store implicit memories that shape instincts and behaviors for life.
Rochelle was certain she, too, would have scars since her grandkids were "stolen" from her – and that was on top of the practical impacts, like lost income and delayed college graduation.
She had planned a first birthday party for Brianna that would never happen. Weeks after their removal, a gift bag sat on her dining room table, unopened. The nana had picked out two new outfits for the baby girl, including a long-sleeve onesie with an elephant crowned by a pink bow on its front.
"I think about the grandmothers who are 70-plus, who don't speak English, don't have a college education," she said. "If the system is doing this to me, what is it doing to them?"
Meeting
At a November meeting set by DFPS, state and court officials could decide to return the children to Rochelle. She was skeptical.
At the meeting, department officials and Sheffield never said Rochelle harmed the kids or was likely to hurt them in the future, according to detailed minutes sent to all participants and several attendees who described the gathering.
In fact, Tara Bledsoe, a program supervisor, said the kids should be with their nana while their parents completed services the department required. She said the children could return to their grandma's house if others agreed.
Rochelle's son said he wanted the kids back in his mother's care. His partner was not with him, but previously told USA TODAY she did not want her children with strangers.
Sheffield, who attended by phone, disagreed.
He said:I don't want those children on the road.And he questioned the nana's commitment:How do you have time to spend with the kids?
Rochelle asked why Sheffield had never called her references or the community network that supported her family. She thought he was judging her caregiving based on one home visit and a few minutes on the phone.
She could not understand how a commute taken by thousands of people daily or daylong childcare used by many working parents was reason enough for her grandkids to be removed from her home and placed with strangers.
Without a logical answer, Rochelle reached another conclusion:Racial or class biasplayed a role in Sheffield's concerns.
"He would be great if I dropped out of school," Rochelle said. "How does that sound? Some white man is wanting this African American, Black woman to drop out of her master's program – and then we'll give you your grandchildren back. Uh, hello?"
Sheffield said he never asked Rochelle to leave graduate school and insisted "race or class bias played no factor in my decision regarding daycare."
"However," he wrote. "I must determine what is in the best interest of the children."
Research
Because Sheffield, the children's representative, disagreed with the department, Rochelle knew she would not get her grandkids back unless the judge ordered it at the Dec. 15 court hearing.
Unable to afford a lawyer, she set out to write and file legal documents on her own.
She stayed on campus in Austin overnight, napping in the student lounge when she wasn't researching what, exactly, she might file to gain a voice in the courtroom.
"One of my fears is that I don't want to file the legal stuff and mess things up. I'm not an attorney," Rochelle said. "You're talking about destroying someone's family."
She called a legal aid hotline for advice. A former child welfare worker pointed out state laws and department policies that Rochelle could cite in her filing. A real estate lawyer who was a friend of a friend helped her format her petition and exhibits.
Rochelle typed six section signs — § — in a neat column at the top of the page. She referred to herself as the "Intervenor" in stiff legal language. The Presbyterian ended the petition with a "Prayer" – the section where a filer describes what they hope a judge will do.
It took several weeks and five tries. Once, the petition was rejected because, in her rush, she had forgotten to sign it.
Finally, on Nov. 12, Rochelle's legal petition was accepted by the clerk of court as a proper filing.
"The Intervenor's interests are not adequately represented by any party to this lawsuit," it read. "The Intervenor's interests are unique and require independent representation to ensure a complete and just resolution of the case that preserves familial bonds."
Help
A week before the hearing, a seminary classmate told Rochelle that his church had raised several thousand dollars to pay the retainer of a lawyer to represent her in court — for one day.
Because Rochelle had successfully written and filed the petition on her own, the temporary legal counsel would be able to speak to the judge.
As part of a planned weekend visit a few days before court, the grandkids were dropped off at Rochelle's house.
They attended a church Christmas party and went to a celebration hosted byTexas Grandparents Raising Grandchildren. She drove to her son's apartment so the kids could see their parents.
On a Thursday, four days before the hearing, a state child welfare supervisor emailed Rochelle. She offered to return the kids under one condition Sheffield had set: daycare in San Antonio, not Austin.
Rochelle texted back: "I have sent your email to my attorney and she says you can call her to discuss."
No one replied to her or answered her lawyer's calls.
Court
On Monday morning, Rochelle was waiting for a department transport van to pick up the kids to return them to the foster home outside Houston. Then, she would prepare one page of notes to bring to court that afternoon.
Instead, her lawyer, who had finally gotten through to a supervisor, said the state agreed the kids should return to Rochelle's care. Immediately.
Now wrangling two young children, Rochelle could not go to court that day. She attended by Zoom instead.
Rochelle left herself on mute.
Her lawyer made a few short comments but had told her she could not bring up topics beyond those on the agenda.
Shortly after court ended, Rochelle answered a knock at her door. It was Sheffield, the state caseworker and an unfamiliar woman who would be taking over as caseworker. All three held Christmas presents.
For two hours, Rochelle sat at her dining table filling out the same placement paperwork she had completed months prior.
A spokesperson for the department later said: "We are committed to continuing to work with the family toward a safe and stable outcome for them."
The new caseworker quit weeks later, so another one was assigned to monitor the kids. In just under a year, that woman would be the sixth person handed the children's file. With that, the tally of DFPS workers who had talked to Rochelle ticked up to 35 people.
Rochelle was glad to have her grandkids home for Christmas but it was not a happy holiday.
"I'm stressed and panicked," she said. "It's back to the way it was."
Rochelle said in the three months living apart from his nana, Jayden'sdevelopment regressed. His behavior became more challenging, and he lost some language skills.
She had to reestablish services for the kids: signing up for WIC, scheduling speech therapy and applying for diaper donation programs.
Although a supervisor had told her lawyer Rochelle would receive a kinship foster stipend as of Dec. 15, she was still checking her mail for it on Feb. 1. In Texas, relatives are paid half as much as strangers who take in foster kids.
An online fundraiserto help cover Rochelle's lost income and the children's expenses has had little response, although seminary classmates chipped in.
Similar to the promise made in January 2025, a department official told Rochelle's lawyer she would have San Antonio daycare approved within three days. In fact, it took a month.
She missed work hours, fell behind at school and is struggling to catch up on her mortgage payments. Again.
"I can be grateful and thankful I have my grandchildren back. And I can also be livid."
Emergency
On a recent Friday morning, Rochelle loaded the kids into her car for daycare.
While she was buckling Jayden, she heard Briana moan. The girl's arms and legs shook. Eyes half open, she didn't respond when Rochelle called her name. She sighed "like a last breath."
She stopped breathing.
The grandma screamed as she ran into the light of her driveway. Rochelle began infant CPR and yelled for a neighbor to call 911.
After several chest compressions, Briana startled awake and cried. She took a deep breath. Her eyes fluttered open then closed. She stopped breathing again.
Rochelle kept pushing down on the onesie with elephant wearing a pink bow. Briana came to and seemed to die four more times before an ambulance arrived and administered oxygen.
Doctors at the children's hospital would later determine Briana likely had a "brachial episode," which is most often caused by a nerve injury at birth that requires surgery to correct. It paralyzed the 16-month-old's diaphragm so she couldn't breath.
Without Rochelle's chest compressions, Briana likely would be dead.This article was produced as a project for the USC Annenberg Center for Health Journalism's 2025 Child Welfare Impact Reporting Fund.
Jayme Fraser is an investigative data reporter at USA TODAY. She can be reached by text or on Signal at (541) 362-1393 or by emailing jfraser@gannett.com.
This article originally appeared on USA TODAY:Will this Texas nana find a voice in court to save her grandkids?
Baby Briana's arms twitched and legs flopped against cold concrete. She stopped breathing. The 16-month-old needed an ambulance to arr...
