Mixed Emotions

I cannot count the number of times someone has called me strong since we became licensed foster parents. It’s been said by friends, family, near-strangers. They say that we are strong, that they could not do what we do. May was Foster Care Awareness month and in previous years, I have done my best to follow a prompt a day on social media and write a little about my experiences to raise awareness. This year, the one-word prompt I seem to be living, whether I want to or not is grief. And unfortunately, it’s not just confined to May. 

At the end of this month, Sweet One, the child we have loved on, prayed over and watched grow will return home to his mom. Before foster care, I’m not sure I ever experienced any joy growing out of grief. Loss came before more loss. Disappointment or shame was more likely to follow grief than joy. Pain seemed never ending. When our first little man went home with his mom, with tears still fresh on our faces, my husband turned to me and said “I want to see that happen one hundred more times.” And now, over 3 years later, we have the pleasure, blessing, fortune of being able to sit on the front lines while it happens again. Another family fought for and restored in ways that my family never was. 

I somehow missed the memo growing up, about joy. Frustration was pent up, packaged into resentment for me to unpack a decade or more later. Anger, never expressed, was tidied up and swept under a rug. Sadness was okay, for a time. Happiness was more about what it looked like on the outside than what I was feeling on the inside. And now, boxes and boxes of memories and feelings have been unpacked, feelings running down my cheeks every chance they get. Feelings are persistent, it turns out. Each day that I turn them away and say, “not right now”, they just sit back quietly and counter, “We’ll wait.” And then, in a quiet moment, I close my eyes and it’s like they’re all sitting there waiting. For 30 seconds after I drop him  off for a visit, for a minute or two while saying bedtime prayers. Little pockets of my day where I just can’t push them away anymore. The silence in the house that I know is coming with his overnight visit. Strength may be a word you have for me, but it’s not something I feel. 

Before, when people have said “I could never do what you do” I’ve replied that none of us have control over what happens to our kids. Not in the big picture. We can control what we feed them, when their bedtimes are or where they go to school. But none of that really guarantees their future. I have had friends who have miscarried, lost newborns, been confronted with an accident or disease and seen for themselves how unpredictable life is. And now, as I weep over this loss that I am feeling sending Sweet One home, it feels so deep in my bones and yet I struggle not to compare it to the loss that is happening everywhere else. I think, I should be stronger. I remind myself, this is the best case scenario- that he would get to go home to his mom. So why does it feel so hard? How can joy and pain exist in the same story? In the same breath? 

This feels so hard; I contemplate daily whether or not I can continue opening my heart to more children when I know it will end up hurting so much. I don’t think I’m strong enough to do this over and over again. But then I’m reminded at the very beginning of our journey, when we agreed that fear wasn’t a good enough reason to stay quiet, to stay comfortable. In the past 3 years, we have grown more, both individually and collectively, than I realized was possible. The passion I have for advocacy is more alive now than it was even when I was in my social work program in college. I am more committed to “walking the walk” because I have seen amazing things along the way. In so many ways, life seems like it is about the big things- the big advocacy and the big justice and the big voice I want to have. And frankly it’s intimidating and feels like I’m not capable of doing all that much. But maybe it’s not really as much about the big things as it feels like it is. Maybe it’s really about being the safe person to kiss bumps and scrapes, even if we share that duty with other parents. Maybe it’s about the 3 year old stomping around with his packed bag, quietly chanting “mama house. Mama house” because he knows it’s time to visit. Or his mom sending us home with some crazy good homemade sauce for when we make dinner. And about all the little moments that got us here. I don’t really have any answers. But I know that no matter how sad it seems to be looking at this chapter coming to an end, I’m glad we’re here.

Full Circle

Around this time last year we were just getting acquainted with the idea of being new parents. We had just brought our first foster son home, hadn’t yet met or talked with his parents. We had no idea what God had in store for us as foster parents, or as parents in general.

I am in awe of all that can happen in a year. We have had 5 sweet baby boys in our home. Two of those boys have been respite placements (just this last week), and two have long since gotten to go home to their parents. And a few weeks ago, that first precious boy we brought home a year ago turned 1. I can hardly describe the emotions swirling around: excited, happy, disbelief that we’d been parenting almost an entire year. I reflect back on Sweaty Spaghetti often, and am so full of joy that he is right where he is meant to be. And just when I thought I couldn’t get any happier, we got invited to come to his first birthday party. And just like that, I started to cry. I had hoped we would get to celebrate his birthday with him, but when hopes like that become reality, I truly can’t wrap my head around how blessed we are.

So often, foster care seems to pit foster families against bio families. One is “bad” and the other “better”. They are on opposite sides of some battle, and the child is stuck in the middle. But what if the child being in the middle wasn’t so bad? What if, instead of being yanked from one side to the other like a game of tug-o-war, the child is holding hands with both families? This idea is sometimes used to depict families who choose open adoption, but rarely, if ever, have I seen anyone talk about how to reach this place with bio families. And yet, a few weeks ago, we found ourselves in this very position. We showed up, with Sweet One, to a child’s first birthday party. Not only were we welcomed with open arms (literally!), but we were introduced to family without shame- “These were (kiddo’s) foster parents.” Cue more tears. I’m continually amazed by the gracious way that we are included in their family. I’ve long said that your village can never be too big; you can never have too many people praying for you and rooting you on. Being able to follow along on new milestones, pictures, and interests is such a blessing. When I question God’s call to have us in foster care, all I have to do is think about this family, and I know that we are right here for a reason.

And Sweaty Spaghetti’s birthday wasn’t the only one we’ve celebrated recently! Sweet One also had his first birthday, just in time for us to take a respite placement who also had a birthday! A time to celebrate how much has happened in a year, and yet is so bittersweet for children in foster care. We printed pictures, made cake and had balloons. A few new toys were given, and songs were sung, but it hurts my heart to know that these birthday celebrations were incomplete. Unlike Sweaty Spaghetti’s birthday, there were some very important people missing from these other parties. There may have been a table full of people here to celebrate, but there was a big empty space in my heart where these kiddos’ grandparents, siblings and parents should have been. I can’t help but wonder what they would have done differently. Do they have a birthday tradition of eating cake for breakfast? Maybe a family movie night is how they would choose to celebrate. How different these birthdays would have looked with siblings and cousins running around and “helping” unwrap toys and blow out candles. Well-meaning and encouraging friends will tell us that we did just fine, that we made their birthdays special. And I hope that they’re right. But just because we did well doesn’t mean it couldn’t have been made better with their families there.

Life’s celebrations and milestones are not meant to be contained to a weekly visit. My heart breaks for these babies, and even moreso for their parents. What must it be like to have to ask permission to feed your child a cupcake for their birthday? To not be able to take them to the park? These are all parts of grief that we will feel as our children go home, and however much it hurts for us, the pain must be double for families whose children are in care. Now for all of the people that say they deserve it, or that they “made their bed”, please remember pain doesn’t happen in a vacuum. Not only did these families have a lot of “help”, in the worst of ways, finding themselves in this situation, but their pain isn’t the only pain I’m concerned with. Judgement can seem well-meaning, I mean, you’re just looking out for the child, right? But what if I told you that every time you ask me about the habits or faults of bio parents, you twist the knife a little more? Not just for us, but for these kids. Every time something negative is said about their parents, it affects them. Not just when they can understand it, or when they’re within earshot. I’ve met the families of each child we’ve had in our care, and I don’t have any ill will toward any of them. That’s not some superpower of mine (I’m still just human), nor is it blindness or naivety. I believe they deserve respect and kindness, and guess what? Every single parent and family member has treated me well in return. Is it a fluke? I have no way of knowing except to keep loving on these kids and their parents. But I really believe that if we can remember the goal is to be holding hands, and not playing tug-o-war, we’ll accomplish a heck of a lot more than if we go head-to-head over a text message or a visit.

Our first family taught us it’s possible to be on the same side, all lifting the child up. I know relationships like this can’t happen if they’re one-sided, and surely they take work to maintain. But social workers, friends, family and bystanders can help by extending grace and understanding instead of cynicism and critique. Instead of offering an opinion about bio parents, try connecting to your foster parent friends another way. Pray for them, provide respite for them, write them a note about how great they’re doing or send them a little something so they know they aren’t alone. I can’t speak for every foster parent, but I feel the most supported when you can celebrate the bio families victories with us. The goal is reunification until it’s no longer safe or in the best interest of the child, and even then there is loss involved. Support us by supporting these families as they come full circle, just like you’ve supported us.