“The reality is that you will grieve forever. You will not ‘get over’ the loss of a loved one; you will learn to live with it. You will heal and you will rebuild yourself around the loss you have suffered. You will be whole again but you will never be the same. Nor should you be the same nor would you want to.” — Elisabeth Kubler-Ross
Grief has been a theme in my life lately, and I thought I’d come here to work it out. Writing has always been my preferred method of working through my feelings. When I was just a child, I would write long and heartfelt letters to my parents or other loved ones, full of all of the feelings, questions or concerns I had. I would slide them under doors, mail them, or even read them out loud as my hands shook and I tried to concentrate on the ink on the page instead of the turmoil inside of me.
Recently, we went to two “Farewell” get-togethers for four beautiful children we have come to know and love. Two wonderful foster families are experiencing all the sorrow, hurt, and anxiety of their precious children returning home to their bio families. There are two moms (and dads, and siblings) who are grieving deeply this loss, and two moms who have been grieving every day for over a year who finally get to hold their babies with no time limit. It is so bittersweet. So much work has been put in on both sides. All have prayed for these children to be safe, loved, and reunited with their families. And now that they are, there is so much hurt on our end. We miss our little friends, and have to readjust to what life is like without their presence.
As foster parents, we get asked a lot about when we have kids leave. “I’d get too attached”, “it’s too hard”, “what happens when they go home?”
We have been foster parents for over two and a half years, which isn’t really all that long. There have been foster parents who have put in decades worth of meetings, court dates, advocacy, prayer. Most days, it really seems to me like my two years barely makes a dent. While we have cared for many children, the loss we have felt with each child has been unique. When our first foster son went home, I thought the grief was going to swallow me whole. I wholeheartedly supported him being with his family, and yet it felt like every breath was painful as I readjusted to life without our little redhead. There have been others still, even more short term than our first, who I have wept and shook over leaving. Do I think they should still be here? No. Do I miss them? Absolutely. I would jump to see them if I could. Sweet One has been our only long term placement, and since he is still with us, we can’t really speak to the type of grieving we’ll experience when he goes home. I don’t know how long we will cry, or how difficult it will be to breathe. I don’t know how often we will see him after he reunifies, or if when we say goodbye, it will really be the last one. There is a lot about this process that is really just going along, and hoping you get it right. There is no handbook for how to be a foster parent, how to navigate loss and relief and joy all at the same time. Some people take a look at my life and say I’m handling everything so much better than they could. I usually change the subject, uncomfortable with the topic. I don’t like to delve into the inner workings of the baggage I carry; I would rather hold it in than to shock or make people around me uncomfortable. However, in the spirit of healing, I have decided to share what I know about loss- losing my parents.
For most of my life, I had never considered that I had anything in common with foster children. They have strangers come to their home or school, remove them without warning, and place them with complete strangers. They have court dates and meetings where they have very little say in what happens to them. I didn’t have any of that. My grandmother raised me, came to my school meetings, took me to ballet and to the zoo. Other kids would tell me I was different, but this was just what my family looked like. It took me well into adulthood to begin to come to terms with the reasons my family looked like it did. I was born to a teenage mother, coerced and abused by my father who is ten years her senior. My entrance into the world was filled with stress and fear.Love is not enough to raise a child. No, you need safety, a steady income, housing, a support system. I spent a few years being passed between my mom and my dad (where I was cared for by my stepmom). No matter where I was, someone was always missing. I used to have dreams that I was crying and nobody was listening to me, only to find out later that given the way my life began, that’s probably more fact than fiction.
When I was 5, my dad brought me to live with my grandma. I did not get a reason, nor was I told how long “we” were staying. He was a charismatic person, who always got what he wanted and I spent a long time hanging on every word he said. Every promise he made was regarded as truth, and every single time he’d let me down I’d wilt a little more under the weight of my grief. He spent years dropping in when it was convenient for him, only to cause more chaos and destruction when he was around than I felt when he was gone. He made sure my grandma never got legal custody, so he could threaten to take me away if either of us tried to set any boundaries. He was hateful and abusive. Still I would cry and say I wanted a family. So many times people say that kids must be relieved to not be around abuse anymore. It breaks my heart to say we don’t learn to hate our parents when they are that way, but that we learn to hate ourselves. We still beg for their love, attention, validation. It has been years since I had contact with my father, and I still mourn the dad I wish I had. Every birthday that he has forgotten, every joke I remember him telling, makes me wince a little. I am an adult, and still wish I had the relationship with my parents that I deserved to have. I wish there were an easier way to get people to understand that even when people are unhealthy influences, it doesn’t make you love them any less. I can’t exactly point out the year I lost my dad, but I know it still hurts like it was just last year.
My relationship with my mom hasn’t been much easier. With a background of generational trauma, I am not surprised that parenting a child as a teenager proved to be too much. She was outspoken about never intending to have children; the weight of her history was too much to pass on to anyone else. My grandma tried to facilitate a relationship, and I treasure the cards and the visits that I got. She didn’t like to talk on the phone, so I gave up asking. Her requirements for our visits got more and more complicated, and I turned myself inside out trying to get it right. Maybe if I tried even harder this time, it would go well and things would be better. Despite how I have yearned, we have never achieved that “close” relationship I always prayed for. We can have conversations, and visits with each other. But I feel a pang of loss for every FaceTime I can’t experience, every piece of advice I couldn’t ask for, the idea of my mom as an involved grandma for my kids. There are ghosts around every corner of the life I wish I could have had with both of my parents, and time doesn’t make it hurt any less.
When we fight reunification, we are wishing my feelings of loss, self-blame, confusion and anger on the children we care for. As much as I will hurt when child after child returns home, I cannot wish for them the life that I had. I don’t want them looking around and wishing their parent were in the room. I can’t root for an adoption when a parent is succeeding at the tasks laid before them.
Things may not be perfect when children return home. Maybe foster or adoptive families can give the child “a better life”, with more money and more opportunity. Maybe it really is that the foster family is safer, and there are concerns with returning the child home. But in our conversations around kids in foster care, let’s not confuse an unsafe environment with one that lacks love, connection or hope. Most of the kids in care want to be with their parents. They wish it were possible for their parents to do what they need to do to get them back. So when a parent does work hard, does correct deficiencies, is motivated to regain custody- let’s not hold that against them. It’s easier to be bitter, angry and hurt. I have heard foster parents say “how dare they” work to get their kid back when they “know” their kid is better off elsewhere. Please, stop talking like this. Your foster children might not hear you, but former foster children, or children raised out of home like I was- I DO hear you. In my lifetime, I have been told explicitly by both of my parents that I was not loved, wanted or appreciated. I grew up with a grandma that told me she loved me constantly. She told me what I needed to hear, made sure I was safe and had so many amazing opportunities- and I STILL cried for my parents. I still wished that there was a world where my parents could love me and care for me. So if the kids in my home have even a chance of having that too, I want to support that. Will you please support reunification? Donate money or goods to agencies that fight for reunification, help support pregnant women struggling with the idea of parenting. Most women place children for adoption (a permanent choice) because of temporary barriers. Take it upon yourself to become more trauma-informed, so that you can stand next to me as an advocate for the families that have to interact with the foster care system. There are a thousand ways to help be a positive force in the foster care system, and none of them are by bad-mouthing the families involved. Trust me, I’ve been there.
If you have questions about how to become a foster parent, or how to support foster children or parents needing to get back on their feet, please let me know. I am happy to talk more in-depth about anything on my blog, as well as connect you to an agency you might consider partnering with.
Run of the Mill(ers) 