tough love

This morning we said goodbye to our first foster placement.
The baby left our home, but she will never leave our hearts.
It is bittersweet... For us, we most likely won't see ever the baby again. For the baby, she gets to be reunited with family members. I don't know anything about these relatives, but I know that they've been thoroughly checked out and that the baby won't be placed in a situation that seemed dangerous, neglectful, or unsafe.

I have to trust that she will be safe and happy with them.

As author Kathy Harrison put it, I am "being forced to imagine the end." Because of confidentiality laws and privacy issues and such, we are not allowed to have contact with the biological family. We won't know when she learns to walk or hear her first words. She will not remember us.

It's amazing how quickly you can bond with someone, even though you know they aren't your child. We knew we weren't playing for keeps. But now that she is no longer with us, I am really feeling that loss.

The kids are sad. The preschoolers know the baby had to go back to her family. but it's difficult for them to process and put into words what they're feeling. The oldest is 9, and acting out horribly. She's definitely not herself right now. I completely gave up on trying to get any schoolwork done today (another plus for homeschooling - "mental health days" are allowed sometimes).

It's strange - this kind of loss is beyond my scope of experience up until now. It's not something that many other people can relate to. It's not the same as a pregnancy loss. I didn't have a miscarriage or suffer the death of a child. There was no tragedy or accident. There was even some forewarning. But it is still a loss. We are grieving because we love that baby, but she is not ours. We can't keep her, even if we wanted to. We can be her for-a-little-while family, but we can't be her forever family.

There's an empty place now. (It's true that there was an empty place before - there's been an empty bedroom here for 12 months, but this time the emptyness has a name and a face.) No more infant carseat to lug around, no more diaper bag to carry, no more buying formula or cleaning those darn bottles.

I took one last picture of the baby before she left, and in it, she is smiling as big as she possibly can.

That is what I want to hold onto and remember.

Goodbye to Beth

My words are inadequate, but I feel the need to express them anyway.
I have so many fond memories of Beth that they won't all fit here. I'll just share a few:
When I met "Maude" at age 2 or 3, I was scared stiff. I ran and hid behind a bush. It took me a few years to understand that Maude was just a character. But I love, trusted, and respected Beth.
I remember eating honeysuckle in your driveway, pirate birthday parties, New Years Eve celebrations, babysitting the boys, and eating barley soup with Beth on a cold winter day.
When I was 9, I helped Beth with Rainbowland Week. "Peter Pan" was the theme. She let me be "Smee", made me an eyepatch, and had me walk the plank. It was a tiny role, I might've had one line, but at that time it was a huge boost for my confidence. It meant a lot that she chose me to play that part.
Karl, your marriage to Beth withstood good times and bad, in richer and poorer, in sickness and in health. It is a testament to your love for each other. It transcends time.
Peter and Nathan, your mom loved you so very much. She was very proud of you, and often said how blessed she was to have you as her sons. Nate, I'm thankful she could see you graduate from college. I know that meant a lot to her (and to you, I'm sure).
Beth was a wise, intuitive lady who never met a stranger. She was always encouraging and enthusiastic, always teaching, always showing God's love to others through her actions.
The last question Beth asked me was "Are you happy?" I know that's what she wants for you: Happiness. Of course it won't happen right away. Especially with Mothers' Day and her birthday coming up. Those will be hard days. But she wants you to be happy and enjoy life to the fullest, as she did.
I am sorry I can't be there on Tuesday to celebrate Beth's life with you in person. Instead, I will continue to remember her in my heart. As another friend said. "Heaven just got a whole lot more interesting with Beth in it." I can only imagine her singing with the angels in perfect harmony, and dancing in God's presence, as if she was never sick a day in her life.
Until we meet again, Beth....

foster parenting

This week, I am reading an excellent book about foster care: "Another Place at the Table" by Kathy Harrison. The subtitle: a story of shattered childhoods redeemed by love. It is an honest, genuine account of one family's foster care experiences in Massachusetts in the 1990s.  The stories she shares will make you laugh and cry.

This is my favorite paragraph so far:
"....finding families willing to open their doors to the rigors of foster parenting is hard. Fostering means knowing about things that most of us would prefer to forget. It means recognizing that our best is often not good enough. It means only knowing the difficult beginnings of a story and being forced to imagine the end. It means loving children who will ultimately leave us, and then drying our tears and letting ourselves love again."

I think that sums it up pretty well.

Update to "Waiting Game"

Three days after I wrote the last post, we had a training meeting with other local foster families, our licensing worker and others. It gave me a fresh perspective about why we are trying to do this fostering stuff.

When we told our social worker that we were seriously considering giving up on DSS and adopting from another agency, she said "oh, well whenever people say that, they usually have a placement within a week."

Sure enough, 4 days later, she called us.
A baby needed a safe place to stay.
Would we be willing to take a baby?

Well, how could I say no to a baby?!

So yesterday we brought home a new baby.

We don't know how long the baby will be with us, and in this particular case there are certainly more questions than there are answers... but for now, we will take care of that baby the best we can, sleepless nights and all, and leave the worrying up to God.

More of The Waiting Game

I'm weary, worn-out and wondering "why?"

I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders.

I'm not sleeping well.

I'm not Super-Mom.

We are frustrated with waiting. It's been 12 months since we finished our MAPP classes and 9 months since we've become licensed foster parents. Why are we still waiting for a placement when there are over 500,000 children languishing in America's foster care system? It baffles me. We have an empty room with 2 beds in it. It is collecting dust, completely empty. It's a bit frustrating.

I'm not doubting God's plans, don't get me wrong. I keep His promises in my heart. I know He has good plans for me, for us (Jeremiah 29:11). I just wish I could break-through all the bureaucratic red-tape and help get children out of neglectful, abusive, unsafe conditions and into a stable, loving home.

So if you happen to see me teary-eyed, staring into space, or a little disgruntled at the world... I'm just having one of those moments.