Giving Back

Wednesday, February 27, 2013 was the first time I met my son. I didn't know he was my son; I had been led to believe that he would not become my son. But I'll let you in on a little something: EVERYTIME a child comes into our home one of my first thoughts is, "Could this be my next son or daughter? Will this one stay forever?"

When the phone rang that afternoon and we were asked to take a placement, the immediate answer was yes. And then we asked the necessary questions: boy or girl (so we could shuffle bedrooms as needed), age (so we could run out to buy diapers and formula if needed), any idea of the length of the placement.

Late that evening eleven year old MD was dropped off with just an extra outfit in a duffle bag. The first two questions were answered. The third answer was vague - as usual, but fairly definite - a court hearing was scheduled for the following Monday and it was presumed that the family would be reunified at that time.

Five days. MD bunked in one of the other boys' rooms on a trundle bed - which was an acceptable situation for a short-term placement and didn't necessitate a bedroom shuffle. The next day we went shopping for some basics to make life more comfortable for the next five days.

Monday came and with it another phone call. Reunification was denied. The placement would continue. Visits with birth mom were scheduled. We made an appointment with the school district for enrollment. We shuffled bedrooms, slid the trundle bed away, pulled out a dresser and filled it with more clothing.

During the next months Stan and I would occasionally stop and look at each other to say, "Wonder when it's all going to hit the fan with this one..." And then months became a year and more, and this child continued to thrive. And nothing ever hit any fan.

Teachers, neighbors, friends from church all described him the same way - respectful, humble, polite, kind, mature, responsible. He worked hard to overcome educational deficits. He was extremely teachable; and also loved being a teacher and coach. He excelled in art and athletics. And still the other shoe... heck, the first shoe, never dropped. No bumps in the road. Every hurdle taken in beautiful stride.

Visits with birth mom continued consistently for about eight months. Then a period of silence; mom was unavailable, case workers could not find her, messages were unanswered, visits came to a halt. Older birth siblings offered support - maybe one of them would be a placement resource if mom did not resurface. A few quick starts and then dead ends. None of the adult siblings were approved resources.

A few months later, birth mom contacted the agency and scheduled visits. Sometimes she confirmed, sometimes she didn't. Sometimes she confirmed - so we would drive to the agency - and then didn't show up. It was hard to watch my (yet-to-be) son deal with the inconsistency and uncertainty of his family's situation.

Due to his age and the fact that he was not a "troubled" child, the city agency took it's time in changing his placement goal from reunification to adoption or PLC (permanent legal custody) - which is almost like adoption but does not require termination of the rights of the birth parents and is given as an option in the case of older children. So it was that after twenty-eight months in foster care, a judge decided that it was time to move toward permanency.

The case worker presented MD with a choice: he could either remain in our home permanently, or he could request that a search be made for an alternative placement - another family. I was there when that discussion took place, I listened quietly - on the outside; on the inside my heart was crying out to him, "Please choose us." - as the question was asked. His answer was something like, "Why would I want to move now?" I spoke then and affirmed his answer and also vehemently let him and the case worker know that we did not want him to move. I remember saying that I had always considered him my son; and that even if he had chosen to move away, I would still think of him as my son.

On October 19, 2016 - three years, seven months, three weeks, and one day from our first meeting - we were given Permanent Legal Custody of our son. He seemed surprised to see my tears during the court hearing.

The final step for us was to have MD dedicated. Some churches baptize or christen; we dedicate - give our children back to God. We've dedicated each of our kids when they've become legally ours - some as infants, some as toddlers, some as young children. MD tipped the scale age and height-wise. At fifteen years old and almost six feet tall, this was going to be something special.

In explaining the idea of dedication to a friend, MD overheard me use the phrase "give back." He chimed right in and said, "You're going to give me back??" He was kind of kidding and so I was able to answer lightly but seriously, "I will never give you back. You are mine forever." He and my friend understood the symbolism of dedication, and also the importance that Stan and I feel as we are called to raise our children with the support of our God and our church family.

I realize that I have really given MD back, though. God gave him to us. Just as God gave us our children by birth, God has blessed us with children through adoption. And just as God blesses us with material possessions and we are called to be good stewards of all we are given, we are tasked with being good stewards of our children; of our relationships with them, of what and how we teach them, of how we encourage them to live right lives, and nurture them in their strengths and support them in their weaknesses. That is a tall order and it is rather freeing to know that God is doing all that work through us.

On December 11, 2016 we gave MD back to God. We are endlessly grateful that we have been chosen to be his parents - for now, for as long as God will let us do the job. And there were tears that day, too. I think there will always be tears for me in the giving back.

The Same Thing... But Different

A little over a year ago we met a little boy that a friend - another foster mama - was caring for. At two months old he had suffered some sort of "injury" that resulted in brain and head trauma, which required him to have a shunt placed in his skull to alleviate fluid and pressure - his head was abnormally large and misshapen. His vision was also impaired and there was concern regarding overall development.

At nine months old this baby was barely able to sit upright due to the size of his head; he began to move himself by scooting across the floor in a sitting position because he couldn't get into a crawling position. Our friend (his foster mom) was taking him to various specialists' appointments and arranging for therapies all while taking fabulous care of him.

During this time, both birth parents were granted visits with this baby even though no one was forthcoming regarding the details of his "injury" and the agency was not able to piece together exactly what had happened. Both parents were given goals to complete in order to have the baby reunified with them. There was also a possibility that the baby would not be reunified, but rather could be adopted by his foster mother.

Eventually the placing agency became very difficult to work with - visits were not scheduled, were rescheduled, or one party or another was misinformed or late to the visit. The worker became critical of, and the birth parents were at times aggressive with, our friend. It also became more apparent that the placement would not end in adoption - which meant a continued and probably a long-term working relationship with the birth parents and the placing agency; a situation which became overwhelming for our friend.

At our foster parent support group meeting in February, we celebrated this little guy's first birthday with smiles and cheers. And then we cried and prayed together as we listened to our friend explain through tears that notice had been given that the little boy would need to be moved to another foster home.

In February we were caring for ten children ages 19, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, 11, 10, 7, and 5. Two days later we called our agency and asked if we could be considered a placement option for this little boy. We knew him - his needs, his therapy schedule, about his doctor's appointments. We knew about his case - the goal of reunification, the frustration of miscommunication with the placing agency, the inconsistency of the visitation schedule. We knew that it was a long shot.

After a month of interviews and paperwork this little boy was placed in our home.

The therapies and doctor's appointments continued; as did the miscommunication and frustration of working with the placing agency. Visits continued to be inconsistent and the placement goal of reunification seemed far-off. In fact, several months ago the child advocate asked if we would consider being a pre-adoptive resource if reunification ceased to be an option.

In October a new case worker was assigned and the court got more involved - apparently it was clear to all parties that the mishandling of the case was working against the goal of reunification. Visits - the schedule and the specifics of who, where, and when - were court ordered; something we had never heard of. At that time we were told that on December 1 the case was going to be heard by a different judge - a judge who knew nothing about the case and was going to bring an unbiased perspective about the direction of the case. We were told that the outcome of this court hearing would result in no change with visitation or with the goals for the parents, but rather would give a point for moving forward.

Yesterday following that court hearing the case worker sent a message. The message was that visits were going to increase - drastically. Instead of dad having a visit during the day, visits would be for the entire weekend - two overnights. When I questioned the worker about how we would schedule (or reschedule) the visit over Christmas weekend, the response was that dad would have his son from Friday to Monday - for Christmas Eve, and Christmas Day; for three nights.

It felt like a sucker punch.

I knew that families were usually reunified after three or so weekend visits. I knew that the goal was reunification. I knew that this little boy was only mine for a short time. I knew that dad had been doing all that was required. I knew that this family was supposed to be together.

I also knew that I had witnessed a miracle in this little boy's development - in August he tested out of all his Early Intervention therapies. I was with him when he had surgery in June to correct his vision - surgery which resulted in the ophthalmologist's amazement over how well this little boy healed and recovered. I was there for his first steps and his first word, "ball."

I had been told that NOTHING was going to change on December 1. I had hung my hat on that. Nothing happens December 1, then three months until the next court date. Then maybe reunification. We would celebrate Christmas and his second birthday together.

That was what I was thinking.

You'd think that by now - seventeen years and forty-eight children later - I'd have caught on that just when I have my head wrapped around what is going to happen, what I expect to happen, THAT is when the unexpected happens. That by now I'd remember to save back just a tiny sliver of my heart for myself so that when each child leaves, my heart doesn't break. That by now my head would override my heart and I would realize that foster parenting is temporary, it's supposed to be temporary. That we had done our "job."

I try not to be selfish. I am truly happy for this little boy and his family; that the system worked the way it was supposed to, that he will grow up with his dad and that he is young enough to not remember being in foster care.

Every time I try not to be selfish and I think, "maybe this is the last time."

But it's not the last time.

It's just different.