Who's Your Mama

We didn't get into this to adopt. We thought: If there's a need for a safe place for kids to stay while their families do what needs to be done, then sure, we can be a safe place.

We went through the classes and trainings and understood that the purpose of foster care is family reunification. Having just had our first born child, and knowing that there might be more on the way, we thought the timing was right. Our house was plenty big enough and Stan's job provided so that I was able to be a stay at home mom.

On December 1, 1999 our first placement arrived - a fourteen year old girl. And then two days later our second placement arrived - brothers, ages four years and nine months old. Going from one child to four in three days. We pretended like we knew what we were doing.

The initial weeks were spent learning - about the school system, how to shop with two non-walkers, to prepare meals for six instead of three, the schedules and needs of these new little ones, that the foster care system is complex and a challenge to navigate.

Birth family visits were eye-opening; not exactly how they had been presented in our neat and tidy hand-outs, in the bright and shiny, well organized binders, in the sanitized setting of the foster care training classes. Right away it became apparent that visits were anything but neat and tidy.

At first the two boys visited with their mother at the agency. That went okay, except for when we were accused of putting them in bath water that was too hot and burning their hands. That accusation came after we had provided various candid snapshots of the boys. The photo in question showed two little boys splashing in the bath tub. They were laughing and smiling, not crying out in pain or trying to escape the tub. That was the last time photos were sent along to visits.

After a year, the younger brother was reunified with his birth father. Having a different father, the older brother stayed with us and continued to have visits with his birth mother. As the plan progressed toward reunification, visits were moved into the community where she and I would meet and sometimes have a bit of conversation during the visit. While we were friendly and I hoped to appear supportive, I had nagging doubts that she would struggle to take care of her son for more than the several hours that comprised the visits. Her comments and reports to me about her social and home life were concerning; but not concerning enough to the agency to halt the plan. And so weekend visits started and quickly moved to reunification.

I clearly remember the day that the worker came to pick up this little five year old boy. He was so excited to be going home. I was so afraid of what he might face. We smiled as he climbed in the car; and then cried as the car turned the corner. My parting words to the worker were, "When, not IF, but WHEN he comes back into the system, please call us."

Our phone rang eighteen months later and he was back that afternoon. Visits started again, but since this was round two in the system the plan for reunification was less aggressive and moved rapidly toward the termination of parental rights. We were able to adopt our son about two years later.

Since he and his birth mother had a connection, we decided to enter into an open adoption situation - not legally binding, but rather a gentleman's agreement guided by what we all felt was beneficial for the child. Birth mother was permitted to visit our son at church at scheduled times and for various activities. We followed this plan for more than a year until her visits became inconsistent and caused our son to become anxious and worried - "Is she sick?" "Do you think her car broke down?" "Maybe she was in an accident." And the unspoken, "Why doesn't my mom want to see me?"

Contact was modified. We allowed our son to reach out his birth mother through letters and phone calls. Visits were ended and she was not to initiate contact. After a few months, our son opted to stop all contact. We continued to send her a card every Mother's Day and Christmas.

Last year our son moved out. He was tired of the rules and expectations of our family, and wanted to be more independent. After a year of trying and learning that all families have rules and expectations, he has recently had to move a second time.

During the past year, he has reconnected with his birth mother. He was very excited to tell me that he had "found her again," and also adamant that she is his mother and I am not. Hard to hear, but not hard to understand. As far as he is concerned, he was taken from his birth mother for "no reason" and made to live with us - the people who have unrealistic rules and expectations. On the very rare occasions that he did call me, he referred to me by my first name and his birth mother as "mom."

For the past few months there have been visits with his birth mother, and even opportunities for him to stay at her house for short periods of time. He called me a few weeks ago to say that he hoped to move back home with her after a meeting at the beginning of October. He made sure to let me know that I was not invited to this meeting.

This week I received a phone call - due to his choices he would need to find another place to live; and his birth mother has decided that he will not be able to move in with her.

So now my son, who does not want to live here and who does not consider me his mom, has moved yet again - not back to his birth mother as he had hoped. He spurns the support and guidance of this mom in favor of the friendship of his birth mother. A friendship that has not been healthy or helpful.

This is hard. That we have come through so much already gives me hope. There have been other hard times. We are still here.

Try Again

My heart hardly raced at all when I called the police this week. It has become almost freeing to be able to depend on someone else for a bit. 

One of the kids decided that somewhere else would be better than here, walked out of the house, and hopped on a bike. This kid indicated that they would be leaving the property, so I stood in the front yard and watched as they headed up our long driveway and then called the police.

God provided a neighbor to stop this kid as they were walking the bike along the road. The neighbor asked some great questions and got this kid to sit on their back porch and notified me. The police and I arrived at the neighbor's house at the same time. After checking in with an officer, I proceeded to visit with my neighbor and let the officers do the work. Several minutes later they informed me that this kid agreed to go back home and stay there. 

Once back our house this kid refused to go inside and insisted that they were going to stay in the garage "until tomorrow morning." Exerting verbal pressure only served to entrench their position further, and I had dinner to get on the table for the rest of us.

Several hours later this kid came inside and went directly to bed; got up the next morning and acted as if nothing had happened. Then after school made an apology something like, "I made a bad choice in how I acted." I agreed and thanked the kid for the apology (as it were.)

Later that day this kid refused to turn off the television when asked as well as flat out refused to follow the boundaries set down due to the police involved incident. As I reminded this kid of the apology that was offered just that morning, they countered with an argument that the apology "doesn't have anything to do with" respecting boundaries and our authority.

This is what attachment issues look like for us.

This was another in a string of events this past week.

On Sunday this kid came to me with a bead bracelet they had made and asked me to try it on, so I did. I remarked that it was a little loose on me so that it might need to be adjusted if whoever they made it for was smaller than me. This kid said, "I made it for you." I said, "Oh, thanks!" I haven't seen the bracelet again.

We went to a school sporting event this week. I took a blanket for us to sit on, and this kid and one of the other kids helped to spread it out over a sparsely grassy area - mostly it was dirt and rocks. Me and my other kid settled onto the blanket. This kid sat RIGHT BESIDE the blanket in the dirt. 

The connection that we have with this kid is tenuous at best. There's hardly anything there because this kid cannot handle it. This kid truly might feel better in another family because there are no expectations from a fictitious, unknown family. Whereas there are clear expectations here and it's hard for this kid to deal with the expectations of: boundaries, respect, genuine care and concern.

This kid doesn't understand remorse and consequences; or at least doesn't see the connection. This kid lives - I make a poor choice. I say sorry. I make a poor choice. I say sorry. I make a poor choice....

Expectations go deeper than this kid is able to go. Trust goes much deeper.

We expect an apology and a changed attitude. But this kid can't trust that we actually forgive and will show grace.

It's scary for this kid to risk giving me a bracelet. What if I don't like it? What if I laugh and make fun? What if am demeaning? What if I don't value their gift? Too scary, so they avoid it.

It's scary for them to sit on the blanket. That means that they are dependent on me. But if they depend on me that means that they trust me. This kid doesn't even trust me enough to sit on a blanket to stay out of the dirt.

It's not always like this. There are days and weeks at a time that seem blissful. Connections are made - rather superficial, but at least pleasant. 

Then some sort of a warning seemingly sounds for this kid and the tiny bit of trust and connectedness is shattered and sabotaged. And I am weary and wondering how many more times we will need to call the police and start over and try again.

This Is Why

By my own admission, I have recently become a cranky foster parent. I am irritated and irritable. 

Today was to be the day that the parental rights of OT's birth father were to be terminated. That is not going to happen. Yesterday we found out that the hearing has been rescheduled for October 10. And it hasn't been rescheduled as a termination hearing but as a status review, which means that nothing of legal consequence will occur; the facts of the case will be stated and the judge will get an up-date from all attorneys and then will set a date for a termination hearing. That date could be set for a month or more after the October 10 hearing.

This is why I am cranky.

Foster families - friends of mine - have been waiting for the better part of a year for adoption paperwork to be completed and filed so that a petition can be made to the court for finalization dates. These families have inquired about the progress of the process - because as far as they know they have completed and returned everything they were responsible for - and receive no answers. Instead, blame is shifted between agencies.

This is why I am cranky.

Families caring for kids with challenging behaviors need support. All of our friends who are foster families have wonderful support systems and are a part of a great group of fellow foster families, but also need to rely on the professionals to access needed services. For one particular family, after months of reporting difficult behaviors and challenging circumstances, little to no support has been offered by the professionals. Meanwhile, this family continues to struggle to maintain the placement out of concern for the child. Only when the situation escalated to crisis-level did the professionals get involved. And then proceeded to blame the foster family for allowing the situation to become a problem.

This is why I am cranky.

When the professionals elicit feedback and input, and seemingly hear and respect the perspective of foster parents, and then no apparent improvements are made; and instead of clear and honest communication there are excuses and insults... And then we are implored to go out of recruit our friends to do this.

This is why I am cranky.

The system is broken. I am a part of the system. I am irritated - by the bigness of the system and littleness of the funding; by the lack of training because case worker turn-over is so high; by too much to do in too little time; by the smallness of my voice even though I desire to advocate in huge ways; by my own crankiness.

These past few weeks have set me to considering and reconsidering if we are done fostering. Maybe I'm tapped out. Maybe we've got enough going on here. 

Or maybe I  just need to get over myself. Maybe I've gotten a little too big-headed and small-minded. My focus has shifted from the day-to-day care of the children in my home to big picture problems. 

So we have decided to take a bit of a break. With OT on his way to his new family - even with all of birth dad's shenanigans - there is a natural breather before we open our home to more children. Perhaps this breather will alleviate the crankiness and allow for clear thinking to move ahead.

Six Months Later

The child abuse report of six months ago was unfounded. Our T was returned to our home after twenty-one days. And now he's getting ready to leave again.

During the time of the abuse investigation, the case worker for the agency that has custody of OT changed - again. This was the third worker for this case. The hand-off between case worker number one and case worker number two had been problematic; whereas number one was loud and brash and pushy, number two was a push-over. We went from poor communication to almost no communication which was precisely what led to the ludicrously false allegations made against us.

The second case worker had allowed the birth father to run the case. Dad wanted to have unsupervised visits, so we had to drive OT to his father's door and then back again to pick him up; dad had no responsibility for transportation. Then birth father requested that birth mother's supervised visits take place at Chuck E. Cheese's - every week, for three hours. Then dad bullied his way into getting full weekend visits. When he was forty-five minutes late for meeting for the first visit, we were told that we needed to work with him. And if we reported that he was late and he was reminded to be prompt, he would retaliate by complaining that I hadn't fed OT, or I had cut his hair, or he was dirty, or didn't have proper clothing.

Enter case worker number three. She was handed the case by worker number two with the comment: "This will be an easy case. The kids will soon be reunified with birth dad." Her first home visit to our house was during the twenty-one days that OT was not with us. For more than an hour she listened to me relate the journey of the previous year; the lack of communication from the workers, the obvious manipulation by birth dad, our frustration of no one listening to our concerns for the safety and OT and his sister. 

This worker wasted no time. She stopped all unsupervised contact; all visits were moved to the agency office to be supervised by the same worker so that documentation would be consistent. 

She contacted the therapists who had completed assessments and treatment for both birth parents, and found that birth dad had been lying to his therapist for the past two years - having never told the therapist that he had children, let alone children in the system due to the near fatality of OT.

This worker refused to answer dozens of texts from birth dad; something that worker number two must have been afraid to do. She has been threatened and harassed and toted - by this birth father - as a tyrant; unfair and unreasonable. He has complained to her supervisor, the agency director, and anyone who happens to pick up the phone; he has tried repeatedly to have her removed from the case. And several times she has called to tell me she just can't "do it anymore." And I beg her to not to quit; remind her that these children need her to advocate for them.

After two months on the case, the new worker presented these issues and others in court. The judge scheduled a full day hearing for August 15 for Termination of Parental Rights. 

On August 15 birth dad entered the court room, announced that he had just fired his attorney, and requested a continuance until he hired new counsel. The judge told him that this announcement (and manipulation - that's not what the judge said, but that's what I think birth dad was doing) would only serve to prolong the inevitable, and that he had thirty days to inform the court of his new attorney. The hearing proceeded for birth mom and she lost her parental rights that day. The Termination hearing for dad was rescheduled for September 28.

As part of the preparation for the Termination hearing, the case worker needed to identify permanent placements for OT and his sister. Of course we were asked if would adopt them. And we said... no. Because he is two years old and we are no longer young parents we felt it best to have the foster family where OT's sister had been living adopt them both. Until the beginning of September that was the plan. But birth dad continued to manipulate; he knows where OT's sister goes to school and was able to find their home address. So that family, for safety reasons, decided to not move forward as an adoptive resource. 

And here's where you have to know it's all God.

The family that OT had been placed with initially, where he went from the hospital after suffering traumatic head injury and required multiple specialists appointments and early intervention services; where a brand new foster mom was faced with aggressive and hostile birth parents and an agency worker who blamed her for those issues, and after months of feeling helpless decided that another family might be better suited to handle the craziness and stress - THAT family had recently moved into a larger house, THAT family had become good friends of ours, THAT family had been praying all along that OT and his sister might become available for adoption.

And so it has been that every weekend for the past month, OT and his sister have been able to stay with their new family. And that after the hearing to terminate birth dad's parental rights, they will be able to officially be placed with their family. And so six months from now I will hopefully be able to report that an adoption date has been scheduled.

Stay tuned...

My Pleasure

Our littlest left for a family visit last Wednesday. On Saturday I answered a phone call from the County Department of Children and Youth Services. A report had been made alleging that I had harmed Our Littlest. In between sighs and eye rolls, and then some nervous laughter, I explained that OT had not been in my care for the past three days and that when I dropped him off on Wednesday he had a scab on his elbow. After a bit more conversation the worker discovered that she would not be able to investigate the case because our agency contracts with her agency and so a 'conflict of interest' comes into question. The worker thanked me for my time and said she would pass the report back to be given to the regional state office for investigation.

I hopefully waited for a call from that agency, but no call came that evening. Or the next day.

While I was waiting for that phone call, another call came through on Sunday morning. Our agency was told that OT could not return to our home following his visit later on Sunday, but would have to go to a respite foster home for the duration of the investigation. An investigation which as I far as I knew hadn't even begun.

Crazy. OT was being disrupted due to false allegations that hadn't been addressed yet.

Thankfully he was able to go to another family where we knew he would be safe and well cared for.

Finally at mid-day on Monday the investigative worker called and scheduled to come to our home on Tuesday - the day of the predicted epic snowstorm. On Tuesday he scheduled to come on Thursday. Then on Thursday, since he hadn't yet been able to dig out his car, he scheduled to come on Friday. That is tomorrow.

Since this was our third conversation, I felt comfortable enough to keep him on the phone with some questions.

Had he seen OT?  - Yes, on Sunday.

Was OT okay? -  Yes, in the situation in which I saw him.

How long would it take to complete the investigation?  - I have sixty days to complete it.

You realize that that is ridiculous since everyone knows the allegations are false?  - That is how long I have. When I get a case that appears to be simple to close, I work on it first to get it off of my desk.

His last statement gave me some hope.

I hadn't planned to stop and write until the investigation is over.

I had thought that this time would be different since I know how ridiculous the allegations are this time around. The report did not match the actual situation. The child had a scab.

This parent is desperate to have their children. This parent does not like me because I am the wrong color. This parent was seeking revenge for an action by the agency. This parent seems to think that if the foster parent can be seen as unfit, then a judge will send the child back to the birth parent.

Meanwhile OT is probably wondering why he is not home. He might be scared or confused. This situation definitely works against the stability and consistency we are trying to build and maintain in his little life. How is this parent demonstrating the capacity to be a good parent?   A stable parent? A loving, compassionate parent?

I have gone out of my way to be in communication with the agency and OT's attorney every day. Just so they don't forget I'm here... and he's not. Just so someone in this big, overworked, under-staffed system remembers that there are actual children involved and foster parents who lose sleep over them.

The silence from the placing agency is astounding. Just as it's been for the past year of this placement. Case workers have changed three times, with the most recent being right before this incident. This newest worker seems to understand after just a week that something is seriously wrong with this case. She asked me, "Who gave the birth parent all this power? Whatever they want they get? Why are there these unsupervised weekend visits? Who is following up?" My answer, "Your agency."

The agency has allowed this parent to bully their workers - calling the emergency number every weekend multiple times, texting a worker up to fifty times a week, complaining to the workers about how I cut OT's hair (which I haven't cut, ever) and other trivial - and usually untrue - matters.The foster parents have also been bullied; OT has a sister with another foster family - we've been told to wait thirty to forty-five minutes to meet for a visit, we've been yelled at and degraded. When we asked to have an agency worker available at the visit transfers, we've been denied. This parent gets to say and do whatever they want with no accountability.

And now this. Now my character and parenting are being called into question by this person. Now OT's life is in confusion. Now another foster family - who was given little information - is being expected to step into this mess. 

Yesterday I sent an email to the case worker, the supervisor, the supervisor's supervisor, and the person above that. In it I stated that this case has not been managed well and that this birth parent has been given permission to wield all sorts of crazy power, now manifested in these lies of a child abuse report against me. I requested that OT quickly be returned to our home and that going forward unquestionable boundaries would be in place to ensure the stability of these children and the safety of the foster families.

I ended by saying that it is our pleasure to continue to care for OT. And it is. In the waiting and frustration and disrespect and questioning and scariness and uncertainty... it is my pleasure.

Best Laid Plans

Life with teenagers.

Laughter, sadness, joking (sometimes turning ugly), questions, answers (sometimes turning ugly), debates, arguments, accomplishments, privileges, technology, discipline... and that was just this morning - or at least it feels like it most mornings.

We are less than a month away from having our last "permanent" kiddo round the corner to thirteen, which will bring the grand total of teenagers in the house to six. Lots of new emotions, strange smells, and uncharted territory. It keeps a mom on her toes and awake most of some nights, thinking through ways to help navigate these incredible young people through this crazy world.

Navigate. That's the word I've landed on. For some time the word had been "battle," because honestly, that's how it plays out in many situations. A battle against my kids, yes, occasionally; but more often a battle FOR my  kids against everything and everyone who does not love and want the best for them as deeply and passionately as I do.  And sometimes it's a battle against myself to want to exert my rightfully earned mom-power and ultimate control - ha! - clearly faulty thinking...

This morning one of the kids came to me with a request which due strictly to time constraints, I denied. It was a reasonable request, but just couldn't be honored in the 23 minutes before the bus came. This child - who lately has done a fabulous job of taking "no" as an answer - compliantly returned (I thought) to the task of getting ready for school. Some minutes later this child appeared to me in the hallway dressed in pajamas and announced, "I am not going to school today." 
When I inquired as to why, the answer was, "I just don't want to go. Call me out sick."
"Are you sick?" I asked.
"No. But I am not going."

Navigation mode. It looks like this: I walked away.

Within minutes my child - still in pajamas - found me in the kitchen.
"Can you drive me to school?"
" Why do I need to drive you? You have time to catch the bus."
"I don't want to ride the bus because I don't want to go to school. I don't want to see anyone."
I dropped my guard and answered, "Well, you don't have to want to go, or have to want to see anyone. But you do need to get an education." Left myself wide open there -
"I don't NEED an education! If you don't drive me to school, I'm not going." Stomp, stomp, stomp, SLAM!

Twelve minutes until the bus came. I began to tackle the mountain of crusty pots, pans, and baking sheets in the sink to keep my hands as busy as my brain. This child is blessed with overwhelming tenacity and determination. I had to stick to my navigation plan of "no questions; no answers." But what if that wasn't enough? What if this child really did miss the bus? There were plans for my day, appointments to keep and errands to run. Leaving this child at home alone was not an option. Getting this child to agree to get into the car was something I couldn't envision. Did I have time to call a babysitter? Who would I feel comfortable enough to put in that position? Should I just compromise and drive to school and come up with a creative consequence later? What is REALLY going on?

As I scrubbed and thought and watched the clock, other kids called, "Bye, Mom!" as they headed to the bus stop. I'd better have a plan in place.

Three minutes later this child came downstairs, dressed coat to sneakers, and said,
"The bus has passed. You need to drive me to school." No answer.
"If I leave now, the bus will be gone already." No answer.
"If I miss the bus then I'll just walk to my friend's house." No answer.
"And I know that will be skipping school." No answer.
"I don't want to go to school." No answer.

A slow, sneaker-dragging thirty seconds later, I heard the back door open and then slam shut. I hoped that meant what I thought it meant, but waited for an explosion back into the kitchen. It didn't come. And fifteen minutes later, all was still quiet. And forty minutes later there was no call from the school reporting my child absent.

Plan unnecessary. Navigation successful.

How's the Weather

This morning I had the privilege of attending a meeting at the school. A privilege because many people who were invited attended out of sincere concern and support.

The past six weeks have been more of a challenge for this student and the teachers are feeling confused and discouraged. Methods that work for other students - positive peer pressure, pep talks, offers of extra credit, due date extensions, opportunities to advocate for assistance, and even failing grades - go unheeded by my student. The history teacher, who has assigned the standard research project, has gone to great lengths to "chunk" (per the IEP) what can appear to be an ominous and overwhelming task into smaller, manageable steps. This teacher has also provided personal cheering and prompting for my student, which this teacher had observed as having some positive influence with my student only to be faced with the harsh reality that my student hadn't actually done ANY of the work toward completion of this major project which is due tomorrow.

An email from this teacher earlier in the week afforded me the opportunity to shed some light on my student's life situation. In my email response I briefly assured this teacher that the situation with this project was not unexpected or unprecedented. Today I continued in that vein of conversation.

Of the six teachers seated at the table, only one of them was aware of my student's history of trauma. And I'm honestly not sure how I feel about that. My student's history is THEIR history and, unless my student chooses to share it, is personal and confidential. But when teachers are genuinely confused and concerned, and openly express their distress - one of them used the word "distressed" - then it seems that sharing my student's history, or at least the parts that directly impact the current situation, is helpful and right.

So I began my tired old speech about trauma and how it can affect the brain, and how unless the trauma is processed the child remains "stuck" - emotionally, intellectually, socially, academically, functionally - at a much younger age, often at the age when the trauma occurred. One of the teachers remarked, "Fascinating. I never even considered that." I continued to explain that my student has not taken advantage of the many attempts at various types of therapy and in fact adamantly refuses to participate in any activity or situation that might require even touching upon the past trauma.

One teacher remarked, "What frustrates me is - I was very firm and called your student out for lying about an assignment. It was a very heated discussion. Your student refused to speak to me; they just stood and stared at me. But a short time later when I passed your student in the hallway, they called my name, smiled, and waved at me."

What a great comment to springboard into some information about attachment issues. I explained that my student can charm the pants off of anyone, unless or until that someone places expectations on my student. Part of what seems to be happening these past six weeks is that teachers are no longer falling for the charm AND the expectations have ramped up. This research project is something that my student has been vocally protesting against for weeks at home: "I'm not DOING this. No one can make me. I don't CARE if I fail. I hope I fail." Because if my student fails, it will not be their fault; it will be the fault of the library being closed, the fault of the teacher not telling them what to do, the fault of the sister for interrupting, the fault of the radio being too loud, the fault of the computer 'glitching.' Kids with attachment issues do not attach. They fight against attaching - it's scary and it can't be trusted.

My student is not attached at home. What appears to people in the community as friendly charm, is really just superficial nice-ness that my student can pull off because there are no expectations. My student will hug a dozen people at church, but not have any meaningful conversations - that would require an uncomfortable level of trust.

At home we work on building trust. And the vicious hamster-wheel-like trust cycle has become predictable: just the time my student builds up enough trust to be out of our sight, someone gets hurt, something goes missing, or there is destruction of property. It's too scary to trust, so my student just refuses to take responsibility. And without responsibility, there are few privileges. And without privileges, life can be pretty miserable. And if life is miserable, my student can blame mom and dad. And blaming mom and dad does not promote attachment because we can't be trusted.

It's exhausting to live this way. It's exhausting to explain that we live this way. It's exhausting to help teachers understand that no amount of them bending over backwards and giving my student the benefit of every doubt will result in sudden changed behavior. It's exhausting to try and try again and believe that THIS time things will be different, that THIS time my student will feel safe enough to trust.

This evening my student and I were occupying the same space doing our own things. It's a simple, non-threatening way to build attachment. I was intentionally silent, just letting my student know that we could be near each other. After ten minutes my student took a risk and said to me, "I wonder if we'll get snow this weekend." Because that's about as deep as my student can go with me - small talk, water cooler comments - the weather.

In Honor

On February 1, my mom flew into the arms of Jesus. She had battled cancer for about two years, and after three hospital stays in January, she made the choice to go into hospice care on January 27. We were blessed with four precious days in which we shared memories and laughter and lots of tears.

Today we celebrated her life well lived and her reward of eternal life. This is what I shared in honor of my precious mom.

As we were sitting around my mom’s bed on Tuesday morning, I got to thinking about how special my mom was and in how many ways. Here’s what I told her:

“So mom, I’ve been sitting here with all of us and thinking about how incredibly special you are; so special that there is no one else like you and that in order for your legacy to continue you needed five children. You have given each of the five of us something special of yourself. Here is what I see.

I’ll start with Linda since she’s the youngest and I usually start with myself. Linda is like you in the way that she is able to just roll along with the tides of life. Like you, she goes where she needs to go and does what needs to be done. You became a pastor’s wife and made a home wherever God led you and dad. And it was a happy and warm and safe home. Linda and Juan lived in the city, because that’s what needed to be done. She doesn’t complain or draw attention; she just quietly goes about doing what is needed. That’s you mom.

John is strong and steady. He works in the medical field like you where that kind of steady strength is necessary. But you and he are both strong and steady in the course of life. There’s not a lot of emotional drama or second guessing. Although dad was always the up-front pastor, you were serving along beside him. You were strong and steady in the course that God laid out for you. John is like you as he lives his life in all areas as a steadfast and dependable source of strength.

Karen got your amazing creativity; she is able to make something out of nothing – just like you. You made beautiful quilts out of scraps of fabric and lovely blankets from bits of yarn. You made our clothes and doll’s clothes and Barbie doll clothes with those tiny little buttons.  In the past several years you have learned to crochet and knit and you’ve used those skills to make blankets from odds and ends of yarn to share with the people in nursing care. Karen’s hand-made cards and scrapbooks are works of art. She is so creative, just like you.

Donna is fair and just. All week she has been making sure that everyone has coffee. When we were kids she made sure we all got a candy bar out of the pack. She likes to make sure that everyone is okay and taken care of. That’s you mom. You are always looking out for others, making sure that everyone is treated fairly. The reason we could engage in our silly, ongoing banter about who was your favorite child was because we all knew that we were each your favorite.

And me, I got your love for children. I just love kids. Just like you. You were a foster mom and now so am I. I never really wanted to be anything except a mom and I expect that’s because you made it look so wonderful. And you have taught so many children about the love of Jesus by living the love of Jesus. Each child knew that you valued them.”

Karen reminded me that there was one gift that you gave to each of us – the desire to serve. We watched you, mom. We saw you serve our family and love us, we saw you serve the church family, we saw you serve in your job as a nurse, we saw you love on the kids in your day care. We knew how much you loved dad. And so we each serve our own families, and churches. Some of us serve in our occupations. We serve our in communities and in missions. Just like you.

Thank you for these gifts, mom. We promise to use them wisely in honor of you.

The End

All kids in foster care are traumatized.
Some before birth due to poor prenatal care, domestic violence, substance use and abuse. Some after birth - abandonment, abuse. All suffer from the trauma of the loss of their birth families - for however short a time. Some are more resilient, some seem virtually unscathed. But it's there. Trauma. And it manifests in as many different ways as there are different kids. And it's there for a lifetime. Some process and manage and develop amazing coping abilities. And hope.

There is always hope.

Earlier today I discovered that One Kid had been destructive. A Christmas gift had been dismantled, destroyed, and hidden. The value of the item was not the issue - we've learned the hard way to thoughtfully and carefully allow OK to have a few nice things only when fully supervised. Along with routine checks of OK's bedroom, back pack, coat pockets, laundry hamper, trashcan - of which OK is fully aware - this plan has been somewhat successful, and has led to incremental increases in trust.

Finding the ruined gift today sends us back to ground zero with trust. And I knew that a hard conversation was going to have to be had. And without fail this type of conversation has led to further break-downs in our always tenuous relationship. So after I confirmed with Stan that we needed to plan for a private conversation with OK, my insides began to react - knotted stomach, achy heart, pounding head, racing mind... fight or flight.

To fight FOR - not against - OK.

To fight FOR our relationship.

To fight FOR an understanding of trust.

To fight FOR my child to process the trauma and be able to move ahead with life.

But flight seems so much easier. Just ignore it, throw it away. If I don't mention it, OK never will either. We stay out of each other's way; keep each other at arm's length; avoid eye contact and simple conversation. I'm far from proud to admit that this is sometimes what I've chosen. Sometimes because OK only gets defensive and upset and we end up going nowhere anyway. But most times because I am exhausted and weary of riding this infernal hamster wheel of excuses and blame and the victim mentality.

But today I chose fight. I had committed with Stan and then I went and put it on Facebook - as more of an accountability check for me than for anything else.

So we closed ourselves in a room for twenty minutes. I didn't ask questions. I simply showed and stated what I had found. I said that there would be a consequence, but that I was honestly at a loss and that we would need time to think about it. I said that my feelings were hurt that a gift that we had given OK had been treated with such disregard. I reminded OK that I had once learned at a training - and it made good sense to me and helped me in these situations and so I tend to bring it up frequently - that whatever I, as the parent, am feeling, my child is probably feeling that same way. So I said I was feeling confused and lost about what had happened and what to do next. I asked OK if that was true for them. "Yes, I guess so."

And then we talked. It was slow and awkward and halting. We heard that OK was upset about people making fun of them at school. We talked about stupid kids saying stupid things and having no control over that; but the power we have in taking control of how we react. We talked about how people - OK - who suffer severe trauma are stuck with all those thoughts and memories and feelings until they decide to take control and process and move past those hard and horrible things.

These were all things that I had said before. Today OK seemed to hear them, seemed to understand that we say these things because we care. Today there was conversation - just little bits of it - instead of just me talking.

My last question, "I'm going out on a limb here.... would you like a hug?" Was met with OK immediately coming into my arms and then Stan's and saying, "I KNOW you guys love me."

This really happened. It's really never happened before. I am admittedly in a bit of shock. Not quite sure how to proceed, because usually I'd be sitting here writing out my confusion and frustration at how much I don't know how to help or reach OK... and then never posting it because it's embarrassing to put us all out there, and not at all encouraging to families who may be considering foster care or adoption. It doesn't make our family look good.

Thank you to those of you who supported me with that Facebook post. I know you were praying and I want you to know that God heard and answered. I am grateful. I am excited to see if this takes us further along the journey of healing with OK.

This is the end.... for this time....