Since we began foster parenting it's been there, that internal wrestling: we are blessed by these precious, amazing kids, but only because they have been mistreated and marginalized. Our life is fuller and richer for having them in it, but their lives have been traumatized, filled with fear, sometimes neglect, sometimes abuse. In a few cases the situations have been minor - thank goodness - and the children have been quickly reunified with their families (as it should be.)
Several times we've witnessed birth parents work hard to remedy the issues and rebuild their families - find employment, get clean, secure housing, have evaluations and the treatment required, attend parenting classes, make sure their children have health insurance. All this happens while separated from their children - can you imagine the anguish? - which makes the process that much more stressful.
Honestly, at the beginning, when children would come to our home I did not harbor much sympathy for the birth parents. In my mind they had had their chance and had blown it and now it was my turn to enjoy and love their children. My focus was on my house, my family, our security and happiness. Interaction with birth parents at visits was civil (usually) and cordial.
That perspective changed about two years into our journey when our oldest son was reunified with his birth family - after we had been encouraged to begin the adoption process.
I will always remember the day that I stood in our garage and cried, my heart breaking over our loss.
The pain of the loss of Baby H in our family has brought to my mind those other very hard separations: River, Angel, Heather, Kriste, Laurisa, Haily. With each one my heart had to break and then heal - a fellow foster mom remarked that her heart is all chicken wire and duct tape due to all the heart-break through which she has walked. Each loss has brought with it more sympathy for the birth parents of our foster children.
In our current case, so far we have very little accurate information regarding the birth parents - including any allegations. And while we are enjoying this ray of sunshine in our family, my mind goes to what the birth mom of LS must be thinking and feeling - this is her only child. Does she worry that she's safe? that she's warm enough? that she's eating instead of crying and scared? With the loss of Baby H still so fresh to me, empathy lies much closer to the surface.
After her bath tonight, LS chose a child's devotional book as her bedtime story. The book had us go through our day and give thanks for the places we had been, the people we had seen, the things we had done; it was interesting to hear her recount her view of the happenings of the day. On the page where it asked if you were sorry about anything, she looked at me and said she was sorry for some trouble that she had caused this afternoon. What a blessing! I thanked her for that and reminded her that God helps us feel sorry about things so that we will not want to, and try not to, repeat them.
The next page prompted us to pray for other people. With almost no hesitation, LS prayed for her mom - that she would not hurt her anymore.
Just that abrubtly, my empathy vanished and my momma-bear protective mode kicked in. This child is mine - for now, for as long as God allows - and no one is going to harm any of my children.
Somehow we are going to sort through things, get the true story, and be able to move ahead. Somehow I will learn to love LS with my whole (broken, taped up, wired together) heart. Somehow I will find the strength, the desire to sympathize with her mother. Somehow God will once again prove faithful as we follow a path that only he has designed.
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