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.
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