When I
finally became approved to be a (single) foster parent, I was surprised when
the phone didn't immediately start ringing with placement needs. In fact, I didn't get the first call until
almost a week later, when I had to turn down a request to foster a teenage
boy. Another call followed, this time
for 1-year old twins who had no English language exposure. Having to say no to these requests was
disheartening, because helping children was my objective, but I'd had fellow
foster parents advise me to stick to what I was comfortable with so that I
could best provide for the child.
Having spent
extensive time with my niece as she grew up in addition to a school-age
"career" in babysitting, I had a surplus of experience with children
of all ages. Based on my capabilities at
the time, I'd decided that I wouldn't take a child under age 2 and preferred a
child that wasn't in grade school yet (note that I said 'a' child, as in
singular). I had no preference of
gender, race/nationality, or other factors.
I communicated these preferences to my caseworker at DCFS and reiterated
that I was trying to ensure that I didn't scare my own self off from fostering
by taking a placement I wasn't comfortable with. Meanwhile, I desperately wanted to have a
child in my home. I'd been going through
the certification process for months, with a notable delay in the process due
to me dealing with my own grief of losing my first "child", my dog
Moby, during that time.
After having
to say no to another placement that wasn't a good fit, my caseworker called
with a request for two weeks of respite care for a 2-year old girl. While it was only a temporary placement while
another foster family had a to go out of town, I was thrilled to be able to say
yes. The date was set for me to pick her
up, and though I had almost no information about the child, I was
out-of-this-world excited.
The foster
family she was with was unable to meet me with her, so I was instructed to pick
her up at daycare. I recall shuddering
with nervous energy on the drive to pick her up, hoping that she wouldn't be
scared and wondering about every detail of her story.
I remember
the teacher calling her name and she came running over grinning, a seemingly
happy child. She willingly went with me
as I packed her stuff into my car and attempted to hide the fear in my voice as
I explained to her that she would be staying with me for a few days. She didn't seem excited or scared about that,
rather she seemed indifferent. I recall
the lump in my throat the entire drive home as I imagined what she'd been
through to not be scared of a strange person picking her up and taking her
home. She was only 2.
Those 2 weeks
were an emotional roller coaster, because I fell in love with this child almost
immediately. She was extremely easy
going and smiled all the time. I had
growing confidence that I could "do this." However, I had no information on her (other
than her name and birthday) and couldn't stop wondering what circumstances she
came from. That information came to me
gut-punch-style, when the foster parent she lived with called to check in a few
days before I was due to return her.
She was
thrilled to hear that Archer and I were getting along so well because, she
said, there was a very good chance that she would need to be
"rehomed" soon due to circumstances at the foster home and that I
might be a good option (YES!!!)…….but that she would need to be moved to a home
along with her 3-month
old sister. My heart sank. At the time, I had no expectations of knowing
Archer beyond those 2 weeks, but in the instant she mentioned the potential of
placing her in my home, my heart was saying yes. So hearing that Archer had a 3-month old
sister felt like I was saying goodbye to her already. I applaud the efforts the state takes to keep
siblings together (as they should), but at the time I absolutely hated that
rule because I just wanted her and a baby was deal-breaker status in my head.
The remainder
of our time together before she returned was spent laughing and loving and me
thinking about saying goodbye. Knowing
that the state might be looking for a new home for these children, I was
considering whether I could be that home, though it mostly seemed unfathomable
due to the baby. I'd carefully arrived
at my decision to not take a child younger than 2 because of the total
dependence of the child and the fact that babies get placed into homes easily
(everyone wanted the babies, except me apparently). But here I was, facing the reality that: 1)
the state wouldn’t have to separate these siblings because there would be dozens
lined up behind me to take them and 2) if I told them I wasn't interested, I
would never see Archer again nor know of how she was.
At some
point, my fear of never seeing her again outgrew my doubt in my ability to care
for a tiny baby (who I'd not met at this point) and I indicated my interest in
being a foster parent to both of these children.
There were
delays, of course, and in the meantime, I took in another placement of a 2 year
old boy who was precious and joyful and had a traumatic story. During that time, I was also keeping Archer
and Alice on weekends to maintain the bonds Archer and I'd made while affirming
that I could in fact care for a (very) tiny baby. My mom was there every single weekend helping
me, and I doubt now that I would have my children today if it weren't for her
help and reassurance.
Seven months
passed between the time I first picked Archer up and when they officially moved
in with me, though they spent almost every weekend between with me. Each Sunday evening when we turned into the
neighborhood of her previous foster home, Archer would get tears in her eyes
and the sobbing would grow as we got closer.
I thought I was going to die each and every time, as I never really knew
that I would see her again. As long as I
live, I will never forget those times because all I wanted to do was to assure
her that I would see her soon, but I didn't have any assurance myself. Though I thought I was the only one with the
memory, Archer recently revealed to me that she remembers me taking her back
there and how she would cry, and it still hurts me to think that she had to
wonder if I was coming back for her.
But I did,
again and again. And eventually
circumstances changed with the 2 year old boy I had (who had to be moved into a
home with his 8 and 10 year old sisters, who I couldn't take) and with
Archer/Alice's placement, and my precious girls moved in with me. At the time, I had no preconceived notions of
them being with me forever, as their case was complicated and I was still
living day to day wondering if I could be a (single) mom to 2 kids under
2. It was a lot, but I had a lot of
help.
I often think
back to those seven months and wonder how we survived. Don't get me wrong, they were well taken care
of and were happy children. But I still
felt incompetent to raise these kids alone and sometimes pondered when the
state would come and take them away due to the lack of faith I had in
myself. I've since been told that most
new parents feel this way, but being in the situation I was in, my fear was
immense and I felt like a fraud. I had
dreams of losing them to a traditional, nuclear family. I criticized myself for thinking I could
"do this" and how I'd now set them and myself up to be hurt because
there's no way they would end up with me.
I had so many doubts and so much fear, and had no assurances of
anything.
But I had
love, and as it turns out, it's really the only thing I needed to keep
going. One day at a time, which turned
into weeks, which turned into months, and eventually I was presented with the
most important decision of my life: do
you want to adopt these children?
To Be
Continued……
