October is Foster Family month here in BC. For twenty three
years BC has celebrated the many families who have opened up their homes to
children in need. As a foster parent myself for the past seven years, I have
often heard remarks like “I could never do what you do,” or “You must be a
super-parent!” The comments are flattering none-the less, but could not be
further from the truth; I am definitely not a super parent. Sometimes, when
kids come into our home, it is HARD work. Often you are dealing with attachment
issues, grief and loss, special needs, and a bureaucratic system. Sometimes you
are given an hour’s notice before a child is suddenly dropped off at your
doorstep, with nothing more than the clothes on her back. We have a motto in
our house though, “when you are with us, you’re family.” Because somehow,
through the struggle, through the grieving, through the midnight wake-ups and
the unknown certainty of their future or yours, a love begins to grow. It
doesn’t grow because I am super. It doesn’t grow because I was placed with a
perfect child filled with perfect tendencies. No. It grows because that small
being in front of you is a child, and more importantly, a child of God. It is a
child who at that very moment does not have an earthly mother or father who can
care for them, and needs someone to step in for that small moment in time and
love them when they need it most. It isn’t always an easy love, but it is an
attainable love. A love that God has shown us so clearly, and teaches us to
show to others, regardless of how hard or difficult it may prove to be. Because
fostering is not for the amazing super-parents, it is for the fighters, the
passionate, and the believers!
Some days though are harder than others. Tomorrow I will say
goodbye to my four year old child whom I have called ‘daughter’ for more than
two years. A child, who has known no other family, will leave, without any
guarantee of seeing us or her ever again. I cannot explain the emotions a
parent has when they can no longer protect their child. No longer know if they
are safe and sound; happy. And though there are many unknowns, though there is
heartache and confusion, all these things must be waded through in order to
give that tiny child a family when no other family was there. So this month, I
leave this letter for my daughter, the one who will soon reside only in my
heart, and the one who makes ‘impossible’ worth it.
Good Bye My Daughter
Sweet child of mine, you arrived in one swift swoop, taking
us all by surprise. Though our house was full, our hearts were not, and you
quickly became my daughter. Through many tears and also laughter, I too became
your mom. I cared for you. I fed you. I worried about how you did in school, or
whether you ate your vegetables. Your late night terrors made my heart break
for you, yet your resilience made me proud. Your laughter with your brothers
and sisters let me know that everything was going to be alright. Soon, there
was no longer a day I remembered you as anything but my daughter. I was no
longer a mother of four; I was a mother of five. But tomorrow is the big day.
Tomorrow you go home to your mother; your family. I know you’re excited, I know
she is too. But I can’t help but wonder, will someone make sure you brush your
teeth each night? Will someone tell you to eat your vegetables even when you
don’t want to? Will someone know who your favorite stuffy is, and that you like
your housecoat tied just right? Will someone snuggle you late at night when you
wake up screaming, confused by everything that is going on? Will someone throw
you a birthday party with your favorite character Dora, and will they know you
like chocolate cake more than vanilla? Will someone know you love to dance and
that puzzles are really your thing? I wonder how your first day of kindergarten
will be, or the very first time you like a boy. I wonder in school what your
favorite subject will be, and if you will go to university or not. Will you
fall in love and get married? Will you have a baby and start your own family?
Will you think of me as I do you? Tomorrow, though my home will have but four
children, my heart will always have five. Tomorrow, my daughter, I will hug you
once last time; kiss you one last time, and see your sweet smile one last time,
but know this, sweet daughter, I will ALWAYS love you! - Mom
Though fostering comes with heartache and struggle, we are
not super. We feel the pain. We struggle through it all, but we know, that
despite everything, the good and the bad, for that brief moment in time a
child, had a family. Anything is worth fighting for that.
