What is it Really Like?

We’ve had our infant foster daughter for some time now, and I haven’t posted a single update on how things are going with her.  Part of the reason for that is I hit a point a few months ago where I struggled, and in the midst of that struggle, no words would come.  I pulled myself out of that hole only to fall back into it again recently.

In the beginning, I mourned the firsts that happened with us instead of her family: the first laugh, the first tooth, the time we bundled her up in an oversized snowsuit and went sledding.  She was changing so fast.  Day after day, new and exciting milestones were being added to the list of things her parents weren’t able to experience with her.  I wasn’t trying to steal all these moments and keep them to myself, but whether I liked it or not, our collection of memories with this little girl was disproportionately growing.

Then there came a day when I glanced up from a cup of coffee tosee her playing on the floor with my son.  She looked up at me with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, and I felt a pang of mixed emotion.  I knew, in a moment of gazing at that perfectly content face, that she was completely bonded to us.  I knew it was a good thing for her to be able to bond, and I knew that it wasn’t my fault that she viewed us as her family.  She hasn’t known anything different.  Yet in the same instance, I also knew this wasn’t going to be easy.

Leaving will be hard on her.

A few weeks later, my son came up to me one morning and said, “She’s been here so long that I think she’s just going to stay.”  At that, I took a deep breath.  What else do you do?  How do you put a positive spin on foster care and brokenness to a child?  I crouched down to look my little preschooler right in the eyes and explained that she’s only staying for a time.  Eventually, she needs to be with her own Mommy and Daddy.

Leaving will be hard on him.

I know what foster care is.  I understand that it’s temporary.  I understand she’s not my child, and there was never a promise that someday she would become my child.  I can see the reality of this situation.  And yet… a small, dark cloud of worry and dread hangs over me.  I know I’m supposed to do life without her someday.  But I can’t picture it.

A few nights ago, I dreamt that I laid her down to sleep in her crib.  I looked away, and when I turned back, she had vanished.  In the dream, I was desperate to get to her but knew she couldn’t be found.  The panic caused me to sit bolt upright in bed and audibly repeat, “The baby, where’s the baby?” until I woke myself up.

Leaving will be hard on me.

Do you want to know what it’s really like?  It’s paperwork, people coming in and out (sometimes unannounced) to the point where your home feels like a business, it’s a full calendar of appointments and interventions, and at the heart of it is a child that you and your family love completely with the knowledge that leaving will be hard.