I swore after Levi was born I would be ready to reopen our license to foster within 3-6 months of his birth. 3-6 quickly turned into 12. My ever patient husband would ask periodically when I would be ready. But the thought of starting over made me a bit "hyperventilate-y." Not that foster care is overtly complicated and terrible, but I knew exactly what we would be getting into and was apprehensive about going back to two kids, only this time, kids in completely different situations. But I desperately wanted to "get back into it," I wanted to fight against my ever prevailing temptation to hunker down in what is comfortable. And of course, selfishly, to grow our family through foster and hopefully one day adoption.
Finally, a time was set, my house was prepped, and as ready as I ever would be, we reopened our license in April 2017.
I said yes to many (8) kids the first week and a half our license was open. None of them ended up. I am sure I am not the only foster parent haunted by what happened to these babies, the babies you know about but never make it to your door. The first call we got was a physically battered 4 month old boy in the hospital with his injuries, who needed a place to go at discharge; when that call came in I got off the phone and cried. It was a moment of remembering how heavy some of these stories of children in foster care are. With that call I had interrupted the lady on the other end, yes, yes, that poor child.
A few days later saw me frantically prepping the house for 3 month old TWINS. We waited for their arrival, only to have them no show, and later heard of their new family who happens to be the friend of a friend and how wonderfully placed they were.
There is no rhyme or reason on my end why some kiddos don't make it to our house after a "yes" but it doesn't much matter. However, I also said "no" a few times. I don't remember how many, only one in particular, a sibling set of 2, the eldest the same age as Levi. The "nos' are haunting. Trying to remember that God gives wisdom in my answers, and I can only move forward. It was on the eve of this phone call, with the guilt settling in after some more gentle prodding from our licensing worker that we should be more open to what "God could do for our family," that my SIL and I went shopping at a big yearly consignment sale. We are partners in foster care, and were conversing every possible what if, when and what may be's, as we do, and day dreamed of the next placement. Sure enough, while we were in line at checkout, I got another call. It was late in the evening, I almost didn't pick up the unknown number. It was after hours, an emergent placement, not through my agency. A newborn baby girl about to be discharged from the hospital at 3 days old. The only details they ever really find necessary to give you, ethnicity, age, and known behaviors. Which for this sweet baby was Native American/Hispanic, 3 days old, meth exposed, being discharged from the NICU right then. ummm YES PLEASE.
I got off the phone, had Katie hold my place in line while I ran back to the clothes and grabbed a bag of baby girl hair bows. As I have always told my husband, it is the waiting for placements that is the stressful part, once the "yes" is out there, or a kiddo is in our care, things are set and then it is just working through the new reality.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment