When family isn’t forever as a foster parent
By Brittany Keeperman,
today at 9:50 pm
today at 9:50 pm
I catch a glimpse of this out of the corner of my eye and wonder when, if, HOW, we should take it down.
Family, not forever, but family. Family for a time, family in my heart.
I wonder how they are, if they safe, what they are doing, if they eat regularly. I wonder if they will be equipped to grow up and be good, loving, stable people. If they will be OK once they move from Grandma to mom. If DCFS will do its job, or abandon ship as they have in so many cases and simply say “Good luck.“
I entertain the thought of connecting with them again for about 3 seconds before I shut myself down, because that will not happen. They are gone. They aren’t mine. They were mine to cherish and nurture and take responsibility of for a time, but they aren’t mine to keep.
I hope they are alive and well, but really I have no clue and will not be granted any clues. I dream, sometimes, that they are back and I hug them one more time.
I miss hearing “Mama?”
I miss the toddler on my hip, clinging to my leg, baby breath into my neck as I held her and swayed back and forth before putting her to sleep, whispers of good night, I love you, “catch” the air kiss.
I miss the 4yo’s silly sayings and interpretations on life. His little quirks, favorite pajamas and books, how he loved to help fold clothes or do dishes.
I don’t miss the stress, exhaustion, and feelings of utter inadequacy in dealing with their special needs, trauma, and tantrums/violent behavior.
I don’t miss hostile encounters with their biological mother, accusations. I don’t miss bending over backward with two hours notice. I don’t miss the ins and outs of bowing to the system.