"And now he's gone."
How am I doing since Crocodile moved? Part wistful and a little sad, part relieved, not too many really strong emotions at this point. Except when Rhinoceros says things like that.
He and Dinosaur will be okay. We will walk them through it. They aren't acting too out of character. But they're sad, and then I get sad.
Time to plan some things to look forward to before this becomes a rut. Time to do some special things with Rhinoceros and Dinosaur. Time to listen to the pain and sadness, feel it myself, and then move forward again.
Showing posts with label transition. Show all posts
Showing posts with label transition. Show all posts
Monday, February 20, 2017
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Transition success
Few of our transitions for a foster child leaving our home have gone as we hoped. Thankfully, we have never had the case of a completely unexpected move of a child, like a relative being identified and the child moves that same day, or a goal change in court and a child suddenly going home with a parent. But we have had planned transitions that speed up and slow down sporadically.
Pterodactyl was getting prepped for a move, then it stalled, then it wasn't going to happen, then the next day it was and she moved. Beetle changed plans where he was moving, then moved instantly, but he had only been with us such a short time. I would still go back and change that and have visits first. Cricket knew her new home well because of sibling visits and some overnights and weekends there. But we had the longer-than-expected wait for licensing, then a move before we went on a trip assuming it would be complete, then a move back to us, then a final move. Thankfully she was still excited to live with her sister, but that transition was very hard on all of us. Only Caterpillar's was really decent. Gradual visits then transition, and we even had a little goodbye party, though it was pretty small as he hadn't been with us long enough for a lot of people to really know of him as a part of our family.
Praise God, this was a good transition. There was some stressful stuff for us at a couple points (a sudden attempt to change the date of the move earlier than we could handle, being asked for input then having our input ignored) but in the end and thanks to a little pushback from B, we did get the transition we hoped for. Here's what it looked like, though keep in mind it wasn't until week 4 that we were 100% sure his adoptive family was committed to adopting him. Let's call the adoptive family "The Youngs."
Week 1: The Youngs come over to our house with all of their kids (minus one of the adult kids) and their family and ours go sledding. Crocodile meets them.
Week 2: Crocodile's sisters come here for a sibling visit, the Youngs drop them off.
Week 3: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs' for an afternoon.
Week 4: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs' for a full day.
Week 5: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs' for a weekend.
Week 6: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs for Friday - Tuesday.
Week 7: Crocodile moves in with the Youngs.
When the Youngs brought Crocodile back to us Tues. of "Week 6," the four adults told him about the move. We told Dinosaur and Rhinoceros a couple days earlier, so they would have time to process without Crocodile around.
On the day before the move, we had such a positive day for our family and for him. We had pancakes and went to a museum in the morning. Then we had a "Crocodile's moving" party with our local support people: old friends and their kids, newer church friends and a few more kids, our babysitter and her family. It was a uncharacteristically warm day, more like May than February, and the whole crowd played outside in our yard. Kids and older people took turns pitching balls to Crocodile for him to hit. People laughed and pushed kids on swings. We felt the love of our community, Crocodile felt the love, and people who wanted some closure could have it. It was beautiful and I wish everyone could have it each foster placement.
We had a little down time as we loaded up the van with the rest of his belongings (some had gone to his new home on Tuesday), then we took off with our whole family. We played outside some more, saw his new room, ate dinner, and said our goodbyes with promises from his new family that they wanted us in his life.
It was a day that could not have gone much better.
And yet I still sit here the following day, with a heaviness in my chest that's increased throughout the day. The grief that I've felt waiting and lurking since the day I met him, since I heard his name that I love, since I saw his dark scared eyes the first night, and his huge grin the next day. The grief that waited beneath as he called me Mommy and first said he loved me, as he ran to my arms for comfort or with joy. The grief that waited beneath as I signed the paper that said that we were not going to seek adopting him. It takes its full place in my heart. It isn't overwhelming me right now, as I also have some feelings of peace and relief. But it is clearly there now.
One day at a time, I will walk through it, and I'll walk with my children. It's what we do, and I have no regrets about it.
Pterodactyl was getting prepped for a move, then it stalled, then it wasn't going to happen, then the next day it was and she moved. Beetle changed plans where he was moving, then moved instantly, but he had only been with us such a short time. I would still go back and change that and have visits first. Cricket knew her new home well because of sibling visits and some overnights and weekends there. But we had the longer-than-expected wait for licensing, then a move before we went on a trip assuming it would be complete, then a move back to us, then a final move. Thankfully she was still excited to live with her sister, but that transition was very hard on all of us. Only Caterpillar's was really decent. Gradual visits then transition, and we even had a little goodbye party, though it was pretty small as he hadn't been with us long enough for a lot of people to really know of him as a part of our family.
Praise God, this was a good transition. There was some stressful stuff for us at a couple points (a sudden attempt to change the date of the move earlier than we could handle, being asked for input then having our input ignored) but in the end and thanks to a little pushback from B, we did get the transition we hoped for. Here's what it looked like, though keep in mind it wasn't until week 4 that we were 100% sure his adoptive family was committed to adopting him. Let's call the adoptive family "The Youngs."
Week 1: The Youngs come over to our house with all of their kids (minus one of the adult kids) and their family and ours go sledding. Crocodile meets them.
Week 2: Crocodile's sisters come here for a sibling visit, the Youngs drop them off.
Week 3: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs' for an afternoon.
Week 4: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs' for a full day.
Week 5: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs' for a weekend.
Week 6: Crocodile goes over to the Youngs for Friday - Tuesday.
Week 7: Crocodile moves in with the Youngs.
When the Youngs brought Crocodile back to us Tues. of "Week 6," the four adults told him about the move. We told Dinosaur and Rhinoceros a couple days earlier, so they would have time to process without Crocodile around.
On the day before the move, we had such a positive day for our family and for him. We had pancakes and went to a museum in the morning. Then we had a "Crocodile's moving" party with our local support people: old friends and their kids, newer church friends and a few more kids, our babysitter and her family. It was a uncharacteristically warm day, more like May than February, and the whole crowd played outside in our yard. Kids and older people took turns pitching balls to Crocodile for him to hit. People laughed and pushed kids on swings. We felt the love of our community, Crocodile felt the love, and people who wanted some closure could have it. It was beautiful and I wish everyone could have it each foster placement.
We had a little down time as we loaded up the van with the rest of his belongings (some had gone to his new home on Tuesday), then we took off with our whole family. We played outside some more, saw his new room, ate dinner, and said our goodbyes with promises from his new family that they wanted us in his life.
It was a day that could not have gone much better.
And yet I still sit here the following day, with a heaviness in my chest that's increased throughout the day. The grief that I've felt waiting and lurking since the day I met him, since I heard his name that I love, since I saw his dark scared eyes the first night, and his huge grin the next day. The grief that waited beneath as he called me Mommy and first said he loved me, as he ran to my arms for comfort or with joy. The grief that waited beneath as I signed the paper that said that we were not going to seek adopting him. It takes its full place in my heart. It isn't overwhelming me right now, as I also have some feelings of peace and relief. But it is clearly there now.
One day at a time, I will walk through it, and I'll walk with my children. It's what we do, and I have no regrets about it.
Valentines
On Valentine's Day, Crocodile was at the heart of a transition to his new adoptive family. He woke up in their home. He went with his new mom to his sisters' school and got to be there for their parties. He went shopping with her and picked out eight balloons: two for his biological sisters, three for his soon-to-be-sisters through adoption (two are adults), two for his foster brothers, and one for himself. Within this week, he will officially be switching from living with two brothers to living with five sisters.
Balloons were played with, balloons were chased, balloons were broken.
He made valentines for everyone as well. For our family, for some friends, and some extras to bring a little late to his preschool for his last few days there.
We try to help him understand the move, all of us together, current parents and new parents. It's hard to know what names to use. It's hard to know how to express love and confidence in the plan and at the same time be sensitive to his mixed feelings. He didn't cheer, and he didn't cry. He ran around a bit. I think I talked too much. He answered some of our questions. He called me Mommy a lot and kept coming back to me. We talk about his new school, which he has already gotten to see. We talk about his new house. We talk about living with his sisters all the time, forever. We talk about coming to visit on his birthday.
He gave me a valentine that said Mom.
We will always love you, Crocodile.
Balloons were played with, balloons were chased, balloons were broken.
He made valentines for everyone as well. For our family, for some friends, and some extras to bring a little late to his preschool for his last few days there.
We try to help him understand the move, all of us together, current parents and new parents. It's hard to know what names to use. It's hard to know how to express love and confidence in the plan and at the same time be sensitive to his mixed feelings. He didn't cheer, and he didn't cry. He ran around a bit. I think I talked too much. He answered some of our questions. He called me Mommy a lot and kept coming back to me. We talk about his new school, which he has already gotten to see. We talk about his new house. We talk about living with his sisters all the time, forever. We talk about coming to visit on his birthday.
He gave me a valentine that said Mom.
We will always love you, Crocodile.
Friday, April 24, 2015
Loud
And Cricket's back here for now. It went about as I expected:
Phase 1: Hyperdrive, hypersilly with the other kids, running around in circles, talking a mile a minute, volume level 11. Doesn't want me to touch her.
Phase 2: Shutdown. Lying down on the couch, talking about sleeping.
Phase 3: Clinginess and wanting to be treated like a baby, interspersed with some remaining spurts of energy. Talks about being sad, doesn't want to see the other kids, doesn't want me to leave her sight.
Phase 4: Screaming and crying.
Phase 4 is still going.
At the same time, as soon as she started saying all sorts of crazy stuff as she stepped in the door, and as soon as she said "Mommy will you pick me up" and I held her, it all washed over me like a wave. My deep love for this little girl who is hurting, who was hurting, who has been hurting.
Phase 1: Hyperdrive, hypersilly with the other kids, running around in circles, talking a mile a minute, volume level 11. Doesn't want me to touch her.
Phase 2: Shutdown. Lying down on the couch, talking about sleeping.
Phase 3: Clinginess and wanting to be treated like a baby, interspersed with some remaining spurts of energy. Talks about being sad, doesn't want to see the other kids, doesn't want me to leave her sight.
Phase 4: Screaming and crying.
Phase 4 is still going.
At the same time, as soon as she started saying all sorts of crazy stuff as she stepped in the door, and as soon as she said "Mommy will you pick me up" and I held her, it all washed over me like a wave. My deep love for this little girl who is hurting, who was hurting, who has been hurting.
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Packing up
It was a tense week. Cricket's recovery from surgery was not a fun experience for anyone, though it didn't have any complications or anything. On top of that, the delay in sister's grandma's licensing went from a bit worrisome to a big concern. What would we do if the license came through while we were gone? How awful would it be for Cricket's trust in us if we said she was going for a visit then stayed there, even if it's a place she wants to be so she can be with her sister? I felt like I was concerned, B was concerned, her therapist was concerned, but her caseworker and GAL were not as responsive.
It took a bit more prodding, but I did get a firm date of when her license was sent to the state and that it really should come through this week, maybe the first week of April at the latest. So, with the caseworker we decided that when she went to sister's grandma's house Thursday, it would be a move, not respite. There is still a part of me that does not like telling her she's moving when the license isn't 100% there, but it is probably the best decision we can make here.
So, after this transition coming up but being on hold for so long, I suddenly have less than a week to get everything ready. I just finished her photo book besides two pictures I want to take and add tomorrow, but I've barely started packing. She has so many toys and books and little things scattered around the house, all needing organized before going to someone else. On top of that, we have packing for a weeklong spring break camping trip, which we have not started. Yikes. At least I think it'll keep me too busy to dwell too much on the goodbye.
Okay, who am I kidding, I'm still going to dwell as I'm packing. Note to self: pray instead of dwelling.
It took a bit more prodding, but I did get a firm date of when her license was sent to the state and that it really should come through this week, maybe the first week of April at the latest. So, with the caseworker we decided that when she went to sister's grandma's house Thursday, it would be a move, not respite. There is still a part of me that does not like telling her she's moving when the license isn't 100% there, but it is probably the best decision we can make here.
So, after this transition coming up but being on hold for so long, I suddenly have less than a week to get everything ready. I just finished her photo book besides two pictures I want to take and add tomorrow, but I've barely started packing. She has so many toys and books and little things scattered around the house, all needing organized before going to someone else. On top of that, we have packing for a weeklong spring break camping trip, which we have not started. Yikes. At least I think it'll keep me too busy to dwell too much on the goodbye.
Okay, who am I kidding, I'm still going to dwell as I'm packing. Note to self: pray instead of dwelling.
Saturday, January 24, 2015
When she leaves
It's starting to sink in that Cricket is leaving soon, in a month or so (barring any licensing catastrophe for Gina, but it is looking pretty certain). We had a sibling visit today before Cricket's sister came to spend the night, and the foster mom of the baby brother is really going to have a hard time letting him go. Oh honey, I have been there with the babies. I know how that feels. But with Cricket, it will be a different transition, deep and difficult in its own way for our family.
I hadn't let it sink in too much that she's leaving because in our tough moments (and there are many of them), I felt guilty that I was clinging to an escape. I felt guilty for looking forward to an end. But I know this is only human of me, nothing a normal mother wouldn't feel like when they're up with a newborn: looking forward to an end.
I will miss her probably more than I realize. I will wish I would have soaked up more of her shining personality, her quick little mind and bold spirit. I tire of being needed so intensely, but I know my heart has been knit with hers, and it will feel wrong to be apart after months of "can you pick me up" "can you hold me like a baby" and "can you sit in my lap." Lately she says "I love Mommy and Daddy" to us often and spontaneously. I will miss how she loves us, even if I wish she would have never needed to live her and love us.
Cricket will go to live with her siblings and have those relationships restored. She will experience loss by losing our family, and I think it will be especially difficult losing me as the mother figure, but she will also heal in other ways.
But oh, Rhinoceros. I need to start praying more about this transition for him. He's had a living shadow for the past four months. There are times they are enemies, times he cried to me, "Why does Cricket bite me?" And there are times that they have their secret world, their wonderful shared joy of being crazy little people together. Sometimes they act like one child, and sometimes they absolutely must oppose one another. Either way, he is really going to feel it when she is suddenly gone. Who will run to the basement with him and talk about "the darkness," or put on a show with him that no one else understands? Who will shout that the music is too quiet when he says it's too loud? He just doesn't have that with Dinosaur. They have a different kind of sibling relationship. Cricket may have put him through much more than I imagined, but she has also brought out his social side, his imaginative side, and his assertive side. Gina brought up today that she'd be happy to keep in touch so that the foster families could still see the kids, and I really hope that can happen this time, for Rhinoceros especially.
He will have loved and lost, without having chosen to love. I still believe fostering has more benefits than losses for our biological kids, but man, it can be a tough gig for them.
I hadn't let it sink in too much that she's leaving because in our tough moments (and there are many of them), I felt guilty that I was clinging to an escape. I felt guilty for looking forward to an end. But I know this is only human of me, nothing a normal mother wouldn't feel like when they're up with a newborn: looking forward to an end.
I will miss her probably more than I realize. I will wish I would have soaked up more of her shining personality, her quick little mind and bold spirit. I tire of being needed so intensely, but I know my heart has been knit with hers, and it will feel wrong to be apart after months of "can you pick me up" "can you hold me like a baby" and "can you sit in my lap." Lately she says "I love Mommy and Daddy" to us often and spontaneously. I will miss how she loves us, even if I wish she would have never needed to live her and love us.
Cricket will go to live with her siblings and have those relationships restored. She will experience loss by losing our family, and I think it will be especially difficult losing me as the mother figure, but she will also heal in other ways.
But oh, Rhinoceros. I need to start praying more about this transition for him. He's had a living shadow for the past four months. There are times they are enemies, times he cried to me, "Why does Cricket bite me?" And there are times that they have their secret world, their wonderful shared joy of being crazy little people together. Sometimes they act like one child, and sometimes they absolutely must oppose one another. Either way, he is really going to feel it when she is suddenly gone. Who will run to the basement with him and talk about "the darkness," or put on a show with him that no one else understands? Who will shout that the music is too quiet when he says it's too loud? He just doesn't have that with Dinosaur. They have a different kind of sibling relationship. Cricket may have put him through much more than I imagined, but she has also brought out his social side, his imaginative side, and his assertive side. Gina brought up today that she'd be happy to keep in touch so that the foster families could still see the kids, and I really hope that can happen this time, for Rhinoceros especially.
He will have loved and lost, without having chosen to love. I still believe fostering has more benefits than losses for our biological kids, but man, it can be a tough gig for them.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
First Day August 2014 - Packing up, marching together
This day started out with everyday stuff, like breakfast leftovers and stocking up on veggies at the farmer's market, and some packing up of Caterpillar's things to get ready for his move. Then in the evening I went to a demonstration/prayer meeting on immigration and the children at the border. Not such an everyday event for me.
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Monday, July 28, 2014
God showing up at the red light
I've been a bit emotional about Caterpillar leaving. Last night was his first overnight visit at the relative's home. He decided to cut his first tooth at the same time. There was lots of crying, and even though I know it was probably mostly about the tooth, that's so hard to hear about literally the most chill and happy baby I've ever parented.
I know I'm going to miss him. Not seeing him grow up sucks. I love that we're doing what we're doing, but sometimes I hate doing it.
Add to that, I was leaving for work at 5:30 when I realized I had totally forgotten to print something I needed. I turned back around, scrambled to find the file on our computers, failed, headed to work in a ball of resigned stress. I was waiting at a red light when I heard a voice from the lane to my right.
It was Pterodactyl's grandma.
Our conversation was shouted across the noise of the street and in Spanish, so I'll just summarize it that I tried to ask about Pterodactyl, she said she's getting so big. I said something about calling, and she said she'd lost my number. One of Pterodactyl's brothers was peering out the window at me. The light turned green and she drove on.
For months I've been debating calling her. I decided asking to meet up to see Pterodactyl is a perfectly reasonable thing, but I haven't made myself do it. I'm held back by wondering if I can handle my emotions of how much I miss Pterodactyl. I'm held back by my general phone phobia, which is multiplied when in Spanish. I'm held back by second-guessing myself, wondering why I would inconvenience her just because I wanted to see her granddaughter again.
I let myself be held back with some things like this. It really gets to me when it keeps me from encouraging others. I've prayed about it, a weakness I want to surrender to God so He can use me more.
It was like God was in the background behind her at the red light, looking me in the eye and saying "no more excuses now."
I know I'm going to miss him. Not seeing him grow up sucks. I love that we're doing what we're doing, but sometimes I hate doing it.
Add to that, I was leaving for work at 5:30 when I realized I had totally forgotten to print something I needed. I turned back around, scrambled to find the file on our computers, failed, headed to work in a ball of resigned stress. I was waiting at a red light when I heard a voice from the lane to my right.
It was Pterodactyl's grandma.
Our conversation was shouted across the noise of the street and in Spanish, so I'll just summarize it that I tried to ask about Pterodactyl, she said she's getting so big. I said something about calling, and she said she'd lost my number. One of Pterodactyl's brothers was peering out the window at me. The light turned green and she drove on.
For months I've been debating calling her. I decided asking to meet up to see Pterodactyl is a perfectly reasonable thing, but I haven't made myself do it. I'm held back by wondering if I can handle my emotions of how much I miss Pterodactyl. I'm held back by my general phone phobia, which is multiplied when in Spanish. I'm held back by second-guessing myself, wondering why I would inconvenience her just because I wanted to see her granddaughter again.
I let myself be held back with some things like this. It really gets to me when it keeps me from encouraging others. I've prayed about it, a weakness I want to surrender to God so He can use me more.
It was like God was in the background behind her at the red light, looking me in the eye and saying "no more excuses now."
Wednesday, July 16, 2014
Disappointment and waiting
Caterpillar's mom is in jail. I'm heartbroken and just so disappointed. I know she had a long road ahead, but I really hoped she wouldn't mistakes like this along the way. It feels strange not getting her texts via Google Voice, not hearing her stream of consciousness when I bring him to visits. I knew I would lose our connection when Caterpillar moved, but I didn't expect it quite yet.
The relative who will be placed with Caterpillar is cleared, but she still needs to get daycare in place. Sound familiar? I'm putting some pressure on the caseworker to keep some sort of timeline and intentionality in this transition, after the drawn-out haphazard transition Pterodactyl had. So far, he's has two visits at her home and done well, though he is a little clingier with me this week. I had professional photos done of him (a bit challenging with a baby that's not a newborn but can't quite sit up independently yet), and he was constantly looking for where I was. He's giving increasingly hesitant looks when someone other than me holds him.
He's been here less than three months, but I have a feeling this goodbye is going to rip my heart out nonetheless. He is so easy to love. I love this little guy, and I love him loving me.
The relative who will be placed with Caterpillar is cleared, but she still needs to get daycare in place. Sound familiar? I'm putting some pressure on the caseworker to keep some sort of timeline and intentionality in this transition, after the drawn-out haphazard transition Pterodactyl had. So far, he's has two visits at her home and done well, though he is a little clingier with me this week. I had professional photos done of him (a bit challenging with a baby that's not a newborn but can't quite sit up independently yet), and he was constantly looking for where I was. He's giving increasingly hesitant looks when someone other than me holds him.
He's been here less than three months, but I have a feeling this goodbye is going to rip my heart out nonetheless. He is so easy to love. I love this little guy, and I love him loving me.
Monday, June 30, 2014
Caves and stepping stones
We just got back from a reunion/campout with my family. Caterpillar got to come along, and he is seriously the happiest camping baby of all. He had maybe two really sad moments the whole four days. If I forget about all the work of packing and unpacking for camping, and the long drive there and back, it was a blissful time.
We went on a hike that led to a cave. I've never gone through a cave without a guide on an official tour, and this one just had a sign that you could go through if you wanted to. I thought B had gone through the day before (later I found out they went in a ways then turned back), so I went ahead with my sister and Dinosaur, others following behind us. It was narrow and cramped. We had one flashlight, but it wasn't enough. It went on much longer than I anticipated. I may have said, "I think I'm freaking out a bit" to my sister in front of the kids. I just had no idea how much further it would be and couldn't deal with that thought, so I turned around, scrunching ourselves past the line of people who had gone in the cave after us. I breathed a deep breath of relief as I stepped into the light, right back where we started.
On the way to the cave, we crossed two streams several times, picking out stepping stones. Some teetered, some were secure, and sometimes it was just best to step in the shallow water instead. I managed across without sending myself and Caterpillar (tied to me in a carrier) into the shallow stream. The first day Dinosaur did the hike, he boldly stepped from stone to stone. The second day, he was with my parents, who said something that made him sense a little more potential for failure. He asked to be carried, and did cross on his own with some convincing, but his steps were a little less sure. B or another relative carried Rhinoceros across.
We haven't seen the beginning, middle, and end of any story of our foster children. I've learned the beginning isn't removal of the child, and we jump in halfway through the book. Each of our foster children have older siblings. Even if they didn't, there are reasons from the past that brought the birth parents to the place of losing their children to foster care.
We haven't reached any endings, either. When we considered foster care and went through training, we mentally prepared ourselves for two outcomes: reunification with birth parent(s) or adoption (by us or others). What I didn't expect is the end of our three placements so far: neither. Each foster child has gone on or will go on to another home while still in foster care: Pterodactyl to her grandma, Beetle to a foster family with his sister, Caterpillar soon to his mom's cousin. Part of me wants to be a little insulted that we are babysitters in the meantime while they wait on an ideal placement. Another part of me knows that this is what obedience is: being available to meet the need even when it doesn't fit our expectations or what we would find most fulfilling personally.
I've been thinking for awhile about how our role has been like a stepping stone, just a sure place for a foot to rest for a moment. Then I found myself stepping across stones and being thankful that with God's help, we've been able to be a secure stone for these kids. I wish they could just be carried over the river, but instead we are the safest place for them they can be for the short time they're here. That's our role in the big picture so far.
But I also think of the cave. No idea when it will end. Having to trust that if there's a sign that says you can go through it, you can without terrible danger. Moments of panic. Moments of "I can't take it anymore." Our journey has not gotten to an agonizing point, but I think of so many foster care stories I've read, foster parent friends' experiences, and I know it's probably on its way. Heart-sinking, when-will-it-end moments. Will we have what it takes when we are truly tested? Will I take that deep breath of relief on the other side of the cave, or after I've retreated in fear?
We went on a hike that led to a cave. I've never gone through a cave without a guide on an official tour, and this one just had a sign that you could go through if you wanted to. I thought B had gone through the day before (later I found out they went in a ways then turned back), so I went ahead with my sister and Dinosaur, others following behind us. It was narrow and cramped. We had one flashlight, but it wasn't enough. It went on much longer than I anticipated. I may have said, "I think I'm freaking out a bit" to my sister in front of the kids. I just had no idea how much further it would be and couldn't deal with that thought, so I turned around, scrunching ourselves past the line of people who had gone in the cave after us. I breathed a deep breath of relief as I stepped into the light, right back where we started.
On the way to the cave, we crossed two streams several times, picking out stepping stones. Some teetered, some were secure, and sometimes it was just best to step in the shallow water instead. I managed across without sending myself and Caterpillar (tied to me in a carrier) into the shallow stream. The first day Dinosaur did the hike, he boldly stepped from stone to stone. The second day, he was with my parents, who said something that made him sense a little more potential for failure. He asked to be carried, and did cross on his own with some convincing, but his steps were a little less sure. B or another relative carried Rhinoceros across.
We haven't seen the beginning, middle, and end of any story of our foster children. I've learned the beginning isn't removal of the child, and we jump in halfway through the book. Each of our foster children have older siblings. Even if they didn't, there are reasons from the past that brought the birth parents to the place of losing their children to foster care.
We haven't reached any endings, either. When we considered foster care and went through training, we mentally prepared ourselves for two outcomes: reunification with birth parent(s) or adoption (by us or others). What I didn't expect is the end of our three placements so far: neither. Each foster child has gone on or will go on to another home while still in foster care: Pterodactyl to her grandma, Beetle to a foster family with his sister, Caterpillar soon to his mom's cousin. Part of me wants to be a little insulted that we are babysitters in the meantime while they wait on an ideal placement. Another part of me knows that this is what obedience is: being available to meet the need even when it doesn't fit our expectations or what we would find most fulfilling personally.
I've been thinking for awhile about how our role has been like a stepping stone, just a sure place for a foot to rest for a moment. Then I found myself stepping across stones and being thankful that with God's help, we've been able to be a secure stone for these kids. I wish they could just be carried over the river, but instead we are the safest place for them they can be for the short time they're here. That's our role in the big picture so far.
But I also think of the cave. No idea when it will end. Having to trust that if there's a sign that says you can go through it, you can without terrible danger. Moments of panic. Moments of "I can't take it anymore." Our journey has not gotten to an agonizing point, but I think of so many foster care stories I've read, foster parent friends' experiences, and I know it's probably on its way. Heart-sinking, when-will-it-end moments. Will we have what it takes when we are truly tested? Will I take that deep breath of relief on the other side of the cave, or after I've retreated in fear?
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