Tag: foster care

Posted on

Water, Leaves, and Stones… a reflection on the ripple effects of both tragedy and goodness as witnessed by this nurse, teacher, grief worker and foster parent.

 

water-ripple-1368571-1278x960

There is an image that is used by many perinatal bereavement programs which is that of a green leaf floating on the surface of still water. It is an image that I see every time I do grief work and one that is taped to the hospital room doors of families who are experiencing tragedy. And when I do grief education, I take a minute to discuss that image and the symbolism that it represents. There are quite a few components to that image that hold significance; but the one component, in particular, that always stands out to me, are the subtle water ripples around the leaf. While we focus the majority of grief education on the immediate family, (and we should) … I sometimes think we neglect to mention the many ripple effects that grief has on the world around us. And while the leaf is a perfect choice for this image- as it represents premature loss; sometimes the idea of a cold, hard stone works better for me.

When a leaf first falls or a stone is tossed into a still pond, the break in the surface is a sudden and loud disruption. Those closest to the disruption, to the loss, feel its effects the strongest and the fastest. They are the ones standing at the edges of the hole that is created when the stone breaks through the water’s surface.

From that hole, from that initial impact, the effects continue to spread outward, from one circle to the next, ending in a seemingly remote place, the edges of the shoreline. There, far away from the inner circle, someone reads a story that was inspired by that person’s life or they receive the goods distributed by the charity that was created in that person’s name. Even subtler and further away still, are the ideas and the developing culture that is perpetuated by the feelings and ideas of the outer circles, like whispers into the ears of society telling us how we should feel or who/what was to blame. While these ripples are much quieter and much subtler than those closest to the loss, they are very much felt and very much have an effect on the world around us.

I have been touched by two types of loss that share similar ideas and feelings by society: Perinatal Loss (which encompasses any pregnancy loss or death of an infant close in timing to its birth-miscarriage, stillbirth, severe prematurity, genetic conditions or birth defects non-compatible with life and neonatal death) and Death by Suicide. Both types of death are largely considered “taboo” by society. When something becomes “taboo” it doesn’t occur with less frequency; in fact, both types of loss are much more tragically common than anyone realizes. But its occurrence is often ignored or mention of it avoided- either because one is afraid of “catching” it or because one is uncomfortable discussing it. And uneducated, often negative ideas and assumptions are often made.

While tragedy, I find, is not contagious, feelings of discomfort and negativity often are. This perpetuation of negativity/discomfort regarding both suicide and infant and fetal death leads to a lack of acknowledgment of the death by society and ultimately, isolation and complicated grief of those closest to the loss. Loneliness is an awful awful feeling. And then guilt and blame, the demonic twins of tragedy rear their ugly heads and they too feed into the tone of those quiet circles that move outward from the stone. Tones that encourage us to look away, to avoid, to think they must have done something wrong or missed something. Tones that allow us to feel that it only happens to them, not us.

Without even realizing it, the negative energy that is fed into those ripples perpetuates pain and it leads to the under-serving of those affected the greatest by that loss.

Through my journey as a bereaved loved one and my years of public service, I have come to realize that we all play some part in the circles of change.

And not all leaves and stones represent death.

As a mother, a teacher and a nurse, I know the effects that my words and actions have on my children, students, and patients. We all do. Because regardless of our backgrounds, we can all recall a time when we were taught, when we were raised and when we were ill or injured. And we can all recall how those various experiences and the people around us, made us feel- be it good or bad. Regardless of how many years tick by, we can still remember those people who helped to build us up and those who tore us down. And while a significant loss is known to make a strong and definite impact on our development of self, oftentimes it’s the seemingly smaller moments in life that too, become life-altering ones: The words of a mentor, the patience or annoyance of a teacher, the attention or dismissal of a caregiver, the confidence or chastisement of a parent… in the tiniest moments of life can cause large circles of influence on the human spirit.

In the few short months that my family and I have begun the journey of fostering, we have witnessed the most extraordinary effects on people that we could have never predicted. The stone of a child entering the foster system sent immediate ripple effects into the pool of our lives and our home. And in spite of some seemingly inevitable tones of judgment and isolation by people who don’t understand; we have seen more goodness, more understanding, more compassion, working their way into our circles, than we could have ever predicted.

We entered this journey to help children. Through direct affirmation, we can see children who have been immersed in ignorance and anger, now learning love because of our involvement. It is more beautiful and more affirming than we could have ever imagined. And they have changed us as much as we have changed them.

We are better people because we elected to stand by the edge and help catch that stone.

But as beautiful as that is, that’s not what surprised us the most. What has surprised us the most, are the effects that we’ve witnessed rippling further outwards from our experience:

The people who took no previous interest in foster care or adoption, who are now researching the requirements.

The people who previously only worked to save babies, who are now taking a step to save older children too.

The people who in their minds, so easily tossed foster children into the “Damaged” bin, who are now seeing the faces that we love with sweet endearment and compassion.

The parents, not of foster-children, but the parents of children who ‘don’t quite make the mark’ for removal- the parents who have not made their children a priority, who have sparked a sudden interest to do better and to be more present in the lives they created.

The workers collecting a paycheck, in an overwhelmed and inundated system, who have seen love and progress and healing and have been reminded that despite the burn-out and the endless cases, it is tiny human hearts that are on the line. And they have softened and bent in beautiful ways.

And much further away, with no credit to us at all… are the messages in recent movies (like “Instant Family” and “Shazam”) that feature top stars and foster kids presented in a loving manner; even a Sesame Street puppet, who shares perspective and teaches inclusion.

Because while negatively spreads, so does goodness. Good energy begets good energy and waves of change happen when we initiate it.

Though early in our journey, we have been shown that good people can make mistakes and sometimes it’s not our job to rescue them, as much as it is to assist and teach them. We would’ve adopted our first three foster children in a second… but we learned that our efforts were better served in teaching their parents and other foster parents how to love and support by example. A similar message to that of grief support… where we too can’t rescue the bereaved, but we can guide and support and love them.

And it doesn’t take a movie star or a PhD to do that.

I am no super-human. I was raised below the poverty line and I hold college debt that I will take into retirement. I am married to an immigrant and together we make a very middle-class income. We live in a small 3 bedroom, 1 1/2 bath home that faces the side of a gas station, just outside the lines of one of the murder capitals of the world. My children have learning differences and therapists. And when I’m not around said children, I love to curse….and I also love wine. But together, we play and we talk and we love one another endlessly… and despite our very small space and limited abilities, we are changing are the fucking world! Not on a Mother Theresa level, not on a Noble Peace Prize level… but on an everyday tragedy, everyday joyous celebration, every day pond-skipping-stones level.

The nurse in me is forever aware that we never know when our card is up.

The foster mom knows no one is immune.

The teacher knows everyone matters.

And the mother in me won’t let me quit.

And so the ridiculous ven diagram that is my life evolves and the circles just keep coming from my ever-evolving pond.

It is so easy to see and perpetuate the bad. The bad is real and it hurts and mustn’t be easily dismissed. We must acknowledge it and be patient and work through it. And we must accept that that pain will forever change us.

But we can’t dismiss the good either. It too must be acknowledged and then fed; because it too, forever changes us. Like the scars left on abused babies bodies and the ache of the empty arms of a mother, so are the seared imprints of love on their hearts when they are cradled by someone who cares. They will never forget that pain, but neither will they ever forget the love either.

The ripple effects, the rhythmic and vibrating circles of cause and effect, are one and the same. It’s the energy that we choose to add, that changes the direction of the tides.

What if instead of dismissing or jumping to conclusions, we took a moment to educate ourselves and to try to understand? Or even more, to love?

Like the untimely falling of leaves, or the misdirected toss of a stone, not every component of life is one that we get to choose, or one that we welcome. But when those waves of impact strike us, will we add to them judgment and misfortune? Or will we change those circles into life-long lessons of love and acceptance?

Through our words and actions, we can choose to perpetuate anger, distrust, aggression and judgment OR we can be the waves of peace, trust, love and understanding.

The choice is ours. Go make your own ripples. The world is waiting.

 

 

The leaf image discussed in this piece is credited to Gunderson RTS.

Posted on

Making room for Jaden

Names and identifying details have been changed to protect Jaden’s identity

The night started out like many other Saturday nights. I was at work, night shift on Labor and Delivery, when my cell phone began to buzz in my scrub pocket. It was almost 10pm and while I was only a few hours into my twelve-hour shift, it was late for the rest of the world. Peeking into my pocket, I could see that it was daughter calling. Every Mom knows the worry that comes with a late-night phone call and I anxiously stepped off the floor to take the call.

“Mom, I don’t know what to do…. I got a text from Jaden. He said he’s been out on the streets and hasn’t eaten or slept for 3 days. He feels like he’s gonna pass out… he needs a place to lay down.”

 

Jaden was an old friend of my daughter’s. He was a child that I had a compassionate eye on and one that I held a special place in my heart for, for many years prior. I knew that Jaden had a history of trauma and he was always the kid that you saw in the absence of his parents, no matter what event was happening. Whenever I could, I tried to include him.

I remember standing up to take his picture at an event one time and he later asked my daughter why I had done so.  “I don’t know,” was her childish response. But children don’t always see the world the way a mother does. Whilst the kids seemed unfettered, my inner Momma was screaming when I saw that little boy standing up in front of the crowd, holding his certificate and not a soul was standing to capture his moment. “Because every kid needs their picture taken today!” I wanted to say. “Because every kid needs someone to stand-up for them. Every kid needs someone to be proud.” That was the answer I wanted to give, but couldn’t. Instead I blinked back the tears and smiled, “Oh I just like taking pictures… I’ll give you a copy when I get them printed…do you want to sit here?”

As the years ticked by, his situation never improved. “I think my Mom wants to adopt you,” my daughter once told him. “Hmmph… I wish she would,” the quiet little boy mumbled. And as he got older and his traumas started to become evident even to my daughter, she told him, “You know Jaden… if you ever need anything, you can always come to us.”

He was a good kid. He got good grades. He was respectful, helpful and kind. He liked to joke and had the sweetest smile that warmed my soul. But behind that smile, there was pain in his eyes. A pain that he hid well from others. I wanted so badly to rescue him, to hold him and tell him it was going to be okay. I wanted to love him like a Momma and not just in passing moments.

And then life situations happened and we lost contact with Jaden. Before that late August night, three years had passed since we had seen him last. His name would come up from time to time within our family and we wondered where he was and how he was doing.

So when that text came in, it was both an answer to prayers and a nightmare coming to fruition.

“Let him in,” I said without hesitation.

 

“Ummm… who’s going to talk to Dad?” my intuitive daughter inquired. (The fact that my husband was even still awake at this hour was a small miracle. Not to mention, that I’m the risk-taker of the family. I am the “rescuer”. My husband lives with much more caution and direct dedication to the people he calls his “own”. And he hates drama. This could be interesting.)

“Put him on the phone,” I told her.

I explained the situation to my husband, reminding him who this child was. “Bring him inside, feed him and then call me back,” were my instructions. And so they did. From inside the hospital walls, I conducted a plan. When my husband called me back, I spoke with the young man myself to confirm his situation. I explained to him that I’d have to call the police and he understood. From inside an empty patient room, I filed a police report and sent them to my home where my family and Jaden waited.

It felt like forever before my husband called me back again. And when he did, he explained that the police could find no ‘missing persons report’. “We have no recourse,” they said, “He can stay here as long as you guys are okay with it.” At this point it was almost 2 am. “Set Jaden up on the couch, put our daughter in our bed tonight and I’ll deal with this when I get home in the morning,” I told my husband. “You guys need to get some sleep.”

For the rest of my shift, my head spun.

 

Fostering was always something I was interested in. For years my husband and I talked about it and for years, my enthusiasm was met by my husband’s reluctance and caution. My husband has the most amazing ability to love that I have ever seen; but his practical concerns for his family’s safety and security and his own future, as an already not-so-young father of four, impeded him from taking that step. And yet for me, regardless of all practicality, from somewhere outside of my own self, something much bigger than me, was prompting me to take on another child- one who didn’t know the love that we had built inside our home, one who needed to catch a break, one who needed somebody who was willing to stand-up for them.

In fact, just a few weeks prior to Jaden’s surprise arrival, my husband and I had another discussion on the topic. I remember telling him, ” I respect that this is not something you are willing to do right now, but I need you to hear me… There is a drive inside of me to do this. It is strong. And I have been pushing it away and trying to ignore it for a long time now. I can’t do this without you, but I don’t know how much longer I can keep denying this feeling. I think there is someone we are supposed to save.”

 

So here I was, on an unusually quiet night in the hospital, consumed by my present situation. While I watched the monitors of new babies heart beats, my own heart was beating faster than before. A million questions and possibilities flooded my mind all at once. Was it safe to have Jaden in the house? I mean he seemed like a nice kid, but it’s been years since we’ve seen him and we know he has a long history of trauma. He is a teenager now and I have a beautiful teenage girl and a young vulnerable little boy. In my efforts to help this neglected youth, have I put my own family’s safety in jeopardy?

But then again, what if Jaden is the child I’ve been called to save? Perhaps because I’ve been ignoring those inner-promptings, the universe has decided “Look, you’re not listening to me… so here you go! Here’s your child!” My non-believing self began to wonder, if maybe, divine hands placed this child on my doorstep for a reason.

And what about my husband? Sure, he sounded understanding and cooperative in these initial moments, but what about tomorrow? What is our end game? If this is the child we are called to save, and he puts him back out, it will break me. But if I coerce him to do something he is uncomfortable with and a member of my family ends up getting hurt, it will break our marriage. All night my mind was clouded with every direction this could go. And inside those cement walls, I felt helpless as my family slept and the quiet of the night echoed my uncertainties. I turned to coworkers and asked for wisdom and prayers and I turned inward, asking for answers.

On my drive home that morning, my eyes welled with tears as I ruminated all the possibilities. In the wee hours of the morning, I had already spoken with a friend who was a social worker. They instructed me that my next step was to call Child Protective Services and to prepare an answer in the event that they asked me if we were willing to keep Jaden. Given the situation, they were sure, the case would meet criteria for “Child Neglect” and finding placement for a teen, a minority boy at that, would be a challenge to say the least. The system where we live is already inundated with kids with no homes.

So … for the first time in 20 years, I prayed. And my prayer was that the universe speak to me through my husband; that through his words and his wisdom, I would know what to do.

When I got home, I found only my daughter in the bed and I tried to prepare myself for my husband’s reaction by first talking to her.

“How did Daddy do last night?” I cautiously inquired.

“Fine,” was her nonchalant, teenage response.

“I mean how was he with Jaden? Did he seem upset?”

“No, he gave him a big hug. And when the cops had Jaden outside, while they talked to him, Daddy said “Well, maybe we’ll just adopt him.”

I stopped the joyful tears before they came and the skeptic that forever lives inside of me, silenced my celebration. My daughter, much like her like mother, is forever trying to save something or someone. And so I concluded, I must take her response with a grain of salt.

And then my husband entered and we excused our daughter. I explained to him that I had spoken with a social worker and what the next steps that we needed to take would be. I also explained a need to prepare an answer for the possibility that they asked us if we were willing to keep Jaden. “What should I tell them, if they ask?”

“What are you going to do-put him out, like everybody else?”, he responded, “There’s nothing else to do. We let him stay.”

“And what about the long-term?” I asked. “What if this isn’t just a day or two…then what?”

“Let’s do your thing” he said.

“What thing?”, the skeptic continued.

“You’ve been saying that there is someone who we’re suppose to save, maybe this is it.”

And my heart sung! But the skeptic kicked in for one last punch…”You know this is ludicrous!?” I told him. “We have a teenage daughter and this is an older, teenage boy with a bad history.”

Without being the least bit shook, he said, “I’m really not worried about it. I feel totally peaceful with him staying here.”

And there it was, the answer that I prayed for, straight from my husband’s lips and not a waver of uncertainty.

Our daughter had gone back to her own bed, our son still hadn’t awaken and Jaden was still fast asleep, mouth open on the couch. I’d later learn that he was a 6 am riser and the fact that he stayed knocked out until noon that day, confirmed his story was true, he’d been on the streets for a long time. He was tired. I told my husband that we’d have a family meeting when I woke up and I turned in to bed. As I pulled the sheets up to my neck, a single tear ran down my cheek and I looked up, “Well…that was fast.” I had my answer, now for the next step.

 

When I awoke that afternoon, so had Jaden. With my cup of coffee, I took the teen outside and we talked. I needed to know what had happened to land him here and what had happened in the years leading up to this. I needed to know if he was an unreported runaway or if he’d truly been “put-out” like he claimed. I needed to understand what I might be up against and I wondered what brought him to us. As much as I wanted to help him, I also had to consider the abilities and safety of my family.

Some things he answered honestly and easily, and others, he’d avert his eyes and say “I don’t really like to talk about it.” He was a child of trauma and the evidence of such oozed from every orifice.

By the end of our conversation, I learned that his story of abuse started as early as he could remember. That despite his lack of detail, his life, as predicted, had been riddled with abuse, neglect and loss. That he’d been fighting to not become the dysfunction that he’d been surrounded by. And that now, that fight had brought him to living on the streets. For twenty days, he walked and used his change for bus fare to reach his old familiar neighborhood where he house-hopped until he ended-up at ours. I told him that I’d do whatever I could to help him and that he was welcome to stay with us.

“You’d have to share a room with our son and it’s a small room. We have rules. And we don’t have much to offer in the way of space and fancy things…” “That’s okay”, he replied.

“But we do have a happy home and we do have fun,” I added.

“I’ll take it,” he said. And right then, I accepted Jaden as one of the family, just as he was, as my son.

I also explained to him that in order to protect us all and to do things the right way, I’d have to call CPS. He agreed to cooperate.

 

The story behind my experience with CPS is not one that I will elaborate much on, but I will say that it was both maddening and disheartening. The recommendations from CPS varied from “take him back home” to “work out an agreement with his family on your own terms” to “drop him off at the CPS office”. Instead we loved him and made him part of our home, hoping that the state would investigate, intervene and give us the graces to continue to care for him. After four days with us, Jaden was removed from our custody when his parents signed him over as a ward of the state and we were deemed “unfit” for no other reason than we did not have a foster license.

Four days … that’s it. I thought I was prepared for this foster thing. And yet we sobbed when he left.

That weekend, we used our grief as motivation and we started to prepare his room…we started to make room for Jaden.

Removing the carpet from my son’s room, the kids helped to pull the staples out of the wood floors. And my angst gave energy to my arms for polishing the floors. Boxes of belongings were packed up and sent to Goodwill to create more space. And furniture was moved around.

It became clear then, that our journey with fostering was not over, it was just beginning.

 

The first step in obtaining a foster license was to attend a mandatory 3-hour information session. In that session, they explained what would be required to obtain a license, what challenges you might encounter and the basic “do’s” and “don’ts” of foster care. To say that the information was overwhelming would be an understatement.

A typically resilient and zealous person, I sat there in silence and thought…”We can’t do this. This is too much! I’ve got four jobs and two other children-both of whom require a lot of me.”

I felt defeated and I wanted to cry. Consumed by my feelings, I couldn’t bring myself to turn around and make eye contact with my husband. For over an hour, I avoided his glance; because I was so sure he’d give me the confirmation that I didn’t want-that it was just going to be “too much” and that we were going to have to walk away. And I just didn’t want to see that same defeat in his eyes. I didn’t want to walk away but I didn’t know how we were going to do this either.

Finally, I braved the glance. I turned around and our eyes met. In a dirty state room, amongst a sea of people, a silent conversation of a lifetime took place in a few seconds between our two sets of eyes. “Defeat” wasn’t what his eyes spoke and yet he must have read the hesitancy in mine.

“We have to do this!” he said after a few silent moments, ” We are perfect for this. We have everything we need to make this work!”

And there again came the wisdom from my husband that I had prayed for. “Ok,” I said. My confidence instantly restored by his, “Let’s do this.”

Two nights a week for six weeks, we’d race home from work and after-school pick-ups to go to class. Still in our work clothes, oftentimes with our dinners in Tupperware, sitting on hard chairs in a sketchy room, in a state building in a rough end of town 40 min away from home, we’d attend 3-hour sessions on the horrors, challenges and needs of foster care. And every time my husband was energized and excited. We made friends. We learned. And we became even more impassioned to love another child.

On the last class, the instructor went around the room and asked everyone for their “one takeaway”. “I had no idea there were so many children who needed homes,” my husband offered. “I’m just really excited to be able to help some of them.” Another affirmation.

Three-hundred and seventy to be exact. Three-hundred and seventy children, the resource worker told us, who currently have no placements, no “home.”

 

As for Jaden, he maintained communication with us for the seven months it took us to meet all of the requirements to obtain a foster license-30 hours of classes, background checks and fingerprinting, home inspections and home revisions, interviews, references and applications. It wasn’t easy, but it was a journey that we continued to feel compelled to take.

By the time we finished, he was settled where he was. He was settled at his school, with his new friends and with his current foster parents. And he elected to maintain his current placement instead of coming back to us. It was hard at first, to say another good-bye to the little boy I committed to loving like my own. But Jaden’s happiness and safety was always the goal. It was never about me.

“I can never thank you guys enough for what you’ve done for me,” he said. “And you’ll always be my family. I’m ok here, I’m going to stay here. But you guys made me smile during a time in my life when I had nothing else to smile about. And I will always remember that.”

So why then did Jaden come? Why on that late August night did he knock on our door? Why did we go through all of this just for him to choose to stay somewhere else in the end?

As it turned out, Jaden wasn’t our end game. Yes, we had a hand in his reaching safety and happiness, but he wasn’t the only child we were suppose to save. As I thought about the journey that my husband took and how his reluctance turned to commitment, literally overnight, I realized, he needed a face to fight for. The idea of sacrificing for an imaginary child wasn’t in his realm of possibility; but fighting for Jaden was. I realized too, that had we known from the beginning, that Jaden wouldn’t come back, we wouldn’t have ever taken on the arduous seven month journey of getting a license. My husband’s world never would have been opened up to the great need of the children of our city, without those seven weeks of classes, without the stories and the statistics and the many, many faces like Jaden’s. And in turn, I wouldn’t have continued to fight without my husband to push me along.

Jaden wasn’t our destination, he was our catalyst – a catalyst for a journey I’d been called to take for a long time. And he was is a very special little boy, who opened up our world and pushed us to greater things. “You’ll always be family to me,” Jaden says.

You’ll always be our life-changer, Jaden.

And now with our well-earned license in hand, we wait…we wait for a placement… we wait for the universe to speak to us again and to send us the next child who needs our love- be it for four days, four months or forever.

Oh, what an adventure it is going to be… an adventure that all started when we decided to make room for Jaden.

 

img_5246img_5470

 

 

 

Posted on

10 Things That You Love: Love and Loss … and Foster Care

 

In Foster Parent classes, there’s an exercise that they sometimes do. The instructor leading the class, hands everyone 10 blank cards. Then, they ask everyone to write on those cards, “The 10 things that you love the most”, the 10 things that are the most important to you or that you would want to have in your life. Individual people or pets should not be listed separately but would be grouped on single cards labeled “Family”, “Friends” or “Pets,” for instance. And basic life necessities like food, water, clothing need not be included. I engaged in this activity during one of our final classes…

“Whelp, family, friends and pets, there’s my first 3 cards”… I thought. I’ve got 7 more to fill in.

My “Home” seemed an obvious choice. And oh how I love my “Vacations/Traveling”. I suppose I want my job…and I’d like to have my “Car” too…hmmm this is going to be hard to choose only 10.

The room buzzed as people filled-in the various things that they loved the most. And you overheard people talk about their favorite activities, hobbies, life-focuses and family heirlooms. People started off more concrete, many with the same first three cards as I did; but as we continued, people began to think outside the box. And they began to write things like “Hope” or  “Faith” on their remaining cards. Until finally, everyone had 10 cards filled out in front of them. Our 10 most important things.

The instructor asked us to spread those cards out in front of us and look at them, think about them, imagine them. And she asked us how we felt, looking and thinking about those 10 things. Whatever they might be – our loved ones, our community, our favorite pastime, a sport, our puppy dogs and kitty cats… maybe even something as simple as chocolate – All of these things that bring our life significance and comfort and joy.

A quick glance around the room revealed only smiles. Those 10 little cards signified the 10 things, that we as individuals, held dearest in our lives. Remembering the people and the things that we treasured the most, made everyone feel happy… kind of day-dreamy, almost.

And then the instructor asked us to take away a card. We were shocked.

I mean if you had to narrow down all of the many things that you love/want/need, to only 10… those 10 things are precious! How could we chose which one to eliminate. Not having a car meant I’d be taking the bus to work. No vacations??? I’d be a mess! My hobbies??? But those keep me sane and they bring me so much joy!

One card gone. And the mood of the room completely changed. The smiles were all gone and had been replaced with furrowed brows and looks of concern. They asked us to imagine our life now, without that thing. And it hurt.

And then they asked us to take away another.

“That’s preposterous!” we thought. Another one from the remaining 9 things we held closest to our hearts?! Shaking our heads, we removed another card. Once again, imagining our lives without it.

And then we had to take away another.

And another.

And another.

Each time, being asked to imagine our lives without that thing. And by that point, our initial feelings of concern, had turned to anger and feelings of unfairness and disbelief. In a few short minutes, the entire room’s mood had turned upside-down. How can you ask me, from the 10 things I love the most, to eliminate half?! We felt robbed!

Down to 5 now…and they asked us to take away another.

A room full of adults doing a simple exercise, and at this point, people were half-threatening to get up and leave. Others, said they were refusing to eliminate any more. Some laughed nervously and others sat in saddened silence; everyone finding it impossibly hard to eliminate any one of our top 5 things of importance. And while we continued along with the exercise, knowing full well, that it was just that; when asked to imagine, once again, “How that would feel?”, the fear of those losses began to induce feelings of panic within us. And we began to pray that the forced choices and the losses, while only imagined, would stop.

But the exercise continued until we were down to only one card.

The room was sullen. No more laughs. No more jokes or empty threats. We had been stripped of just about everything that we held dear.

“How do you feel now?” she asked. “Devastated” was the best word we could think of.

They then went around the room and asked everyone to share what their last remaining card was. For most, it was “Family”. And others sacrificed even that, for a virtue like “Hope” or “Faith”.

And after everyone had read their last card out loud, she said….

“Many of our foster children don’t even have that left.”

They’ve lost their homes, their schools, their friends, pets and family. Faith, Hope and Love are on their way out too. However dysfunctional their environment might have been, they have lost everything that was familiar and meaningful to them. And in the amount of time that it took you to complete this exercise, they were told to take whatever they could and throw it in a garbage bag. Then, they were dropped off at a stranger’s doorstep.

“The feelings that you had during this exercise,” she said, “the confusion, the anger, the panic and the sadness… remember those feelings when you get that knock on the door and you open your home to a foster child. And remember, that whatever you have left on that remaining card in front of you…you had a choice in and it’s STILL probably more than what they have left.”

 

Life is a series of circumstances, actions and reactions. We don’t get to choose to whom we are born and we don’t get a say in our genetic make-up. But we do have choices. What will you do with your choices? If you were born with a hand above others, will you choose to reach back and give someone else a lift? Or will you selfishly climb ahead and not look back? If you are at the bottom of the line, will you give-up and let your family’s history be your predetermined future? Or will you push harder to grasp whatever edge, whatever foothold can withstand the weight and pull yourself to the top? We can’t always control what obstacles, what loose rocks, come crumbling and spiraling towards us… but we can choose how we react and who we opt to continue our journey with. Life is a journey and an adventure! Take it! And make it a good one!

Interested in fostering? An internet search of the process in your state and county will yield a schedule of available classes-times and locations, as well as requirements. You’ll start with the info session and go from there. It’s not for the faint of heart but I do believe it is one of the greatest acts of love.

Keep loving. Keep growing. Keep striving to be the best damn person you can be. Life is short… May your blessings be bountiful and your regrets few.