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. “Hmmphā¦ 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.
“Ummmā¦ 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 ā¦ 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 ā¦ 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.
