A seventeen-year-old who was about to age out of the system
with no plan for his future, nor with a care in the world. A fifteen-year-old that broke my heart, not
once, but twice. A six-week-old baby who
wouldn’t stop trembling. A six-day old
baby that was so little, he fit in the palm of my hand. Two seven-year-olds that wouldn’t stop eating
that first week. A three-year-old who looked
me in the eyes, held my face with her little hands, and asked “are you my Daddy?” An eight-year-old (or was it a nine-year-old?) who said, “I
feel safe here.” A two-year-old who held
my finger (and my heart) and said “Wuv you Popsch.” A boy who said, “I like it here; I have a bed
to sleep on.” A teenager who didn’t
speak English.
Too many diapers. Too
many toddler tantrums. Too many phone
calls in the night. Too many we’re full,
we can’t take them. Too many doctors’ appointments.
Too many trips to the hospital. Too many sleepless nights remembering the
little ones who went back home, and the little ones who went to the next placement. Too many answers that don’t quite answer the
question. Too many explanations that don’t
ease a child’s pain.
So many smiles. So much
joy. So much love. So many “Pops is home.” So much playtime. So many tears when goodbye
comes. So much relief when we hear that
reunification is going well.
I could tell you more, much more, about being a foster
parent. About the jolt of energy when we
get the call and a new placement is on the way.
About the struggle of visits.
About the parents we were able to partner with and help them on their
path to reunification. About the parents
who just couldn’t get a grip on their struggles and the pain we felt for
them. About the stipend that doesn’t
ever quite seem to cover the costs of diapers and clothes and shoes and on and
on and on.
What I want to tell you is this: it’s worth it. Every struggle, every fear, every heartache,
every tear, every penny spent is worth it.
When you see a former foster child with their parents, happy and loved,
it’s worth it. When you see that child
and they run up to you and hug you and cry out “Pops, it’s you!” It’s worth it. You see, my heartache doesn’t matter. My sacrifices don’t count. What counts is that a child is safe. A child is loved. A child is taken care of while mom and dad get
the help that they need to become the parents they need to be. That’s what matters, and it’s worth it.
It’s easy to sit back and complain about a broken system (parts of it does seem to be broken). It’s easy to sit back and talk about awful
foster parents who are only in it for the money (I've never met one of those). It’s easy to sit back and complain about
social workers who are corrupt and evil (never met one of those either). Talk is cheap.
Become part of the solution.
Become a foster parent. Get
involved. Touch a child’s life and let
that child become a part of yours. You
can get started here.
