Well, That Was Short

We just sent on our shortest placement.  We got him three weeks ago, and now he is with family members while his parents work to be reunited with him.

I didn’t expect to cry.  I didn’t expect to hurt.  I didn’t expect the gloom to come again.  But it did.  And that surprised me.

I guess it shouldn’t have been a surprise.  This is not just a job to me.  Despite what TV shows and movies portray, these kids are not simply “a meal ticket.”  These are my children.  When they come into my home, they are mine. 

My mom once told me that it was good to hurt when they leave.  She said it was a sign that I did all that I could for them.  It proved that I loved them with my whole heart and held nothing back. 

These children need a mother, not a babysitter.  I am their mother while their biological mother works to get her life in order so she can care for her child again.  I do not try to replace their biological mother, no one can do that.  But I do my best for the children who come through my door.

Every child is suffering in some way when they are placed with a foster family.  We have decided to take children under two years of age.  The children we care for don’t have emotional baggage from years of abuse and neglect.  There aren't behavior problems or disrespect to deal with.  If there are any developmental delays, they usually haven’t been noticed yet. 

The children we have cared for have come from abusive homes or have been exposed to drugs.  These little ones are scared.  They don’t know what is going on and they miss their parents, regardless of how they have been treated.  It takes time for them to adapt and adjust to living in our home.  They usually don’t sleep more than an hour or two at a time the first night, or even the second or third.  I typically spend the first week just holding them and feeding them. 

I have come to understand and appreciate Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.  I’ve watched as each of these babies started to blossom as their basic needs were met and they began to feel safe in my care.  I remember the first time our very first foster baby put his arm around my neck and patted my back when I picked him up.  My heart nearly burst!  I truly love these children!

My oldest daughter summed it up pretty well when she said, “It’s not as bad as last time, Mom.  It still hurts, but it’s not as bad.”  And she’s right.  It’s not as painful as the last time, but it still hurts.  I suppose it will hurt every time.

And that’s a good thing.