When is blood thicker than love? Part 1.

A series of essays about adoption, family, identity, & love.

Today’s topic: Foster parents-in-waiting

We had dreams of adopting a child who needed a family. Not a baby, but a kid. Someone in the akward age range of 2–6 whom isn’t as easy to love as a baby. Who isn’t as easy to mold. Who isn’t as easy to pretend they are yours when they first arrive on your doorstep. But, a kid who needs love too, nonetheless. A kid who needs the support of a stable home, parents who meet their needs, of regular meal times and good schools, fun playdates. A kid who is just a kid (but maybe didn’t get dealt the best cards for the first few years of life).

We have a house with an extra bedroom, an income that can easily support two children, a stay at home parent, a well-adjusted biological daughter, a liberal, creative, and fun city to raise children in, a supportive set of grandparents, a vast network of siblings, cousins, and friends who encourage and cheer us on… It seems like an idyllic situation in which to care for a child in need of care— and maybe one day to adopt.

So we filled out the Fostering paperwork. We found social workers. We did trainings. We spilled our guts to the State. We read books about caring for kids who have experienced trauma. We planned for a life where our nuclear family definition is “different.” We opened our minds and hearts to the idea of not just letting a new kid into our life, but possibly their parents, grandparents, or siblings too. We cracked open the shell of privilege we didn’t even realized we lived in, and steeled ourselves for whatever God had in store.

And then we waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And life went on.

We moved to a new home. Our daughter finished one grade and started another. We traveled. We exercised. We socialized. We gardened. We volunteered. We worked. The “new kid’s room” turned into “the hamster’s room.” The seasons passed, another year. And still, we wait.

We’ve been told that we live in a strange part of the city where our house is “too far” for most of the visitations kids need to have with their bio parents (translation: we live in too nice of a neighborhood). We’ve been told we are too narrow with our age & other requirements (translation: unless we’re open to taking in sets of siblings, or babies, or both, forget it). We’re told the State changed legislation recently and less kids are being removed from their homes now; services are being given to parents while still caring for their kids (translation: less kids in care mean less kids who need homes… but net-net this is a good thing, we think).

Whatever the reasons are, who knows. Supply. Demand. Location. It’s a mystery. It’s all of it.

Our foster license is up for renewal this winter and we’re seriously considering giving up on the whole thing. It’s emotionally draining to not know whether you’ll wake up the next day and get an email that says a kid is going to move into your house. Maybe if we’d had a steady stream of them coming and goig all this time, it would be easier to adjust to the uncertainty than having an empty bedroom and life going on as you’ve already known it but with a strange emptiness floating as an undercurrent… But on the flip side, it would have been challenging in completely different ways to have a stream of kids coming and going, each one with their own struggles, each one bonding then being torn away from us... feeling like we’re just another notch in their series of trauma belt… All we know for sure is that the dream of having a kid placed with us quickly, living with us for a while, then adopting them was probably a very naive dream to have.

You hear these terrible stories about bad foster parents who do it for the money and don’t care about the kids. I have no way to judge how accurate that profile is is since we haven’t actually met many other foster parents during this experience. All I can say is that our own motivations grew out of a desire to share the great things in our lives with a little person who needed it more than we ever will. We truly thought that it was a calling we were meant to serve. And as such, we have been willing to put up with the never-ending mountain of paperwork and bueracuracy, the sloppy case workers and disgruntled state employees, all the “taxes” we resigned ourselves to pay (figuratively, not literally) to ultimately get at something more meaningful — giving a kid a home.

But with each bend in the road it has felt like we’re the odd man out; like somehow we don’t fit into this strange system. I have to wonder how many other people/couples with similar means and willingness to do this from a place of gratitude and compassion (not out of a need for money) have walked away empty handed/hearted as well… There comes a point where you have to decide what you’re willing to pay (with time, energy, hope) to get the reward… and whether that reward is worth it. It’s really really difficult if you’re intentions are altruistic and not financial to stay in the game when it feels like the game’s rules are stacked against you.

I don’t think or story is over though. I don’t think God/The Universe would have put our family through this if there wasn’t some bigger picture reason. I just can’t see what that is right now. I don’t see forest. Only trees. Trees with lots of little kids playing in the branches… but I can’t reach any of them.

❤

(Like this? Read more in the series.)

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