My family and I have done foster care for many many...many years And I remember seeing new kids in my house almost all the time. I kind of thought that that was how every family was. All of these kids were about my age to a few years older than me. Yes, a normal life. But as I got older, I was beginning to see that my life was used more as a way to help other children who didn't have the loving family that I did. It got a sense of pride and happiness to fill my heart.
During high school, I had an encounter with this boy. Whenever I saw him, I would feel as though I had met him before but I couldn't place when or where. It wasn't until he said a certain something to me that I realized who he was. He was my foster brother from when I was about eight years old...... I never brought that up to him though. I am glad that I didn't. I saw how happy he was, how proud of himself he was. I wasn't going to ruin it for him by bringing up a dark past. I kept those memories to myself and smiled whenever I saw him, thinking "You did it."
As I got older, I took more responsibility with Foster Children. I began to give them something people were afraid to do. I gave them my heart and not just a piece of it. My personal downfall. To love a child halfway is just foolish and to give all of your heart is beautiful and foolish but needed.
I met this three year old blond-haired, sky blue-eyed, boy named Damien. I fell in love with him right away and knew that I had to have him as my own. As his Sunday School Teacher, I taught him what was needed in home, church, and daycare when he went. Every day, I would receive a picture message from his Foster sister saying "Damien misses you! See you Sunday!" and I was excited every time. My mother renewed her license and we took Damien into our care. I loved that boy to death every second I was with him. He would scream for joy whenever he saw me. He drew me pictures when I was at school and sang me songs when I would be at home. We would laugh together and watch movies that got him hooked into the action. But there was something missing. Something I could never have given him. The right home. Oh, I gave him all the love he needed but everything he needed, we couldn't provide. After about nine months in our care, we let him go. The day he left, my heart was gone. I cried for months after that but I cried silently. When I would be home alone, I would sit on the couch and cry until the tears stopped flowing. I went through a depression that lasted two and a half weeks. I ate only when people made me, I smiled at school but only when people were watching me. I even cried in the bathroom, hiding myself. I still cry every once in a while.
About 2 years ago, I saw Damien again for maybe the last time. My heart was singing again. I was so happy that he could finally say my name the way it is correctly pronounced. I cried tears of joy for that boy and he remembered me and only me. When I saw him walk away from me for the last time, I didn't cry. Not a tear. He is now adopted by the family who had him after mine. He is happy and I know he will be fine.
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July of 2011
I met this blond haired, blue eyed baby girl, only 2 weeks old.
She was the most gorgeous creature ever! I still think about holding her in my arms and rocking her to sleep singing "Once Upon a December". She was with us about seven months when she went to live with her grand-parents. They are going to adopt her anytime now.
The heartache that my entire family went through when she left was deadly. I have never seen my father cry so much for someone not in our family. We are all still saddened that she is not with us but luckily, we are still in her life. Her grandparents were so thankful that she spent her time with us and are constantly inviting us to be with them on weekends to see the baby grow up.
The pain is still there but her smiles wipe it away every time.
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So why is the title of this post "Torture Yourself Anew"? Here's why:
I am crying as I write this.
I am heartbroken and angry.
I miss the two little boys who were with us for the past eight months. They held me together. I don't even like to be at home anymore because they aren't here. I find their toys or crafts or pictures and I lose it.
You see, When they left I cried for about 2 minutes until I smacked myself and said "Stop. They will be better than fine. They are great boys." I didn't cry after that. Now, I can't even think when I want to see them. I am so out of control of my emotions that I am being weirder than weird...which is slightly not normal for me. I lash out at random moments and am grasping onto whatever will allow me to. Food, movies, computer, friends, and new things.
...I am still crying and trying to type...
I will continue to torture myself, until I can see those boys and not cry.
I want to continue doing foster care because I saw the result in those boys and other children. They are growing up to be blessed. They don't act up like they used to and I know that my family is to thank. I am torturing myself because I can't let them go. I love them so much....I feel like someone took away my own children. But I want to continue giving children the chance.
Giving your heart away is easy, Letting them walk away will it can kill-- but for children, its a small price to pay.
~I Love you Kids. All of you. You have given me the means of being a better person and preparing me to be a great mother when the time comes. Each of you have a full heart of mine. Thank you for giving me a piece of yours.~
Now you made the pregnant one cry. I have gone through the same emotional heartbreak with another little boy, his name was Logan. His mother left him with his father when he was 6 months old. His father had never had any children before him, and this little boy ached for a mother and siblings. My mother began watching him everyday his father went to work from the time he was 1 year old til he was just about 5. I played with him after school, I took him on walks outside. I watched PBS with him and answered all his silly questions. I helped teach him manners. He called me and my sister his sisters. He called my mother "mom". The day he moved with his dad I cried. I felt horrible for not spending as much time with him those last few weeks as I had the years before because I was in my senior year and always gone, busy with other things. I miss him being a part of my home. He doesn't live far from me now, and one day I will go visit him, but my heart still cries for that little boy that was my brother.
ReplyDeleteWOW. I really can't think of anything else to say....beautiful story.
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