Category Archives: fostering

Appropriate Closure

Posted on by

0

As an adoptive/foster parent, I live in a world that is unlike most. All around there are well meaning individuals, best practices, protocol, and lingo.

Closure is a big word in foster care and adoption. It’s something that is supposed to be helpful and healing.

Two summers ago, my teenage foster child aged out of the system. Everything was arranged for her to move on to a lovely set up in a city that could better meet her needs. Sabrina* had been with me for five years. Raine and Athena hadn’t known life in our home without her. So as the move drew close, I sought out a therapist for Raine to see. Then, when Sabrina left, Raine’s anxiety level lessened dramatically. We still went to see the therapist. It was a grueling 50 minutes repeated three times. Raine, the most talkative child you will ever meet, didn’t speak at all during the sessions. The well intentioned therapist followed her around the room. As Raine bounced from the sand box to craft table, the lady was stressed beyond belief. She was deeply worried about the sand escaping from the table and too much glue being put on papers. It was very uncomfortable, made even more so by the eery silence.

Since our home life was becoming quite pleasant and Raine was not exhibiting any instability in Sabrina’s absence, I decided to end the sessions. The therapist responded to my email, insisting that we have a final visit “for closure, since Raine has experienced so many losses in her life.”

The problem with “closure” is that it doesn’t close the gaping wound left by an individual’s exit from your life. It isn’t a cure for the natural grief process. It doesn’t erase the pain.

I asked Raine if she wanted to see the therapist once more to say goodbye. She did not. So we didn’t. It wasn’t as if Raine had formed any attachment. In fact, she was completely detached from the woman which was very uncharacteristic for Raine.

Another opportunity for appropriate closure has passed us by recently. Our young friend, featured in my last post, was at a foster parent seminar I was supposed to go to. She was staying at another foster home within our agency, waiting for CAS to decide where she’d be residing. Being far from her school, the girl was not attending and would be accompanying the foster parent to our training session.

I was told she’d be helping in the children’s class which is where I’d be required to leave Raine for the day. And so, after a bit of thought, I decided not to go. The message I gave to my daughters after our dramatic ordeal, is that I can protect them and will keep them safe. Dropping Raine off to be cared for by someone who tried to harm her does not support that message.

Later when I explained to a case worker why I wasn’t there, she pointed out that I denied Raine the chance for appropriate closure. Yes, I suppose I did. These are the decisions that I make reluctantly, knowing I’m going against the grain of best practice. Social workers are educated and experienced in ways I am not. There must be something to this approach of closure – saying goodbye one last time. But I couldn’t find any benefit to my family or our friend. The context this appropriate closure was offered in made me uncomfortable. So I let the opportunity pass us by.

*name changed

I Eat Cake Alone

Posted on by

2

Yesterday I turned 38. It was supposed to occur without much fanfare. I’m looking forward to celebrating my 40th in a significant manner. But 38 didn’t seem to warrant much notice. I went to a meeting to figure out some next steps as a foster parent. The girls and I went out for lunch with my mom.

While eating a light dinner, my friend called asking if her foster child could come over. It’s a common call. The teen with FAS often finds life challenging. Usually she’s able to calm down when removed from the situation and brought to my house.

Last night that didn’t happen. The girl was especially angry about being with us. Everything in her wanted to make me feel the pain she was carrying.

“You’re fat,” she yelled at me several times. With no response from me, she decided to hurl a greater insult. “You eat cake alone! I know you do!” she spit the words as if this were the most vile accusation imaginable.

I wanted to laugh. “Yes,” I replied in all seriousness, “I do eat cake alone.”

“I know you do!” she repeated. “I know you eat cake alone!” There was a triumphant smirk on her Chocolate cake and coffeeface as though she’d caught me in something disreputable.

Having been in my home on a regular basis for 6 1/2 years this was the most damning charge she could bring against me.

I must confess, I eat a great deal of cake and – whenever possible – do so alone. It’s my reward after a long hard day. And most days are both long and hard. But I show up and most of the time do my very best. I think that deserves a continual celebration involving cake.

Things with our visitor unraveled further. The words she’d meant to wound me with, only made me laugh.

“It’s your birthday,” Raine cried as we sat in the dinning room while the teen threw books and toys around upstairs, “and she’s wrecking it.”

Eventually, when our visitor came downstairs and began throwing chairs and anything else she could get her hands on, I called 911. This was my first emergency call in 38 years. Standing in the doorway to the kitchen with Raine and Athena behind me, I felt there was no other option. The teen backed away from us a little. I could hardly spell my last name to the 911 operator. My hands were shaking and I was crying.

A fellow blogger criticized me because of my post about saying no to a child who needed a home. Her words played through my mind as my daughters and I ran to the car in pouring rain to wait for the police – no coats, no shoes – “some people just opt for the easy life”. This is not easy! I shouted at the unknown stranger who passed this judgment. As I told the woman in my response, which she had not approved, to say I’ve chosen an easy life is laughable.

I chose this. I decided to become a foster parent who specializes in caring for older, special needs children. Because of that police cruisers are parked in front of my house on my birthday when all I wanted to do was put the kids to bed and enjoy another piece of cake on my own. Easy is not the right word.

Nor does it sum up the decision I made to not let the teen back in my home again. The officers calmed her down. She took her medication and went to bed. In the morning she remained incredibly hostile towards me but did head off to her school down the street. I closed the door, having resolved she will never be with us again.

In the end her foster parents have had to make the same decision. As this girl tells her life story, no doubt there will be outrage when people discover after 6 1/2 years her foster parents and I, sort of her foster aunt, “gave up” on her. That’s how it will look to the casual reader of this child’s life.

As I sit alone tonight, eating cake, I am assured that’s not how my Heavenly Father sees it. He understands the full picture, something a single blog or solitary fact can’t capture.

Everything’s the Same

Posted on by

3

As mentioned yesterday, I’m still not over the call I got for four children – 3yr old twin girls, a 7yr old boy, and 8yr old girl. On the heels of that disappointment, I agreed to meet a 15yr old girl with intellectual delays. The child had been in care for some time but the past year had been spent in an institution which sounded top rate. There she’d finally received a formal diagnosis and started on medication that actually helped. Her time there is at an end so the social worker is touring her around to select a foster family to settle with. The goal is that she’ll remain with said family until she ages out of foster care in 2 1/2yrs. They left feeling quite happy. But I left dreading having her here. The hour she’d visited felt like forever. I couldn’t imagine having her here all the time. I tried very hard to figure out life with her but I kept failing. No amount of positives – like her being at her birth mom’s every weekend and being in school full-time – could alleviate the sense of dread that had settled on me the moment I saw her. And so, I had to say no to that placement. And, after the flurry of excitement, everything’s the same. Hopefully not for long.

Placement Calls

Posted on by

0

three bedsTwo and a half weeks ago, I was moving beds around – because that’s what I do with all my free time. Athena ended up with three beds in her room, not including the trundle bed that is ready in a matter of minutes. As I made the beds and looked into the future, I found myself thinking, “I’d love to have 3yr old twin girls and maybe a 7yr old or 8yr old.” I went to bed dreaming of that configuration.

In the morning, I received a call from the private fostering agency I work for. The case manger was wondering if I’d be interested in a placement of 3yr old twin girls, a 7yr old boy, and an 8yr old girl. The sibling group was set to be apprehended that day. I was certain this was the situation for us. It was exactly what I’d thought of the night before. Of course I said yes.

Since it work for a private agency, my yes didn’t make anything certain. My employer presented me to the children’s aid that contacted them. Usually at least two homes from my agency are offered as options. Sometimes children’s aid has involved several private agencies. That means there are many homes being looked at. The social worker combs through the choices and picks one that will hopefully be best suited for the children.

In my years of fostering, I’ve said yes to many situations that never came about. But I’d never had such a specific thought as I had while arranging Athena’s room. I could see the 3yr old girls and their older sister in the room even before I got the call.

All day I waited. The case worker called many times – but not about the four children. There was a set of boys, aged 7 & 9, and a 15yr old girl she wondered if I’d want. What I really wanted was those four children. But I said yes to the boys and that I’d be willing to meet the 15yr old who was being transferred from an institution back into foster care.

The boys went to another foster home within my agency. And, at the end of the day, I found out that children’s aid hadn’t gotten a warrant to apprehend the four children. They weren’t coming to me after all. I nearly cried. Normally, I know not to get my hopes up when I get a placement call. But this one had seemed so sure. I had everything for that exact situation. I would have just needed to run out and get another vehicle that could transport six small children and myself.

I’ve left the three beds up in Athena’s room and made matching duvet covers. The extra bed was supposed to be temporary until I took it down and delivered it to someone else. But now I can’t bear to part with it. Those four children might still come. Even now, I can’t get them out of my mind. Praying the Lord continues to move on their behalf wherever they are.

And then I was still left with the prospect of the 15yr old………..(more on that coming tomorrow)

Strengths in Weakness

Posted on by

0

5yr old Athena is spectacularly good at peeling wallpaper. I know this because she’s done it many times in a variety of spots. Occasionally it’s done out of anger. Most times I can’t figure out why she’s picked and plucked at my beautiful walls. I was quick to blame myself – I must be missing something she’s trying to communicate.

Then one evening, I was painting the upstairs hallway. Athena had been home from school that day, as she often is. I’d made a point of spending lots of time with her. At bed, I read her books and stayed to talk for ages. Raine, having a separate room, had gotten her own alone time with me as I tucked her in. I closed the doors feeling as though I’d done everything possible to nurture my daughters that day. Opening the can of paint, I realized I’d forgotten the paintbrush. To the basement I went. When I returned, paint was smeared all over the floor.

I entered Athena’s room and told her about the situation, asking her to go wash her hands properly so she wouldn’t get paint all over the bedding.

“I don’t have paint on my hands,” she sweetly informed me.

Earlier in her life, that little voice got me every time. For a while Raine ended up in time out for the messes Athena made because both swore it wasn’t them. And Athena’s gentle demeanor seemed much more believable. Then I caught her in the act of clogging the bathroom sink with chunks of hand soap.

There are times when Athena will march into the bathroom and slice the walls with a stick her sister forgot on the ground because she’s just been sent to her room for some infraction. Then there are times when she peels all the paint of a door jam while she’s supposed to be watching a movie with friends. After saying it wasn’t her, Athena shrugs and says she doesn’t know why she does it.

I don’t know why. As a person who like to know, this really irritates me. Since there’s not much rhyme or reason, I’m trying to be more diligent in keeping tabs on her. And I’m choosing not to blame myself because even on my best day as a mom I ended up with paint all over the floor.

But today, Athena got to make the most of her experience in peeling wallpaper. She helped me strip 007away the coverings in the dinning area to make room for the new paper she helped pick out.

She was absolutely delighted – ripping of the top layer, spraying, and pulling off the 2nd layer.

Another 5yr old, who is visiting while his foster family are on vacation, loves cleaning. When I announced we needed to get the torn wallpaper off the floor because a friend was coming for lunch, he set to work. There were a few questions about my friend and her two boys. It was clear his anxiety was mounting. Turns out sweeping warded off a breakdown. He focused on getting the wallpaper tidied and swept all the floors – only stopping when I promised he could do it again after our guests left.

It would be lovely to have a solution to Athena’s destruction and our visitor’s anxiety driven cleanliness. Without that, I’m enjoying my daughter’s skill at tearing down wallpaper at this welcomed time and the other little one’s delight in cleaning it all up.