Foster-adoption is a drug. There’s a momentary (even extended) high, and then a painful withdrawal until the next fix.
Gambling is so addictive because its intermittently reinforcement. Basically, the idea that a payoff could happen, the hope that the “big win” is around the corner, and the occasional gains is what keeps people pulling the slots. Foster Care is the same. The idea and hope behind it are what keeps foster parents going back to pull the slot one more time for one more placement – whether or not they are in it for adoption. You never know what’s around the corner, and that’s the excitement of it all. In the same moment, the not knowing once you’ve fallen in love with a child is the worst part.
I’ve always wanted to go back to fostering children (not babies). With our “lifestyle” and the social climate of the state, it’s not an option for us. And while we love babies, we’d eventually like for one of our kiddos to make it past teething. I have been raising babies for a year-and-a-half now. 18 months of newbornness. We’ve heard that there are things called walking and talking and potty-training. Who knew?
In the wake of Asher’s loss and with our adoption on the horizon, we wrestled with the idea of continuing Foster-Adoption. We went back-and-forth for months, weighing the exciting possibility of what we could get and the daunting thought that if we don’t do it (who else will raise these babies?) against the frustration, anger, heartache and cost of pouring endless resources into being (at times) the only advocate for someone else’s child. We pulled the slot again. Parker is our last. At least for now.
Crystal and I have to advocate from a different position now. Our fists are out, ready to throw some punches at people who need to be accountable for not doing their jobs and jeopardizing the lives* of children in the process. We couldn’t do that before with the risk of loosing one of our babies (Caseworkers come up with creative allegations after you complain to their supervisor). But after Parker goes, we can raise hell. We didn’t realize it, but we’ve been training for it all along.
We’re passing the torch.
It’s on you now.
You know who you are.
So take up the mantle, march onward and protect these sweet children. Love them like your own. Fight for them. And when the heartache sets in and all seems unbearable, we’re here to listen, because we’ve been there and we know it hurts like hell but we wouldn’t take a second of it back.
*DCFS instituted a new policy that after a child is moved into a new home, the Caseworker is required to check on them in their foster home within 24 hours of placement, every week for the first month, and monthly after that. This is mandatory, non-discretionary, and a response to the startling reality that more abuse (and occasional death) occurs in foster homes than occurred before removal. In two and a half months, Indifferent Ingrid has visited Parker once. (What about the kids in abusive foster homes? Drug-using/alcoholic foster homes? You can bet that Indifferent Ingrid isn’t visiting them either).
