Algo se Muere en el Alma Cuando un Amigo se Va

I went a Jesuit university which prides itself on teaching to the whole person- mind, body and spirit. There were required religion and philosophy classes as part of our core curriculum. In one class, I think it was just a pretty generic “Christian Spirituality” class we read a book about moments in life that tend to be transcendent moments, or in other words, moments where a person has a greater sense of a higher power. I don’t know if I remember them all but, birth of a child, death of a loved one, particular moments in nature, challenging times, and creating a piece of art, were among them. It wasn’t a particularly life-changing book to be honest, but it has come to mind recently because of our experience with our first foster baby, specifically the experience of giving up our first foster baby. Maybe all these moments the book mentioned tend to be transcendent moments because in these moments we are so utterly aware that there is a power that is not coming from our own strength or will. Grace is defined as the free and unmerited favor of God. It’s the ‘free and unmerited’ part of grace that astounds me. I am a weak, helpless human being yet God thinks of me. Three moments of extravagant grace come to my mind, that I’d like to share.

I worked as a camp counselor for 10 summers at a YMCA camp. The whole experience, now that I mention it, was filled with graceful moments, or moments where I was aware my own strength could not go any farther, but for love of a camper, through grace, I went farther. In 2011, on a Wednesday night where all the cabin groups were out on campouts around the lake, I was one of a small few who  awoke in the middle of the night to our dining hall, the main lodge of the whole camp, burning down due to an electric fire. I felt so powerless as the fire raged. Worse yet, I assumed it meant the end of the summer which was only a few weeks in. I didn’t sleep that night, even after the firefighters told us they had saved the rest of camp and that if it hadn’t poured rain the days leading up to this, we would have had a forest fire on our hands. The next morning, we prepped the campers before they came back, called parents, received cookies from the “rival” camp across the lake, tried to figure out a million logistics from losing our food and kitchen, and received an outpouring of love from…everyone. Surprisingly, the campers weren’t scared at all and no parent came and picked up their child. Kids are so much more resilient than we give them credit. We gathered around the picnic tables for our first sunny day all week to eat our donated lunch of 100+ peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. We began to sing, as our custom, “Oh the Lord’s been good to me and so I thank the Lord for giving me the things I need, the sun and the rain and the appleseed.” I couldn’t keep singing because my voice was cracking and tears were streaming down my cheeks. I’d never meant those words so deeply. How was it that after such a trial I was overwhelmed with gratitude?? Grace. How did I actually mean ‘the Lord is good’ when something so bad had just happened? Grace.

The second experience of profound grace was my mom’s death. When my mom had to schedule a “routine” surgery for her heart condition that took the life of all of her family members, we all spent those months facing the possibility of her death. Every time I thought about it, I imagined myself falling apart completely, not getting out of bed, not knowing how to go on. So, I prayed desperately that all would go smoothly and she would recover quickly. Over 3 intense days when she was not waking up from the surgery, I continued to beg God for a miracle. I could share all the little moments that felt like little miracles- my husband having decided to leave work early and come join us from across the state, arriving during the final hours of her life, friends surrounding us with love-dropping off snacks and arranging my brother’s flight, my six-month old son being satisfied sitting in his stroller for hours (there was no way I was letting him crawl around the ICU floor!), my mom hanging on until my brother could fly in on a very last minute flight that he “should” have missed, and countless other little signs. However, the overall experience of grace for me was the pervasive sense of peace that flowed through all of it. I was heartbroken beyond anything I had experienced previously and I would have done almost anything to make the outcome turn out differently, yet I couldn’t shake this feeling of someone comforting me, someone being closer to me than I could explain. It was like the words, “I am with you,” were being whispered directly into my heart. My family stood around my mom’s bed praying a rosary as they disconnected the machines keeping her heart beating. “Was it just me or did you hear Mom’s voice praying with us?” my brother asked. I had been having the same experience. Somehow, in the days that followed, I did not completely fall apart. There was a light and a strength that assuredly did not come from me, as I went through the grief that followed. When I lost an unborn child due to an ectopic pregnancy 7 months later, all that grief came back in full force…and so did that pervasive sense of peace. In these moments of death, it was like we were surrounded by the Holy, that the usual distance we experience between ourselves and the Divine was like no distance at all.

My family fell in love with our first foster baby quickly. She seemed to “fit” into our family so well. There were so many little signs to show me how she was meant to be…so I began to dream of her becoming our adopted daughter. She was only 3 months old when the social worker told us a family member was looking into moving here to be her caretaker. I cried and then went into denial and thought of all the reasons that would keep this person from actually moving here. At about 4.5 months I received the second email from this family member. I opened it on a morning I had actually woken up early to pray (not a regular occurrence unfortunately). I read her email that enthusiastically stated how she was here and settled and getting to work…and I broke down completely. My husband walked in and I cried, “she’s here and she’s going to get our baby!” I called 3 friends who had been walking through this journey with me. I couldn’t even get the words out I would start crying so hard. I felt like everyone who warned me how hard it would be to give up a baby was going to get their chance to say, “I told you so.” All those voices I had heard (mostly in my head) telling me I wouldn’t be able to handle something like this, they were right. “I can’t handle this!” The family member and I spent the next month and a half emailing while she got all her clearances, paperwork and home study completed and I kept coming up with every reason that maybe she wouldn’t pass her checks and clearances, or maybe she would change her mind. But every email just contained more evidence that she was actually a stable, safe and loving person who already loved this baby she hadn’t even met yet. But that didn’t mean I had to like her. And I still wouldn’t trust her with my baby. Then I received another email saying, “I wonder if you happened to teach my half-brother?” I had taught her half-brother!! I had seen her last name before, but thought what are the odds she was related to this student? This student was not just a nice kid, he was one of those kids you worry about because he is just so tenderhearted, and the world is so harsh. Finding out this student was my foster baby’s uncle was an affirmation I never expected. I felt so loved and taken care of with this new piece of information. It felt like God knew my weak, fragile little heart would have been crushed to let this baby go to a family that was even remotely less than ideal. My husband reminded me, “well, you wanted to become a part of the whole family,” which was a dream I thought had died because of the complicated situation with the biological parents.

I had to meet this woman in person so we made plans to meet up at a Mexican restaurant. As I pulled into the parking lot and could hear the loud music and saw the crowd I remembered it was Cinco de Mayo. We greeted each other, decided we could hug, and yelled over all the noise! Thankfully we found a quieter corner and began to share our hearts. She already loved this baby and uprooted her whole life in order to take care of her. We took turns crying. Every worry I had was consoled down to the tiniest of details. I told her the line that kept coming to my head that I had heard every summer for years, from “A Letter to my Child’s Camp Counselor.” It ends with, “If you care for my child with love and patience, then you are no longer a stranger. You’ve suddenly become my most important friend in the world.”

At the end of May we got permission for this relative to meet our baby. I tried to imagine what this meeting would be like. Our little flower was 7 months old now and had started getting stranger danger a little young. Would she let this woman who wants to be her mom hold her? Would she be happy? Would I be jealous if she was happy? I had no idea how I was going to feel about the day. The sun was shining (on one of the few sunny days during this record breaking rainy and cold May) and we walked the streets of her small town, picked out flowers and spent all afternoon at a park. Our little flower giggled at being held by her and I was surprised to feel joy. She shared all the history her family has in this town and all the extended family that is around ready to support her. I remembered the many conversations my husband and I had about the importance of blood, history, roots, that even if we create a new family not of blood, losing those things is a great loss to a child. Our little flower will not have to experience that loss.

A friend who started fostering shortly before us told me of losing her first foster baby suddenly and unexpectedly. “It was terrible, but there was also peace,” she said. I couldn’t handle that, I thought. Over the next two months, we had a long goodbye. Tentative dates were set, I planned various “rituals” to say goodbye (advice from my counselor), we would have a special ‘last’ night and then…something would change and we would get to have her for longer. Our lilies bloomed, roses grew from a place we’d never planted them, we watched a nest of birds hatch, become fledglings and bounce around the yard with their mama bird keeping a close eye, and then they flew away. Then, at 9 months to the day that we brought her home, she went to her new home. We carried her to term. She may not remember how she grew with us, but “in heaven you’ll find out what this time meant for her,” said a priest friend to us.

We packed up her things. There was more space in the living room with the playpen gone, but there was an emptiness. Our hearts had been oriented to her for so long, we would forget she was gone and look for her for a second. We were sad, and yet again, we were so grateful to have loved such a special girl. I could not have forced the feelings I have, even if I had wanted to. Our foster daughter had changed our lives and I was genuinely happy for this relative (who I didn’t want to like!) who was about to have her life changed for so much good! She needed this special baby more than us. Our little flower was not meant to be for the reasons I had dreamed of, but I have no question she was meant to be our first.

Love will forever change you. There is no going back once you’ve loved someone. When we think about fostering again, I could be afraid, after all how could anyone ever be as special as our Little Flower? The odds of getting another ‘best case scenario’ in the system are not great odds. What if we end up in a situation that I truly can’t handle- that would make me fall apart from grief? Thankfully, I can remember these experiences of moments that I thought there was no way I could handle, and trust that the grace will be there again. There is so much freedom when I just admit I can’t actually handle much of anything, but there is someone who stays close to me through it all. If we only say, ‘God is good,’ when the situations we think are good happen, then we’ve demoted God into a divine vending machine, who is only good when he gives us what we want. After our foster baby left, I wanted to be mad at God…but I just couldn’t be. I had felt His consoling presence too strongly. The family member will send pictures of her smiling; videos of her taking steps already (she was always a strong girl) and somehow I’m filled with joy, not the pain of loss. I couldn’t make myself feel this way, this is all something outside of myself. This is why it’s important to remember our stories and to write them on our hearts.