To Love Without Possessing

We have had our first foster infant for almost 5 months and she has already taught my family and I some truths about love that can be hard to face. I am only starting to process the thoughts and feelings that have accompanied this experience so far, but let me begin by trying to honestly share this journey with you.

My husband and I spent over a year taking classes, preparing our home and asking questions of several friends who have gone before us in this fostering journey. There were some definite themes I heard repeatedly from friends…”broken system,” “the process is invasive,” “parents’ rights are placed above the child’s best interest,” but also “these kids deserve your broken heart,” and “it’s the hardest best thing you’ll ever do.” I was pleasantly surprised by the classes. They were relevant and informative. We spent a lot of time putting ourselves in the shoes of what a foster child may be experiencing, and also what the parent who has had their child taken from them may be experiencing. We were told again and again, the first goal of foster care is reunification with the biological parents and the second goal is to find a suitable family member.

During my college years, I worked for an after school program for homeless children. These families opened up a world to me that I didn’t know existed. One experience that surprised me was the relationship that developed with the parents of these kids.  I remember calling to ask about a field trip we wanted to plan and these moms with the same desperation in their voice would explode to me about so many other things going on in their life. I could tell I was the first adult voice they had heard in a while. I learned to recognize this voice. I heard it later with parents of certain students, moms I got to know in Honduras and other families and situations. So, I was excited when our foster class explained that their ideal situation is one where the foster family and biological family can work together for the benefit of the children. I was excited to not just take in a child, but to “take in” a whole family and be the advocate and friend that the parents obviously don’t have.

During this year of preparation I prayed a lot for our future foster child. It was a strange experience that brought up the unanswerable question of why suffering exists in our broken world. Taking in a foster child means that a child has been harmed in some way. Sometimes I would pray that no children are being harmed, but I knew the reason we would get a call for a child is because harm has been done. So, I would pray that as little harm as possible happens, that if the mom was fighting addiction that somehow the babies could be protected, that if the mom was in a bad relationship that having a child would give her the strength to get out, that whatever situation would lead to us receiving a call that we could be the right fit to help, that God would give us the strength to respond appropriately.

It’s way too early for me to make any judgments on the foster system. I’ve been a part of plenty of programs, institutions, and schools that have either newbies or, worse, people completely outside of the institution making judgments about how they could “fix” the system they are critiquing. It is always more complicated than their quick fix ideas, so I will humbly not make any judgments for a long while. Plus, I’m really not sure how to solve the problems I’ve heard of. It is a fairly invasive process (although I was prepared for worse) to become licensed, but I would sure hope so! These are someone’s children they are placing! I hear that the parent’s rights can get preference over the child’s best interest, but again, what else can the state do? We have a very bad history of taking children from their parents in this country; from Native American children to children at our southern border. It must be an extremely big deal for a parent’s rights to be terminated, the risk of taking children unnecessarily, because “we know best” is too great.

Finally, we were officially licensed and waiting for a call. I never experienced labor pains because I had to have scheduled c-sections with my two kids, but I imagine this period of time was similar to having labor pains…waiting and wondering, feeling a contraction or hearing the phone ring and jumping with the thought that maybe this is the one that will send us to the hospital. “Hello, this is homefinders, is this Amy? We have a newborn baby boy. We don’t have a lot of information to give you right now.”

“I think I’m supposed to talk with my husband first. Can I call you back soon?” My husband was in a meeting in our makeshift office, so I paced and prayed and waited some more. I knew he would say ‘yes.’ We had unofficially decided we would put it in God’s hands, that unless there was some obvious reason why the baby wouldn’t be a good fit with our home, we would say ‘yes’ to whomever they called about, trusting we got licensed just in time for this one. I threw the newborn baby boy clothes that I had sorted in the wash.

“Hi, I’ve talked with my husband and we can take in the baby boy.”

They set up a family team meeting for a few hours later. It was on a group phone conversation. Everyone introduced themselves, the social worker, the case manager, the aunt who has custody of her first child, the grandma, and… the mom. There it was- the voice I had learned to recognize so many years ago. They asked her if she had housing and a safe place for the baby to sleep. “Not yet, but I had a meeting with Catholic Charities this morning and they have a place for me.” Then they asked her where she would prefer her child goes while she gets the help she needs. “I’m too ashamed to ask my sister, she is already taking care of my first child. I know I messed up. I lost her, but I’m going to do everything I can for this baby.” Her voice was cracking and she could barely get the words out.  “But, if he can’t be with me, I want him to go to family. Babies, they just know, they listen to the heartbeat, they just know who is family,” she said in between audible sobs every few words. Tears were streaming down my face because, well, I agreed with her.

I was still processing the roller coaster of emotions the next day when the phone rang again. “Hello, this is homefinders, we have a 10 day old baby girl. Here is what we know.” I threw the baby girl clothes in the wash.

“I feel different about this one,” my husband said. The next evening after an agonizing wait, we were taking the same route we took to the same hospital where my babies were born. There were the same butterflies in my stomach, as I prayed we would be the right fit for this baby who does not have our blood. After wandering through the maze of the hospital, a nurse named after the rain, took us to our foster baby named after two flowers. It took us 3 hours to be discharged but that didn’t matter anymore, our wait to hold her was over. “Look at how content she is with you. She knows you are her family for now,” said the nurse who had also fallen in love with her these last 11 days and had to pass her on to us.

Reality is always a surprise. It’s always a gift. After all the imagining we had done over the last year and a half, she was here. I placed her little body in the crib and listened to her grunts and sounds that I would soon get to know, just as I had gotten to know my own kids. No longer a stranger, she was our foster baby. How many times do we all think to ourselves, I’d love to help someone who really needs it, but the opportunity never really appears? Yet with foster care, you literally get a phone call asking if you can help someone who really needs it. The state trusts you with the privilege of taking a child into your home.

My kids were already asleep by the time we got home from the hospital. Early the next morning they couldn’t wait to meet the new baby. “Hi, I’m your foster sister,” said my daughter. My rough and tumble son held her with such gentleness and tenderness. All morning was spent coddling this new addition. I watched my kids’ hearts expand before my eyes. That evening, my astute son started asking a lot of questions about her parents. “Well, uh,” I stuttered, “it’s kind of like she’s sick…and she, um, doesn’t have a safe place to put the baby right now.” I had prepared our kids that we would take care of a baby for a while until the baby could go back with her family, but I wasn’t prepared to answer such specific questions. How much do I shelter my children from the harshness of the world, while still teaching them about the many less fortunate than us whom we are called to help? Then he asked, “what if you got sick?” “Ohhh, no, no you don’t need to worry about that. This is a different kind of sickness. They wouldn’t take you from me,” I rushed out the words, trying to quickly console any worry he had, but later, I couldn’t help thinking that wasn’t entirely true. A few life experiences happening differently could have made all the difference in choices I made, that could have taken me down a completely different path- a path much more similar to hers. ‘There but the grace of God, go I.’

The social workers will tell you all the information about the child’s parents if it relates to the health or care of the child. If it’s not related, the parents have rights to privacy. “I can’t give you a lot of details, but I think it’s best if you keep a thick boundary between yourselves and the parents. There is no reason you need to meet any time soon,” said the social worker who is desensitized to the atrocious things people can do to each other. I googled the mom’s name and I understood why he said that when I read through the news headline that appeared. I had been excited to let the whole family’s story into our story, so it was a disappointment that the overwhelming feeling I had toward the parents was now a feeling of fear. Would I ever be able to let someone so unstable into our family? It is hard to love someone you’ve never met, even harder when all you have of them are scary headlines that show the worst moment of their lives. It is hard to root for someone to get better when you know statistically the odds are not in her favor, and when you feel protective of this child that would go back to her when she does. I’m ashamed to admit that my heart sunk after her first visit with her mom. I sent a notebook in the diaper bag so we could write notes back and forth. Her note back thanked us for taking care of her daughter who means the world to her, and that she’s doing everything she can to get her back. I don’t doubt her sincerity, but a shameful part of me did not want her to get better. I have no judgment on this woman. I don’t know what she has experienced to get her to this place, but I have no doubt her experiences have been filled with trauma. I found her on facebook. I couldn’t see much, but I could see her most recent profile picture. She was trying to get healthy. I could see the event she created for herself- a baby shower. Of course she has no one who would throw her a shower. I couldn’t muster up love yet, but at least I could muster up some sympathy. About 6 weeks in, on a typical middle of the night feeding, I was pretty delirious from lack of sleep, but I began to pray for our Little Flower’s mom. I had something of a vision of her standing in a court room hearing a judge affirm every horrible thing she already believes about herself. The court room was filled with people watching and judging her. I was suddenly overwhelmed with the misery in her life. The one good thing that she had done, create and grow this beautiful and wonderful baby, was taken from her. In that moment, if our Little Flower could have saved her, I would have given her back. I thought of her shame in losing her child, her lack of friends or family to help her go through such a terrible loss. I thought of her body still sore and recovering, her hormones still raging, her breasts aching from milk she could not give.  

Since this brief moment of empathy, I mostly try not to think about her mom. My kids pray for our Little Flower’s family regularly…I try to, but my heart is not exactly in it. Fostering is teaching me how to love without being possessive. I have a long way to go. This Little Flower is ours to love, and we will love her forever, wherever she goes, but she is not ours to possess. I have let myself dream about a future where she is our daughter and it seems like such a wonderful future, but she is not here to fulfill me. The grief we will feel when she goes to a family member sounds overwhelming. But, thankfully, I have memories of loving special students, special campers, special people from various situations, and I have never regretted choosing love. Trying to love our Little Flower without being possessive teaches me to love my kids better- without being possessive. I believe God asks the same question whether it is through a homefinders phone call or through a pink line on a pregnancy test- “will you show love and care and dignity to this child I have created?” He does not ask us to control their destiny, to assume our ways are best, to shelter them from all harm in this broken world. Harder than my own grief, is imagining my kid’s grief when our Little Flower no longer lives with us. Yet, I have to trust that teaching my kids to love, even through loss, is ultimately better than sheltering them from that pain. The alternative is to not know this kind of love! I wonder how many well-meaning parents have kept their children from following their calling out of fear of some kind of pain? Would I be able to let my child say ‘yes’ to their calling- even if it is to be an artist and the instability that comes with it, even if it is to be a priest or a nun and the vow of poverty that comes with it, even if it is to be a soldier willing to lay down his life for something bigger than himself? I hope so, and our Little Flower is teaching me how. There is a family member of our Little Flower who has lovingly uprooted her life to look into the possibility of adopting her. If this woman is willing to learn to love her, how can I keep her from her? I admit I do want to keep her, but if I truly love her, I have to hope for what is best for her and trust, humbly, that I may not know.

At Christmas time, I was reminded that we call St. Joseph the foster father of Jesus. In Spanish, he is called the adoptive father, so I was struck thinking that it is beautiful to use foster rather than adoptive to describe what he was asked to do. He had to hold Jesus so loosely throughout his life. He was there to care for him and teach him, but he could not dictate what his future should be. He must have had to daily wonder what his foster son’s calling would look like and how long he would live with him. He had to be careful not to interfere or be jealous of his real father’s relationship to him. He was probably acutely aware of the responsibility and also his incapacity to love perfectly. Mary had to watch her son give up his life for us. She couldn’t prevent him from completing his mission.

Don’t think that because I am writing all these things, that I am not terrified of the grief that is coming. Now that the reality is here, it’s much harder than when it was all theoretical. But, I am trying to live in the present moment, to enjoy the snuggles and giggles, to love with abandon and not hold back, to let the joy overwhelm us so that it will carry us through the sadness that will come. Ed Sheeran has a lyric that says, “a heart that’s broken is a heart that’s been loved.” I am trying to choose love.