adoption, family

Rearview Mirror: My Prodigal Son

“It’s your brother’s birthday party this weekend. I wish you were coming. We all miss you.” I sent this Facebook message onto the cybersphere with little hope of a response. It’s been a few months since we’ve heard from Marcus, our “prodigal son.” I went off of the assumption that he had just ghosted out again. He does this often. Eventually I figured he’d contact us if he needed something.

Imagine my surprise when the phone chirped back with, “I wud love to go.”

Just like that, our oldest was back in our orbit. He told me he had “big news.” Marcus insisted he could only tell me in person. My stomach dropped as I immediately tried not to think of the possibility that he was having a baby.  I’m pretty sure that I kept my fingers crossed the entire way to pick him up for the weekend.

Pulling up to a tiny, dingy, brick duplex, I spotted him hoisting an oversized zebra-print duffel bag onto his shoulder. It had pink writing on the pockets, and there was a pouch for a bottle on the side. Gulp. Marcus hopped into the car, stating the bag was his girlfriends. He is now living with this latest girlfriend-and-her-mother. Another girlfriend, another mother, another home, rinse, repeat. This is Marcus’ cycle. There are many people residing in the tiny apartment, including the younger brother (paternal) to Mary and Carl (Marcus has a different father.) Imagine trying to explain that our oldest son is living with his siblings’ younger sibling. Oh and he is also dating that sibling’s oldest sister. Sure….

Anyway, the visit went the same as usual. Marcus wanted to drive everywhere. He wanted to take out the trash, run the errands, help out around the house. We played Bananagrams (his favorite) and card games into the night. He gave Carl a ninja turtle Lego set and a red fidget spinner. He got me iced coffee from the local Dunkin’ Donuts. In other words, classic Marcus, or at least classic when he’s in his good place.

When he finally shared his big news, I could have cried with relief and happiness. Marcus signed up for the Job Corps’ electrician program. He’d have a guaranteed place to stay. He’d would have food, supervision, and training.  Did this mean he would be OK? Maybe I could stop wondering “what-if” with Marcus. Maybe he was doing alright despite never having been adopted. 

Driving home he recounted his weekend highlights. He loved visiting the farm where he had riding lessons when he lived with us. He loved Carl’s birthday party. His absolute favorite thing was going to the batting cage with Luke. It was one of those classic father-son moments where Luke taught him how to swing and how to watch for the ball. The difference being that most kids do this with their dad at a young age, not at age 19.

And then he played me Boogie Wit Da Hoodie’s song “Trap House.”

“I used to have a trap house,” he commented nonchalantly. I could see him glance over at me to gauge my reaction. I froze in place, staring straight ahead at the road. A drug house. He used to sell drugs.

“After we knew you?” I asked quietly in a tightly-controlled voice.

“After I left.”

After you left which time??” I ground out each word with effort. It was when he was 18 and living with yet-another-girlfriend-and-her-mother. Rinse, repeat. I catch my breathe and sit in silence until I am sure I will not scream. Why did he choose this life over our family? Why?

It hurt to get the words out. “Do you know that I’ve never wanted anything from you except for you to be happy? I’ve only wanted for you to have a good life. I can’t make your decisions for you. No matter how you feel about me, I will always consider you to be my oldest. I will always care about you. I will never stop worrying. I will never stop asking myself why you couldn’t let us take care of you. ”

Tears welled up in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. When he got out of the car he caught me up in an enormous hug. Words of apology for his past choices washed over me. Reassurances that he was “staying away from that stuff” filtered through my ears like so much white noise. How many times over the years have we repeated this same conversation?

Driving away, I could see him standing in the road, adjusting his zebra-striped duffel bag  higher up on his shoulder. He looked so small. A part of me wonders if I’ll spend the rest of my days looking into the rearview mirror at Marcus.

  https://fulltimetired.com/roundup/?vote

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

Advertisements
Standard
family

The Prodigal Son…Graduates! 

mgrad.d

This is a day I never thought I’d be able to see. Don’t misunderstand, I’ve always believed he would finish his high school degree. This is a point I hotly debated with the many social workers, and clinicians involved over the years. “He won’t want to graduate from high school when he is almost 20. He’s missed too many credits. He’ll probably just get his GED,” was something a clinical consultant on his case said to me once. What he meant was “Marcus will surely drop out.” But I knew better. Marcus, our children’s oldest biological brother, never backs down when he’s determined about something.

It’s just that after he decided he didn’t want us to adopt him, he left and swore he’d never return. So I believed that I would have to miss the day he got his diploma. I stupidly tried to comfort myself with thoughts of seeing his pictures on Facebook or being there “in spirit.” Marcus eventually made contact with us and we managed to forge a new kind of relationship. Despite this, I didn’t think he would want his “old parents” at his high school graduation. But he did. He asked us to come when he contacted me to say “Happy Mother’s Day.” Man can that kid make me cry!

For me, he will always and forever be my eldest son. For him I’m probably one of the many “moms” he’s had through his years in the foster care system. He often felt like a throwaway kid.  Marcus felt out of place being loved by a family. So he pushed back. He got suspended, kicked out of schools, sent to a group home, disrupted many foster placements and did a stint in “juvie.”

Social workers cautioned us from the beginning against getting too attached to this “troubled teen.” But attachment was just what he needed. Unconditional love, acceptance, and ultimately the ability to ride out his struggles. No, we never got to adopt him. He aged out of foster care. But eventually Marcus returned to the house of his first foster mom. He wasn’t “in the system” anymore. She had long since retired from fostering kids. But Marcus? He always had a place with her.

Marcus often felt that no one wanted him. He pushed back against love so hard that he tried to drive the people closest to him away however he could. It didn’t work. For this  graduation the vice principal and resource officer (the same one who had to arrest him once) from his former school attended. He had a childhood friend he’d kept in touch with over his years shuffling through foster homes. He had his first foster family. He had an older sister’s ex-husband.  And he had us. One of his older biological sisters came and surprisingly, so did his biological father. We all loved him enough to be there.

When Marcus first started coming to visit us, he reminded me of the little boy Max from the children’s’ book Where the Wild Things Are. For one thing, he would stretch waaay into his 7-year-old sister’s footy pajamas, shirts, and headbands when playing with her. He was just shy of the wolf costume Max wears in the book’s opening illustrations. Like Max, Marcus was always quite fond of “making mischief of one kind or another,” and like Max he was an expert at driving his caregivers crazy.

If ever a child deserved to be made “King of the Wild Things,” it was Marcus.  He would have angry outbursts and tantrums over the smallest things. Then he would put on his headphones and drift away to a place where no one could make contact with him. Marcus would come back at his own pace. So many of his relationships followed this back-and-forth pattern. Like Max, Marcus was a lovable child at heart and needed to know it. I obviously had to read him the book aloud. He loved the experience! At 17, he’d never heard of the story, or even heard of parents reading stories to their children at bedtime. 

When we started his adoption process, I bought him a hardcover copy of the book. I slipped it beneath his pillow after writing on the inside cover “You have finally come home to a place where someone loves you best of all.” We never discussed it. After he left us, he packed everything except that book. It crushed me. Like the beasts Maurice Sendak created, I wanted to roar and gnash my teeth. I wanted to eat him up, I loved him so! But I couldn’t. So I let go. I had been wrong about this story the whole time.

I wasn’t the mother waiting at home with his hot supper. I was one of the many “Wild Things” trying to love him along the journey of foster care. So when Marcus asked us to be at his graduation, I was overwhelmed with emotion. I felt love, pride, and gratitude that we were still family. I cried through the ceremony from the moment he walked in until the moment he crossed the stage.  Luke and I were by far not the only ones there for Marcus. He had the largest group of supporters of any graduate that day. As we stood around wiping tears and snapping pictures, I figured maybe I wasn’t the mother or the “Wild Thing” after all.

mhug.g.jpg

Marcus approached Luke and I last. Without words, he fell into Luke’s arms and pulled me into a tight group hug. He was crying and so was I. In that moment, in that hug? Marcus really was “home.” No matter where he goes in life, that hug was the place where “someone loved him best of all.”

Congratulations, Marcus.

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

*My sincere apologies if I botched the plot with my interpretation of Maurice Sendak’s famous children’s story book Where the Wild Things Are

 

Standard
adoption disruption, family

The Prodigal Son…Visits?

mhelmet.jpg

This is a post I never wanted to write. I just never thought things would turn out this way. Despite my best intentions,my hardest work, and all of my love, this is where we stand. We started with a sibling group of 4. The teen boys disrupted before we could officially adopt them. We have now adopted the younger two. The adoption fairytale isn’t exactly what I thought it would be. Is that wrong? No. It just…is. I thought I was OK with it. Maybe I was wrong.

Our children’s oldest sibling, Marcus, has been in touch with us for a time. It’s weird to think of ourselves as just one in a long line of “foster parents” for him. I still feel like his mother. We had every intention of adopting them. Only Marcus has stayed in touch. (This is the story of meeting Marcus and bringing him home) In the end, he chose not to be adopted by us. His attachment issues ran too deep to allow him to be in a family.

It’s been a long time since we’ve seen Marcus. When he left it felt like a part of me was dying. Why didn’t he choose to be in our family? Why didn’t he choose to be adopted? Why didn’t he choose to have a mom. Even more painfully: why didn’t he choose me?! I wrote him an open good-bye letter (you can read it here.) This was cathartic for me, in a way. I’ve never stopped loving him. Sometimes I miss him so much it physically hurts.

Marcus aged out of foster care. He signed himself out at 18 and bounced around a bit. He lived with a girlfriend, and her family. His job was supporting a lot of the people living there. He contacted us for money because he was so hungry. Luke gave him advice about how even if he loved this girl, he shouldn’t live where he couldn’t eat food. He also shouldn’t be supporting a family of 6-8 people.

We didn’t send him money. Luke and I had made a pact about letting Marcus learn to stand on his own two feet now that he had chosen not to be adopted. He needed to know that being an “adult” didn’t necessarily mean getting to do whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. It’s hard work! (I caved and sent him and Amazon care package of food overnight anyway.)

As always, Marcus only lasts with a family for a short time. He bounced again, this time back to a former foster home. Marcus had been very close to the foster mom and we had facilitated visits between them when he lived with us. We didn’t want him to lose anymore people that were important to him. He always referred to her by her first name,  but I knew he loved her. Then he was gone from our house, gone from another foster home, and now about to leave his girlfriend’s home.

He was contacting us a lot during that time, and I think he wanted to ask to come back. He never said it, though. Our contact went something like this. He was making a lot of bad choices at the time. Drinking, getting high, and hanging out with a tough crowd. He was still enrolled in school. He still texted me pictures of his report card. He still wanted me to be proud of him. He still called me, “Ma.”

I was glad he was going back to that former foster home. Maybe he really belonged there the whole time. Perhaps we just hadn’t been the right family for him. Only it didn’t last. Now he has a few weeks left before he has to leave that home, too. He tells me it’s because he lost a job by falling asleep. He works in the day and is getting his high school diploma at night. He says his former foster mom is telling him this is “tough love.” I’m not exactly sure that it isn’t because of drinking, irresponsible behavior, or not working. Marcus usually tells his own version of a story.

It doesn’t matter what the story is, they all have the same ending, Marcus moves on to a new family.

He’s been asking me just for a visit. Just a day or a weekend. I’m conflicted. I don’t want to keep the littles from their brother. Sometimes, I feel like it will be too much for them to see him, and then not see him again for who knows how long? The thing is, I want Carl and Mary to see that we still have a relationship with Marcus. We still love him. No matter what happens, our love is forever. I also get the feeling that Mary has fears that her behavior might get her “kicked out” somehow.

I want her to know that we NEVER “throw away” people!

Should we have him over? Show them that he is still family even though he is an adult making his own living arrangements? Will it break their hearts?

Will it break mine? 

mlettera

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

 

 

 

Standard
adoption, family

The Other Shoe Drops: Aging Out of Foster Care

I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Ever since Marcus left our house, at 17, I’ve been waiting. For awhile he seemed to soldier on as a foster kid in the custody of the Department of Children and Families.  He was almost 18. Would he voluntarily sign himself in to DCF care at 18? Would he stay in his foster home and finish high school? Would he drop out and leave? Would he finally stabilize emotionally and make good decisions?

In the world of DCF teenagers are often on the “independent living” track. And it sucks. Sorry, but this is true. Without a family, navigating in the world is difficult. Period. After the termination of parental rights, a teen can get adopted, enter into a guardianship arrangement, or enter into this track.

The independent track even comes with a brochure. It promises to help teens work on things like getting a driver’s license, getting a job, and maintaining health insurance. The brochure never clearly states who will be helping the teen do all of these things. Is it the social worker? The foster parent? A mentor? Sometimes these promises just fall through the cracks.

For Marcus, none of this was happening when we met him. In fact, due to overburdened caseworkers, his health insurance wasn’t in place for almost a year. We spent the next 2 years trying to catch up. We got him his driver’s permit and taught him to drive. I taught him all about his rights in school and what his IEP meant. Luke practiced his interview skills and got him job applications. We opened up his first bank account and taught him how to deposit and withdraw money. In short, we tried to do all of the things that the state would not or could not do for him.

And then we tried to adopt him. Getting too close was our mistake.

In October he turned 18. We had only heard from him sporadically since he had left our home. His foster mother reported that he was still in school. He got into a few fist fights, but he was getting good grades. He had a girlfriend. No arrests so far. November came and went. Then December and then January. I still waited for the other shoe to drop.

After his biological mother rejected his attempts at contact last month, he began calling us frequently. He said he knew we would always be there for him. He mailed us a beautiful letter about much we meant to him. He explained that getting too close to me made it feel like he had to give up on that first mom. Marcus struggled with conflicting loyalty. He couldn’t reconcile himself to loving more than one mom. No matter what he did or said, we still love him. Of course we do.

I got a call at work from Marcus this week. The secretary told me that I had a call from “my son.” I almost cried. He explained that he had already dis-enrolled from school and signed out of DCF care. He had packed his bags and was setting out to move away with his girlfriend. He didn’t yet have a place to live or a plan about enrolling in a high school. He wasn’t sure about a job yet. He promised to keep in touch. He texted me a picture of his report card (all Bs! Wow!) and he let me say, “I love you kid.”

Now I’m left staring at the pair of shoes he left behind. I just hope he knows that we will always be here to catch him if he falls. I’m honestly proud of what he’s accomplished so far. I wish he’d never had to do it all on his own. Now, he is out of our care. He is out of the state’s care. He must truly stand on his own two feet.

NoBohnsAboutIt

<a href=”http://www.nobohnsaboutit.com&#8221; target=”_self”><img src=”http://www.nobohnsaboutit.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/01/AdoptionTalkButton2016-e1452013232524.jpg&#8221; alt=”NoBohnsAboutIt” width=”225″ height=”225″ /></a>

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

*If you have ever considered foster or adoptive care, I encourage you to start your own adventure or to mentor a teen in care.

Standard
adoption, family

Friend or Foe?: Sibling Relationships After Adoption

siblings

She’d just as soon stab me in the back as smile in my face. Who could blame her? I’m the mom enjoying the kids she raised in their early years, despite being a child herself. Her relationship with us has been tumultuous at best and downright preditory at its worst. For the purpose of this blog, I will call her M.

She is one of their older biological sisters. She has a child of her own and is on an “independent living track” in DCF care. M was never adopted. She is 19 years old, with a 4-year old son. We have pictures of her, from her Facebook page, that we added to the children’s lifebooks. She has my children’s beautiful eyes.

When the biological mother lost parental rights to our kids, the older siblings lost by proxy. How could this possibly be fair to a sibling group of 7 children? The two adult sisters, who attempted to raise our little chickens through chaos and strife, have lost so much. To lose their siblings because of their mother’s mistakes as well? They already lost their own childhoods to that. It’s beyond imagining.

These waters are very murky for adoptive parents to navigate. How can we honor and maintain these connections? To complicate matters further, DCF had not been maintaining visits between the siblings in the group. At all. In fact, the older girls were not even aware that their siblings had been placed in a pre-adoptive home out of state. By the time my husband and I entered the picture, damage had been done.

Our kids were home for 6 months before we were even able to make contact. We asked the social workers for a visit. We asked them for a phone number. Our requests went unanswered. The department was hesitant about the oldest sister, K, for various safety reasons. We pointed out that M was a teenager. She was still in the care of DCF. She, at least, should have visits. The department maintained that visits were required for biological parents only. Since those visits were long gone, we were stuck.

I messaged both sisters on Facebook. I offered to provide pictures. I left a phone number. I heard nothing. During this time, the biological mother had her seventh baby. The child was born with drugs in her system. We stayed out of this case, as it was separate from that of our children. We hoped she was on the track to reunify with the infant. We kept a respectful distance.

We waited to hear from M or K. They were in contact with Marcus and Sean (we think) during this time, so I hoped they knew their siblings were safe and loved. Eventually, the reunification between the baby and the bio-mom failed. After about 6 weeks with the infant, her mother, for whatever reason, gave her to the previous foster home and left to Puerto Rico. She had been in contact with the older girls while she had the baby, so in essence, she left 3 daughters behind. That’s when we heard from M.

I was eager to re-establish the lost sibling connection. I felt guilty that it had been almost a year since the siblings had seen each other. I felt guilty that DCF had not maintained these important connections. By that time, the siblings had been estranged for nearly a year. I spoke to M on the phone and I was so encouraged by the conversation. Maybe I was too eager. Maybe I was naive. I scheduled a visit.

I loaded up the car with 6 kids and drove out of state. We met met M, her child, and her girlfriend, at a science center in her city. I bought everyone tickets and souvenirs. We looked at animals and played in fun exhibits. M spent most of her time talking to Sean and her girlfriend in a corner. I ran around and played in the toddler area with her son and my Littles.

At the end of the trip, she (jokingly?) told the Littles to get into her car. She motioned to the front seat, saying, “quick. Get in, no one’s looking!” They ran back to me, and Carl was laughing. Mary was not. Mary was hesitant to speak to M. She had massive tantrums on the way home, but we stopped frequently and helped her through the long drive home.

I honestly had no idea what was coming after that. I believe that M is a good person and is trying her best. She is grieving the loss of her siblings. While I was sending her pictures from the trip, and planning the next visit, she was talking to the social workers. Apparently she made claims that my husband and I locked the children in the basement for lengths of time. I have no idea why she would think or say this except that it did happen in their bio home. At any rate, no one took her seriously and we didn’t hear anything more about that.

Soon after this, communication with M became toxic. She encouraged Sean to run away. She talked about ways for Sean to get the Littles to her. She might have told him to hide Mary’s psychiatric medication because she didn’t believe that Mary was “crazy.” Poor M claimed that she had “heard voices” telling her to do things all through high school and that she was “just fine without all that therapy and medication.” Poor girl. It’s possible that Sean fabricated some of this, as he so often did. It’s equally possible that he fabricated stories about us to her. Who knows? My heart went out to her but I also felt the need to protect our family.

She tried to stop the adoption in any way she could. She sent me texts swearing at me and threatening me. Eventually I told her that I was willing to send pictures of the kids, but we should not communicate any further. The social worker asked us to stop attempting visits with her and we agreed.

The Littles didn’t notice her absence, but I did. I felt for this teenager who had never been adopted. Her mother had left her many times. Her siblings had left her. Even when she started speaking to them again they had been full of happy stories about their new “mommy” and “daddy.” That must have been awful for her.

After a time, she contacted me to apologize. I sent her pictures and videos right away.  We had a good conversation about boundaries. She gave us information and little stories about our children’s early childhoods. We will forever cherish these and share them with our children. M actually sent baby pictures to us so that the children could see themselves as babies. She also sent us her own baby pictures. I think she needed someone to tell her how cute and precious she had been. She wanted someone to cherish her baby pictures as well.

She was the only one who gave our kids this invaluable link to their past. For this, I am forever grateful.

I continued to send pictures and updates. I set up a few phone calls. I think the calls were awkward because Mary didn’t want to talk and Carl went on and on about all of the cool things he did with “his dad” and “his mom.” We started discussing another visit. And then things fell apart with Marcus and Sean.

We never heard from M again. The last update I sent was a picture of the Littles in front of the Christmas tree. She never responded. Since then, Sean ran away from his new foster home, presumably to follow the plans they had made.

I never could figure out how to allow her to be in the children’s lives in a way that was separate from her feelings about us as parents. I never could find a way to make her feel included. Friend or for? She was never truly a friend to the family. How could she be? She was never a foe, either, because how could we ever blame her? She was just a girl. A girl that got left behind in all the DCF shuffle.

I wish her well. We must proceed cautiously with her, should she ever contact us again. How do we keep that connection alive? How do we honor it? I don’t know but I am trying to learn.
*Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved.

**If you have ever considered foster care or adoption, I encourage you to start your own adventure.

 

Standard
family

Who Will Love Your Boogers? :Waiting For Permanency

“Will you still love me if I’m annoying? What about if I smelled bad?” This is from 8-year-old Mary. She is staring at me intently as we play the “Would you still love me” game. The point of the game is to show her that, yes, moms love their babies even “if”…

Some other questions that have come up with our chickens include;

“Why do we have a bedtime?”

“Why don’t you guys hit each other?”

“Why don’t you guys get drunk?”

“Why do you care if we get hurt?”

And the clincher, “Do you really love us or are you just lying?”

It’s simply too much time in the system. Too much time in the in-between places. Too much time without a family. Mary and Carl are learning about what a family means. They are learning about how a healthy family functions, and how to be a part of that. For Carl, it can be more difficult. He has had more placements. He has experienced moving homes due to his own behaviors being unsafe for other children in the home.

The clincher question is always Carl’s question. he really wants to know if we are lying about loving him. Despite my reassurances that I love him, he doubts this concept.”I even love your boogers! I love your stinky farts!” I proclaim. He collapses in giggles, but still, that doubt remains.

The little chickens are learning. They are beginning to trust in the concept of a “forever home.” Even Carl and his boogers. His many, many boogers that all end up in the shower for some reason! He has had rages in our home. He has been unsafe. But he is still here. Sometimes it’s a bit of a trial by fire because he will try and do this to sabotage his own placement or sabotage our love for him. It never works. We love him still.

The teen boys were not so lucky. The Littles are home with us. Forever. The teens are still in the system. Marcus came into care at age 13. He is now 18 years old. He has gone through 6 placements, including a stint in Juvenile Hall. He has learned to rotate in and out of peoples lives. He has learned to survive in “the system.” He has not learned enough about being in a family unit. He ultimately did not want to be in our family unit. Sometimes foster care only teaches teens about how to be in foster care. We still have contact with him, but it’s sporadic. My hope is that he always knows he has a place to go, people to turn to, if he needs us.

Sean, at 14, is not functioning so well. He too, did not wish to remain with our family. He’s now “in the wind,” after running away from his current placement. The department hasn’t done much for him. In all honesty, a government agency is not equipped to raise a child. Sean has been plagued with medical concerns as well as mental health concerns. When he chose to leave our family, and take his chances in foster care, he left behind his only advocates. Even if he were so inclined to complain about a complete lack of medical care for his asthma, it’s unlikely his concerns would be heard. He hasn’t had any therapy since leaving our home.

Since going into his current foster home, he has exhibited the same “behavioral problems” he had with us (a term used by the department.) The thing is, he is a 14-year-old boy. These aren’t his “behaviors” so much as they are his survival skills. He refuses to leave his bedroom and go to school. He refuses to shower. He doesn’t sleep at night. Probably, no one is loving his boogers.

In my opinion, he’s scared.  In my opinion, he’s only a boy.  In the opinion of the department, he is obstinate and “non-compliant.” All of the siblings have been scared of the shower, scared to go to school, and scared of the nighttime. He needs understanding and unconditional love. Unfortunately for Sean, unconditional love was the one thing he didn’t understand, the one thing he couldn’t get used to.

When he left our home, he was requesting to live with his biological father. After 4 years, bio-dad’s rights had not been terminated. The Department of Children and Families had something called “permanent guardianship” of Sean. When Sean became adamant about going to his biological father, we supported it. Although there is a long history of concerns with this man, none of them appeared to pose a direct threat to Sean. Also, Sean was 14 and this was his biological parent! If reunification was possible, if that’s what Sean wanted, we should absolutely support it. Right? At the very least, we shouldn’t stand in his way.

The lengths that Sean went to in order to sever ties with our family still astound me. We would’ve always supported his choices. He just didn’t know how to tell us what he wanted. The only skills he has learned in his 4 (now 5) years in foster care amount to manipulating the system in order to meet his needs. Who could blame him? He is surviving.He is the product of the “system.”

Now, his biological father has done something unknown to get into trouble, again. All we know is that the visits were stopped and the reunification process halted. The social worker didn’t even tell Sean. Being part of this system means never having access to the details that affect your life. His new foster mother was put in the position of telling him that the process had been stopped, visits were over, and she had no idea why. As far as plans for permanency for Sean? Now the department has none.

It isn’t OK that he tantrumed at his foster mom for a week. I’m not excusing the fights he had with Marcus in her home. It isn’t OK that he ran away and has been missing for 2 weeks, only communicating with his older biological sisters. It isn’t OK, but it isn’t surprising, either.

4 years? 5 years for the teens? It’s too long. I’m not sure what the answer is. In an ideal world, biological parents would get services and support. They would reunify quickly. In an ideal world, if this wasn’t possible, kinship placements would be found quickly. In an ideal world, even is this wasn’t possible, an adoptive home would be found quickly. We don’t live in an ideal world. We live in a world where 5 years go by and no decisions about permanency are made. We live in a world where childhoods are too often lost to a large bureaucracy. We live in a world where teenagers are too often lost to repeat this cycle of trauma and broken families.

All I can do is hold the little ones tight and count my blessings. All I can do is hope that Sean’s biological father can overcome whatever he is facing and parent this child. Because Sean needs a parent. Every child needs a parent. A government agency cannot be a parent. After all, what government agency would ever love a child’s boogers?

 

**Names have been changed to protect the privacy of those involved. 

Standard