“Are you sure you want to do this?”
I laughed. “Well, it’s a little late for that now.”
“Not really. You could change your mind. I mean, foster kids
are used to being moved anyway, right? At least that’s what I have read.”
“They don’t get used to it. Every time they are told they
will live with someone forever and then are moved, it damages their brain’s
ability to form relationships.”
“Yeah, but you know what I mean. They kind of get used to
that.”
“No, there is not really any getting used to that. Yes, they
expect it, but that’s the problem. Every time changes their brain more. The
only thing that will correct how their brain responds and allows them to have
relationships in the future is for someone to not pass them on. For someone to
stay.”
“But are you sure you want to do that?” She prodded.
“We already made that decision when we brought them home.
When we chose to bring them home as our children, that was us making a
commitment to them. The same kind of commitment as saying “I do” at the altar
for marriage. There is no decision now except to stick it out no matter what.”
“I just don’t understand it. I really don’t.”
No, I suppose she really doesn’t. Foster children are not
theory or philosophy. They are not a news article or a book. They are children.
Little people. People with hearts and minds and memories and hopes and fears
and dreams. They have friends and family and loved ones – even if they can
never see them again. They have names and faces. We have spent six months
creating memories with our girls, spending our every day together. There is no
such thing as saying, “Never mind. I want to go back to how things were.” There
is no going back as if you did not just build relationships, such as they are, with
three individuals.
The first time we met our children, we were overwhelmed,
overstimulated and terrified of the idea of bringing these strangers into our
home as our own. We knew it would change everything and our life would never be
the same. And we knew in our hearts that it would be impossible for us to walk
away. These were our children. They are our children.
Technically, yes, we still have a choice. The papers have not
been signed; they do not yet bear our name. This life we have chosen is hard. It
really is hard. There are many days when a large part of me wishes I could run
away from the heartache and overwhelming exhaustion of it all. But there is no
running away from your own children, your own heart. They walked into our lives
and into our hearts and we were right: we are not the same. Everything has
changed and I am honestly overwhelmed by it. And I would never go back.
