*** Warning. This post is about being a foster parent. I have changed names to protect the child. There is a lot of pain in this blog. I have not posted about this experience before - although it happened 26 years ago. In November, a couple of years ago, I was thrilled to get to visit with friends that I grew up with in Kansas, in our tiny church. One of my friends has been a foster parent for years. Visiting with her, listening to her talk about her experiences as a foster parent gave me the courage to finally put in print that secret part of me that has hurt for 26 years.
First off - some background. At the time of this foster child, I was 44 years old. I was in college full time for my first year of going back to school to get my teaching degree. It was in April - and I was in the middle of studying my head off for finals. Year is 1995. Our daughter was married and expecting our first grandchild. Our son was in his first year of college in Ashland, Wisconsin. Hubby had retired from the police department after 21 years, and had gone to work the very next day as a criminal investigator for the Sheriff's Department.
The beginning of my journey. As I was coming home from class, my husband called me on the car phone. I answered and he asked me what I thought about taking a foster child. I really didn't know what to say and we had never thought about it. I rather lamely said that I guessed it might be ok. His reply gave me such a shock, I nearly wrecked the car. He said that was good because a foster child was on the way to our home and would be there in minutes.
To say I was shocked was the understatement of the decade. Within minutes of me getting home, a DHS worker drove up with the girl. She was 9 years old, and was wearing a dress that was an adult dress, way to big for her and hung on her little body. She had an old cotton scarf on her head. Then her eyes - they were terrified. Somehow I managed to talk to the DHS worker - I honestly don't even remember anything I said or they said. They left - and all of a sudden I was an instant foster mom.
I talked to this precious girl for awhile and told her that my husband would be home soon. Found out from her that she had been removed from her aunt and uncle's house because of neglect and molestation from her cousins. The little girl came only with a trash bag of clothes. I went through them and was completely horrified to find them dirty, and most of them were adult clothes.
I did remember that the DHS worker said they would give me a check to get her some new clothes and things she needed. I knew a shopping trip would be in the future.
We sat down at our counter in the kitchen and I told her I needed to study. She said ok., and sat down beside me. I studied some, and then looked over at this poor child. She was staring at me with broken eyes and broken soul, her eyes filled with tears. I stopped what I was doing, grabbed her in a huge hug, and told her things would be ok. She took a shower, and I found a T-shirt of mine for her sleep in. Hubby came home. I had choice words for him. Then the rest of the story came out. After they removed her from the home she was at, she came with him to the sheriff's office. She instantly bonded with my big hubby and sat on his lap hugging him because she was so scared and broken. When the DHS worker came to get her to place her in a foster home, she started crying, screaming and asking to go home with her big buddy. The DHS worker said that if my hubby, Charley and I would take her, they could certify us as an emergency foster home. So he did, we did and she came to us.
I can tell you honestly, I fell in love with that sweet girl. Went shopping, bought her clothes, bought her some roller skates and a sewing box because she said she liked to sew. Fixed her hair in two Princess Leia buns for school. Talked and laughed with her. We did all the things that normal people do. We became a family and she loved it.
But she could not maintain at her school She caused so much chaos there, we were asked to remove her. So during the day, she attended school at a mental hospital for children, and came home to us in the evening.
We both loved her so much. We took her with us camping at the lake. She and I took a walk every evening and talked about everything. We laid in my hammock for hours talking, giggling and learning, little by little what her life had been like.
But it wasn't long until bad things began happening. She stole cigarettes from our neighbor, she stole stuff from our daughter and her husband. She ran from us at times and hubby had to chase her down. I found my flip flops outside and the sole was black. She said she borrowed them to go to the creek and that was why they were black on the bottom. I discovered the truth - she had set a fire a couple feet in front of our motorhome, got scared and stomped it out with my flipflops. Our son came home from college, and we had to put a lock on his door to keep her from destroying things in his room.
Again, I have to say - we both loved her deeply. But we saw the signs that whatever she had suffered from in her former homes, it was so deep and so drastic, she was very very damaged. Our daughter was pregnant with our first grandchild. Of course, she was over to our house often and we were at their house. Our little girl started saying things such as: she didn't want our daughter to be here, she hated that baby, she wanted to kill that baby, etc. She drew pictures at school that were disturbing to us. We took them to a child psychologist to see, and to tell them about the things she was doing at home. We listened, and sought advice from two more child psychologists and a DHS worker. They all said that she was a danger to herself and to the unborn child. They all three said that for the safety of our daughter and the unborn baby, she needed to go into an intense specialized foster home.
What a horrible decision to make. HORRIBLE! We loved her but could not risk our daughter or our unborn grandchild. We couldn't risk her setting fire to the house or surrounding areas. She was just too broken.
BUT she loved us, giggled, talked, and dressed up like any other child. We shared stories and time in the hammock. She roller skated. She sewed things from her sewing kit. She loved camping and the great outdoors and the water. But when she realized that she would be competing for our attention with a new baby, she could not handle it. We saw the anger, the hurt and the destructiveness that she had bottled up inside her. It was not something we could fix.
We sat down with her and told her that she was being placed in another home. She cried and cried. I cried and cried. I was told to take her to Youth and Family Services. I did. She was screaming and trying to get away from the worker as I drove away. She kept screaming my name and saying, Marty, please come back. Marty, please come back.
I got a little ways from the center, and had to pull over to the side of the road. I was crying so hard, I couldn't see to drive.
It doesn't get better. DHS didn't keep their word and put her in a specialized foster home. They put her in a mental hospital. We got to see her a few times. Then they moved her miles from us - and told us we could not see her again because it wasn't good for her.
I will tell you that part of my heart broke that day. It took years and years for me to get over that pain. I also vowed never to take another foster child, ever.
Years passed, and we heard she had been put back in her mom's home - where she had been moved from in the first place, because of their abuse. Her mother was a practicing white witch - whatever that was. We did see her a couple of times, and then decided it wasn't healthy for us or for her.
We completely lost contact, heard news here and there of drug abuse, prostitution to pay for her drugs, a baby born, and then another.
I picked up the newspaper one day, and she was on the front page. A police officer had tried to pull her over for some reason. It could have been because she was under the influence of drugs or alcohol, it might have been a traffic related offense. We never found out. She ran from the police in her car at high speeds, and crashed going around a curve, and died. 21 years old.
It flattened me for months. I wondered - if we had kept her, could we have changed things around. Could we have gotten her away from the destructive and dangerous activities. Could we have kept her from dying in a police chase.
We'll never know. I doubt it - because that precious girl was broken.
It happens every single day, every single moment. Before I started back to college, I worked at the Juvenile Office in the courthouse. If we removed a child from their home, we had 24 hours to get the Petition typed and ready for the judge - or we had to release them back from where they came from.
I already knew about abuse - I typed the Petitions for years, with tears in my eyes, wondering how human beings could hurt and destroy their own children. It was awful, awful, awful.
I knew in my soul that we could not have saved her. But it still hurt for years.
The saddest part is that there are thousands of children, just like our sweet girl, who are abused every minute of every day. They are the walking wounded. They are those children who will grow up to commit crimes, or abuse their children. It is a war that will never end.
I have no answers.
