Not to Beat a Dead Horse

I don’t want to beat the topic into the ground, so I will say my peace and then let it go. When the kid reported the things from his visit to me on our ride home, after dropping his mom and brother off at their place, I was upset. To go from our conversation the night before and over the weekend in which we were so sure he would be staying with me for an extended period of time up to adoption even, to the point that his mother is now fully aware of how high the stakes are and could potentially kick it into high gear – well, that’s hard on the ticker. When the kid asked me the question about adopting him it was not the very first time I had been asked that type of question nor is it the very first time I thought about how I would answer the question should it be posed to me. And maybe, on some level, I go through this with every foster child – thinking we could make our arrangement permanent. The kid reported to me that his mom mentioned during the visit that as much as she wants him back she liked seeing him happy at visits, happy that he was in a good home with someone who cares about him. He said the same thing I had written, that he wants to go home to his mom but he also wants to stay with me. I told him I would be honored to adopt him and call him my son, that nothing would make me happier, but I worried he felt the need to stay with me because he knows my desire to adopt and have a child of my own. I told him he could not make a decision based on what would make me happy. And that’s when I told him going home to his mother does not mean he has to lose touch with me, that he could still come to visit me and spend time with me as long as his mother allows him to do that and I promised to keep in touch via social media and texting. He said he wouldn’t want to go home unless he knew his mom had stable housing and he wouldn’t have to move around all the time. I promised we wouldn’t need to talk about this topic anymore, unless he wanted to. Then we had dinner and talked about other things.

Last night as we sat on the couch watching TV, he leaned over and laid his head on my shoulder. I stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head as tears filled my eyes. I didn’t let him see and waited until he went to bed and I was alone in the shower to cry. I cried for my hubris in believing I would get the opportunity to keep this kid and finally be a forever mom. I cried for the losses that just seem to keep coming. And I cried for this whole entire situation and how complicated life can be sometimes. It’s a very rainy, dreary day today and it matches my mood perfectly. I wish I hadn’t been stupid enough to let things get this far, I wish I were able to keep things at arm’s length rather than let it all seep into my heart. I think that is my Achilles heel as a foster parent, I care too much, I love too deeply and so I get hurt more readily. Cry me a river.  

Tomorrow the CHOR case worker is coming over to meet with us and we want to ask her if it would be ok to take the kids mom and brother to breakfast for Mother’s Day. I came up with this plan yesterday so the kid can see his mom on Mother’s Day and since I’m pretty sure my family will be doing something later in the day after church, I asked him if he thought his mom would want to do breakfast before church. I said we would just go to the diner, since I will be footing the bill and can’t afford to take us some place über expensive. I don’t know if his mom will agree to this, she might see it as charity or something, and I might feel squeamish the whole time and wish I hadn’t opened my mouth, but I think it would mean a lot to the kid.

During my shower a secondary worry had wiggled into my mind and that was the reminder that I am working with BCCYS and even if this case moves to guardianship or adoption, they might decide to remove him from my home for a place they feel is more suitable. The kid mentioned his mother said the county was looking for a legal guardian for him – if they are truly doing that, why has no one reached out to me? Would they not ask me first, since he’s living with me and since I decided to keep him on a permanent foster care basis instead of just a temporary placement? Would they decide to not ask me because , even though my goal is to adopt, I have set my age limit much lower than the age of this child? The uncertainty and doubt plagued my thoughts. As I was tossing and turning in bed last night, trying to turn my brain off to fall asleep, I reminded myself that the focus of foster care is to return children to biological families prepared to care for them appropriately. The words of my family worker, spoken during our first meeting last summer came back to me, “We don’t find children for families we find families for children.” As it should be, they need to decide what is best for the child and in the vast majority of times they err on the side of biology. My desires and my pain are secondary at best in this process and I need to keep that in the forefront of my mind when I consider continuing foster-to-adopt. In this unexpected journey I am sitting at a crossroads, unsure of the path that will be chosen for me, hoping against all odds that I will find joy and peace at the end of the road.

A Kind of Son

Last night right before bed, he came right out and asked me. I don’t remember how the topic came up, probably something to do with the visit today, but I was in his room to put away some shoes (since I still occupy the closet in his room) and he was talking to me. He got quiet for a moment and said, “this is hard to say.” I had my back to him, so I turned to look at him and he said, “If things got really bad with my mom, would you adopt me?” Whoa! Hold the phone! I took a moment to take in this question because even though it’s not an official, legal question, it’s still a BIG question. I mean, this is a life altering decision to make – for both my life and his. And it’s a big, huge, gigantic, enormous deal for a kid to ask that question, so the answer should not be flippant. I mean, talk about putting yourself out there! It’s like asking someone to marry you on a Jumbotron in front of thousands of sports fans – that kind of big. I took a deep breath then answered his question with a question of my own, “Would you want me to adopt you?” Without hesitation he said yes.

“Adoption is permanent. It’s forever. You know that right?”

“Yes, it would be like I’m kind of your son.”

“There’s no ‘kind of son,’ no ‘foster son’ you would be my son, period. And it would mean everyone else would go away too, so no more case workers, visits, things like that. It would be just you and me.”

He hugged me. I said, “Yes, I would keep you and you would be my son.”

 

Earlier at dinner we were talking about how his therapist at CHOR asked him how he liked it at my place. He said, “I told her I don’t like it, I love it.” I told him he was silly and then I asked him what was so great about my place; the house is tiny,  and I make him do chores (very few chores) and go to un-fun stuff like my beekeeping classes. He said even when I make him do stuff he doesn’t like he can make it fun. He said he told the CHOR worker last week that he likes that I ask him if he’s ok doing the stuff with me and I always try to find something fun to do with him, stuff he likes to do that we can do together. He told me something he’s mentioned to me before, that I feel more like a mother to him than his biological mother. In two short months? It makes me sad. It makes me sad that he’s had to go through all he’s been through. It makes me sad that we didn’t find each other sooner. I cannot explain why our paths diverged when and how they did, but there is an undeniable feeling of destiny to it. From the first phone call in which I was outraged that CHOR would even consider asking me to take in another full-time foster placement to the second phone call and subsequent weeks of weekend respite, the call to take him as a temporary foster placement, up to my decision to keep him as a permanent foster placement. If I had been asked to adopt him during the first phone call back in November, it never would have happened. And yet last night I said yes, I would keep him, I would call him my son. Not to say that that is what will happen, because we are miles and miles from the end to this journey, but to even consider it requires some serious divine intervention. I was never interested in adopting an older child, even though that might have been easier. And the pre-teen foster daughter I had a few years ago confirmed this decision for me. She had too many behavioral issues that I just wasn’t able to overcome and I erroneously thought she represented most older foster children, so I turned my attention to the little ones. The younger ones can be shaped more readily to fit into their adoptive families, rather than trying to make a square peg fit in a round hole. But, this kid is special. We hit it off almost immediately. For the first few weekends in respite I would relish when his foster mother picked him up to have the house to myself again but as time wore on I looked forward to him coming more than him leaving and now I’m at the point where I miss him when I’m at working during the day and look forward to spending time with him at night and on the weekends. I would much rather think about having him stay forever than having him leave because I know that would be so, so, so hard – one of the hardest kids to lose. I haven’t really expressed to anyone, other than the kid himself, that if given the option I would adopt him. First and foremost because these conversations we are having are not the be all, end all – there are many, many steps between now and full-fledged adoption and at any point his mother could turn it around and get him back. Maybe if she gets an inkling that she could lose him forever (one of the things I said to him was that it would be important for him to keep in contact with his family, even if he were adopted) it will shake her and she will turn it around so as not to lose him. I know what a great kid he is, so I’m sure she knows too. It’s strange to simultaneously hope his mother gets her act together while also hoping he can stay permanently. Part of me wants to get jealous and stake my claim, scream “he’s mine!” but the other part of me wants what is best for the kid, even if that does mean leaving me. I’ve said it before and I will say it again – being a foster parent is not for sissys!  

 

The kid said the same thing about his mom, that he dually wants to go home with her as much as he wants to stay with me. I promised that I would never force him to choose between her and me and I also promised that I would always be available to him in any capacity he needed me, be that as a foster mother, an adoptive mother, or just a shoulder to cry on. He said his mother had been crying during their visit today because she met with the county case worker and was basically told she was in danger of losing custody of her son (I'm surmising from what the kid told that this was the conversation). She told him he was too old to be adopted (what?!) but that the county was looking for someone to take legal guardianship of him. It's a hard thing, a very hard thing. My heart is screaming that I want to make him mine but my head is telling me this decision is up to a county and system I have no trust in. I guess in part I have already begun mourning the loss I fear is coming. At least being an older kid, he can keep in touch with me and let me know how he's doing. Small solace that is.  

 

Do I still want to and hope to adopt a baby? My family worker from CHOR called me today asking me this same question – if things are on hold or if things are moving forward. I am waiting on my income tax check to begin the basement project. I suppose until the project is complete things are on hold, but in my heart they are not. I am still hoping to adopt a baby or young child, even if I keep the kid I have now. I did not tell her that, I just told her I was still hoping to adopt and if things need to be on hold right now due to space constraints, I understand. She said that “they” were still looking for me and thinking of me when referrals for adoption are sent to them, so things really aren’t on hold, it’s just a matter of finding an appropriate placement for me. So, yes I still hope I can adopt but having this awesome kid with me right now allows me to wait more contentedly for a baby.    

 

I Will Hold Up Your Arms

In Exodus 17:11-12 a scene is described when Moses had to hold his hands up for the Israelites to defeat the Amalekites during battle. If Moses let his hands fall, the Amalekites would begin overpowering the Israelite army. When Moses’ arms grew weary his brother Aaron and another man, Hur, sat him on a rock and held his hands up for him, thus defeating the Amalekite army. We were at the farm Sunday night, getting ready to leave. My mom had gone to take a shower and wash her hair. Before she went upstairs she expressed her trepidation about washing her hair because it had been coming out in thicker clumps now. As the kid and I sat on the kitchen floor trying to keep the new puppy awake (my parents got a new puppy on Saturday – an adorable yellow lab puppy they named Tucker), my mom called my name. I could hear the fear and sadness in her voice. I went upstairs and found her inside the bathroom sobbing. While washing her hair she managed to get a huge knot, a clump of hair roughly the size of a golf ball. She asked me to comb it out and her hair began falling out in handfuls. We decided to cut the hairball out and then trim the back. After I gave her a rough cut, leaving about 2 inches of spiky, patchy hair, she tried to shake out what she was losing but it was still so much she asked me to cut it as short as I could with the scissors, since we didn’t have a tool to shave it off. I put a towel over her shoulders and cut away as much hair as I could. When I was done, I cleaned up the fallen hair from the floor and emptied the trash can full of her lost locks. She sat in her dark bedroom and sobbed. I told her we were leaving and that I loved her. She asked my dad to not look at her without any hair. It breaks my heart.  Before the hair loss incident, I reminded her she is strong and she can overcome this, even if it is hard and it’s painful. I hate that she has to go through this, I wish there was something I could do other than just listen to her when she cries, but there isn’t. This morning she is going to get her port fixed so hopefully it will work like it’s supposed to and her second round of chemo, scheduled for this Friday, will not be as traumatic. We hope......

 

I didn’t think it would happen, or that it could happen. Sure, it’s easy with the little ones who are so precious and adorable and in need of love. If you had asked me even 6 months ago I would have told you that I didn’t think I could love an older child or become attached to them the same way I did with the little ones. They come with too much baggage, they know too much, they are too attached to their parents or too engrained and set in their ways. But, it’s happened. I’m attached to this kid and I love him, just like the ones before him. I don’t know why, but for some reason he is supposed to be with me. I’m not sure if it’s because he needs me or if I need him, but for something that seems so strange at face value, it works. We make a good team. In fact, he’s told me if they were to give out an award for the best foster family, we would win. And I melt, when he leans on my shoulder and wraps his arms around me, seeking that comfort and warmth from a parental figure. I rub his back or stroke his hair and it’s just like holding the little ones and stroking their cheeks as a sign of fondness. He needs that love and affection just as much as the babies do, if not more. It’s almost surreal how well we get along and how quickly we’ve grown attached to one another. It’s not something I would have envisioned as being feasible, I guess because I have always been so fixated on babies. It’s hard to imagine what life would be like without the kid and so I don’t even think about it.

 

It’s a good thing we are close because of the bombshell the kid dropped on me this weekend. Last Thursday, when I got home from work the kid was meeting with one of the CHOR case workers who help kids put together a life story book, or something like that. I forget the name for it, but basically she talks to him about his family, his past, and where he wants to go in the future. At least, this is what I gather, since I am banished from these proceedings. So last week, they were in the kitchen and I was in the living room. Due to working in a cubicle farm for several years now I have developed a real knack for tuning out conversations around me, so I wasn’t really paying attention, until the case worker started talking in hushed tones. Then my spidey senses were a-tingling. I couldn’t hear all she was saying but I know she was asking him about his mom missing the past three visits and that he needs to consider what might be best for him, which could mean not going home to his mom and brother. She asked him what it was about my place that he liked. Again, I didn’t hear his response entirely, but he mentioned that he liked being in a place where he knew someone cared about him and focused just on him (since it is only he and I, I can be solely focused on him). In other words, he likes the one-on-one attention. I’m paraphrasing of course, but he knows I care for him. I heard the case worker asking if he would like to continue trying to have visits with his mom and he sighed then said yes, he would if she would just show up. I don’t know if she was trying to tell him something with this line of questioning or if it was just part and parcel of the job she does, but it had my head spinning. I stopped trying to listen, assuming I will know what I’m supposed to know when I’m supposed to know it.

 

After the case worker left the kid and I had a heart-to-heart regarding a small issue with school. I started by telling him all the good things I thought about him that I could write down in five minutes (an exercise I did at work when I was all worked up about the issue to remind myself of his good attributes, of which there are many). I told him how I strive to treat every child in my house just as I would treat my own child. I reminded him how much I cared for him and how I wanted him to be his best. Then I told him how we were going to fix this glitch and move past it. After we resolved the issue he got into a fight with his ex-girlfriend via text and said he was afraid he would get in trouble at school because of her. He mentioned getting suspended when he was living with his mom and that it wasn’t bad because they went out and did things. I told him with me, if he got suspended we would not be going out or doing anything. He would lose computer privileges, no movie nights, nothing. I said if he gets in trouble at school he is in trouble at home. He seemed almost glad about it and I remembered how he told me once before how he wished his mother had been a little more strict about things like that.

 

But, back to the bombshell. Saturday we talked about getting new phones. His phone from his mother is not turned on, so he cannot get or receive any phone calls and he can only text with an ap when there is wi-fi. I said if I were eligible for any upgrade then perhaps we could add a line and get him a new phone, but I said I didn’t want to do anything until after court next month because I didn’t want to get him a phone and then have him be gone in another six months. That’s when he said, “I’m not going anywhere.” I said we never know what will happen and that it is really out of our hands. I told him I would never ask him to leave but the county might have other plans. I told him we had no idea what was going to happen at court and that perhaps they might decide he will go home in a few more months. He told me what he and the CHOR worker were talking about on Thursday and that is how he has given up on his father ever being a real father to him and how he is about to give up on his mother. I asked him to explain what he meant. That’s when he said, “I was told it would be my choice to go back to my mom or not.” He went on to explain that he didn’t want to go back to her if she was not sincere in getting her act together, he didn’t want to live in that turmoil again (my words, not his but it’s the gist of what he was saying). That’s pretty mature thinking for a teenager! Part of me was suspicious because of my experience in the past being too gullible with foster kids who were just playing on my emotions to manipulate me, but I don’t think he’s that kind of kid (I mean, no more than any regular teen trying to get their parents to give them something). I told him that I don’t make decisions lightly but when I have made up my mind it’s a done deal. When I told him he could stay, I meant that he could stay as long as need be (of course thinking he would be going home to his mother at some point) and that I wouldn’t change my mind about that now. I joked that if he was 50 and still living with me I might toss him out at that point, to which he responded, “if you’re still alive,” meaning I would be so old if he were 50. Yikes bikes! Still, I couldn’t believe what he was saying. In essence, he would rather stay with me than return to the tumultuous life-style his mother lives. I guess you don’t know the value of stability unless you don’t have. I know he thinks the issue is resolved because we have made up our minds, but there are a whole host of entities that need to come to this decision before it’s a done deal. And, part of me wonders, if push comes to shove could he or would he make that decision, to not return to his mother or is he just hurt from her not showing up to visits the past couple of weeks? I don’t know. I had asked him last week if his mom missed visits with him in the past and he said she had missed a few but never three in a row. He talked to his brother last Thursday and his brother promised they would show up to the visit this week. The kid looked at it as lip service and basically said he would believe it when he sees it. Part of me wonderstomorrow so he can give her the gift (even though it will be a little early). And as contradictory as it sounds, I hope she does show up for his sake......      

Yaoi

The kid was supposed to have a visit with his mom and brother yesterday after school. A CHOR worker picked him up at the house and they were going to visit until the training starts at 6, then he and I would go home after training. I worried about him getting dinner, so we bought some hot pockets and a bag of chips for him. I set everything out on the table for him (minus the hot pockets) with a banana, an orange, and a bag full of the various banana breads we baked over the weekend for him to share with his mom and brother. I had it on top of a bag with a note reminding him to get the hot pockets and some change to get a drink from the vending machine. He called me just as I was about ready to leave work. He was home. The CHOR worker came to pick him up and take him back to my house because his mom cancelled last minute. We so believed she would show today. She sent him a message on Facebook that she would see him at the visit. I know he was bummed. When I said I was sorry he told me it was alright but I know better. It’s not alright for your mom to cancel three visits in a row. My heart breaks for him. It’s hard with the little ones because they are confused and they get agitated after a visit, but the older kids know the score. He knows his mom not visiting with him is not a good sign. You would think court right around the corner would be impetus enough to keep her minding all her p’s and q’s. But, I guess not. I wish I could make it better for him, to wipe away all the pain and hurt. But, I cannot. I know he hurts more than he lets on with his flippant “it’s ok.” I just wish he didn’t have to go through it at all.

 

Last night at training the adult class was learning about sexual acting out while the teenage group was listening to a speaker talk about LBGTQA issues. When we got back to the car together the kid was so worked up about this topic. It’s a sore issue for him, I know. He told me once he has been called gay since kindergarten. One definitely wouldn’t describe him as overtly masculine, but if he says he’s straight, he’s straight. Yet, he likes this anime called Yaoi which is guy on guy and he talks about older guys being cute or hot more than he talks about girls being pretty or hot. He would rather look at a picture of a boy shirtless than a girl shirtless. I peg him as being a Q or perhaps a B on the list of acronyms (questioning or bisexual). He’s made other comments to me about his preferences but adamantly declares he is heterosexual. None of this is a problem, other than when he gets in fights at school because someone called him gay. But, it does force me to come to terms with my own doubts and issues regarding homosexuality. I don’t talk about it for fear of reprisal, but I am uncomfortable with homosexuality from a moral and religious stand-point. I don’t say this to pass judgment on anyone and I don’t dislike people who are LBGTQA, quite the opposite in fact. I feel like the human part of me relates to humans, regardless of sexual orientation and so I like or get along with someone because we have things in common or they are a nice person. But, the moral and religious side of me believes that men with men and women with women is sin, just like a man and woman living together or sleeping together before marriage is sin. I have never expressed this conflict to the kid nor do I plan to. If he is indeed bisexual or gay he doesn’t need to worry about my conflicts over it. I know religious people say they hate the sin but love the sinner but I always found that it next to never happened in real life, at least not in a group setting. Still, whatever team this kid decides to play for, I don’t think I could love him any less.     

National Infertility Awareness Week

The accidentally pregnant woman at work lost the baby on Friday. She posted it on Facebook. I feel so sorry for her because I know she was excited. It sucks when biology lets us down. The pregnant woman at work had her baby yesterday. Everyone is healthy. Life is strange like that, isn’t it? People who desperately want children and would be good parents, are unable to conceive or carry a pregnancy to term and those who couldn’t give a dam pop out baby after baby.  After we got home from the run-in with the kids father last night, he was upset and declared he was parent-less because his dad ignored him and his mom is moving to Philly. Trying to calm him down I said he does not know for sure what his mother’s plans are, that perhaps she was just frustrated when she said she was moving to Philly and didn’t really mean it. Then I told him it’s a good thing he has a foster mother who loves him and gave him a hug. With his head bent on my shoulder (he’s taller than me) he declared, “you feel like more of a mother to me than my own mom.” It just breaks my heart. How do his parents not see what a great kid they have and move heaven and earth to be with him? According to the kid, his father has 15 kids (he assured me he was not exaggerating) and doesn’t know when any of their birthdays are (apparently his litmus test for determining if someone cares about a child or not). I know his mom cares about him, which is why it bugs me that she can’t get her shit together for him. I guess I should just be grateful I don’t have her demons hounding me. I’m glad that the kid at least has one stable adult in his life (me) and I can only hope and pray it will be enough.

 

I’ve been having such horrific cramps this month. I think every month my period gets worse – heavier bleeding, more painful cramps, more PMS. When I was a teenager my mom assured me that her period got better after having children – until she was in her 50’s and it got much worse until she had a hysterectomy. Just one more gift from my delinquent reproductive system – no babies means nasty periods apparently. I found out that it’s National Infertility Awareness week. I guess it’s supposed to help those who struggle with infertility open up and share their deepest pain to an unforgiving world who doesn’t understand. I really don’t think about infertility as much as I used to because there really is no point. In less than six months I will be 33 years old and fast approaching the age when fertility starts to drop (roughly 35). With no potential mate in sight, the possibility of a planned or spontaneous pregnancy is all but gone. Yes, of course women in their 40s have babies but the percentage of women able to get pregnant and grow a baby to term is much, much lower. And yes, since my crystal ball is cloudy, I cannot see the future to be certain I won’t meet someone in the next couple of years, but I believe it requires some level of effort on my part and I think I’ve used that all up by now. I’m not actively seeking a boyfriend, I closed all my on-line accounts and I’ve come to terms with being just me, single me. I still hope to adopt but I’m beginning to doubt I have the fortitude necessary to keep waiting and wondering and hoping and praying. Life is what it is. There is very little I can do to change the direction things have taken and when I do try I find more pain and heartache than anything else. I think when this current foster kid leaves I will need to go on a hiatus. I will get a second job and concentrate on getting out of debt and then perhaps I will begin saving money for a private adoption. Maybe. Or maybe I will just buy a plot of land and fill it with furry babies and forget about everything else. Next week my  church is having a Mother’s Day dinner and I don’t think I will be going. Last year when all the mom’s lined the front of the church for a special Mother’s Day prayer, the Pastora called me up front as I shrunk down in my seat trying to avoid the holiday I hate most in the world. “I’m just a foster mom, I don’t count.” That’s what I told the Pastora. With her hand on my midsection she told me that one day I would give birth, I just needed to believe. She also thought I was getting back together with Flaco. It’s all nonsense. And I hate Mother’s Day. Hate It. I feel like vomiting just thinking about it. I’m just a foster mom, not a real mom.

Will You Keep Him?

Just like every child is different, every foster placement is different. We got a letter last week notifying us that the kid has a permanency hearing next month. I asked his case worker about it when she came to visit and she said Berks county requires the foster parents to attend court. I’ve never been to court with a kid before, so I don’t know what to expect. She said they schedule many cases on the same day and they tell everyone to come to the courthouse at 9 am. If we get to go first, we could be in and out quickly. If not, then it could take all day, literally. Ugh! I guess I will take the whole day off of work and hope I can work a half day, if we get out in time. Saturday night the kid and I were watching a movie, as is our custom, and he had chosen the Vince Vaughn movie about the man that fathered 533 children through sperm donation. I forget the name of the movie, but at one point he is having a baby with his girlfriend (one he fathered the good old fashioned way) and I sighed and said, “I want one of those! I want a baby!” to which the kid said “I’m your baby.” I jokingly said, “I know, but I want one to keep. You’re just a rental.” To which he pretended to run away, grabbing my keys and sitting in the car until he realized I wasn’t going to chase him. Sunday night, after Easter dinner at the farm and after my brother (yes, I have a brother and yes, he made a rare appearance at Easter dinner) and sister and their significant others left, we were chatting in the kitchen. The kid was on his phone, as usual, when he suddenly burst out with a loud, “Ugh!” When I asked him what’s wrong he said, “My mom and brother are moving to Philly and now she won’t ever get me back.” Earlier in the day, the kid was talking to my mom and I was pulling weeds and spreading mulch with my sister. I walked up to them only to hear the end of their conversation which I gathered was about the kid’s mom missing the last two visits with him. He was telling my mom that it was frustrating but he was used to it, so it doesn’t surprise him. Trying to be positive, I said, “Well, she was sick last week, right?” He shook his head no. Tonight on the way home from therapy we ended up at a red light next to a mini van. It was a warm day, so we had our windows down. The kid waved at the pretty young woman in the van and said "hey!" She seemed to ignore him at first before waving back. Then an older man in the front seat leaned forward to stare at us, then slinked down in his seat. As the light changed the kid said, "that's my ratched dad and his girlfriend." A friend of mine attended church with us Sunday morning and as we sat waiting for the kid to come down from Sunday school upstairs, she asked me if I was going to keep him – my least favorite question other than, “How long will you have him/her?” How did this go from respite, to a temporary placement, to a permanent placement and now perhaps beyond? Would his mother and brother really move to Philly and leave the kid in the lurch? What will happen at court next month (I cannot tell you how terrified I am about court – not about the outcome but about me keeping my mouth shut and not getting into trouble)? What if I am given the choice to “keep” him? It might sound silly for me to say this because I’ve been so desperate to adopt for several years now, but it’s a huge decision! On one hand, we are happy and content together with no problems or issues. On the other hand we are talking about a huge commitment to a child on the precipice of becoming an adult and so all that stuff I thought I would eventually do when my child got to that age will be upon me – learning to drive, starting to date, shaving (legs and pits are not the same as your face! I will need call in an expert – DAD!), picking out a college, graduating from high school, getting a job! Didn’t I just get done doing all of this for myself? I know I’m getting ahead of myself in all of this, so it’s best to just stop thinking about it until the appropriate time comes or if it comes.

First Round of Chemo (from April 10th)

Thursday was a very long day. I took a day off from work to spend it at the hospital with my mom. She had her first chemo treatment and we all agreed she should have someone to go with her. Luckily, I was able to use some of my ample sick time to spend the entire day sitting by her side, holding her hand when they couldn’t access her port and had to put the needle in the back of her hand, to pass her tissues when she cried, to fetch her a lunch better than the one provided and to generally just “be there.” I was also the family reporter, texting my sister and calling my dad to let them know how she was doing. After the morning fiasco with the port, which she had put in because she has terrible veins and gets stuck many times before they can get the IV in (which, thankfully was not the case yesterday – after the nurse abandoned the port she got it into her hand in one shot), causing my mom a lot of anxiety, she was in better spirits. She has a friend who works on the chemo unit and has been a great support for her. My aunt came to visit (she is my mom’s best friend and technically, they are step-sisters but that happened when they were in their 30s and had already been friends for many years) around lunchtime. A friend she used to work with stopped by and gave her some pretty flowers and the hair dresser from the salon for the cancer patients stopped by to see her as well. The nurses and staff in the cancer center were all so nice, but it was still a very long day. We were a few minutes early for her 9:30 appointment, but we didn’t really have to sit and wait. The issue with the port took a long time to resolve but while that was happening, we were informed of all the possible (terrible) side effects the three chemo drugs could cause. The nurse also reviewed all the possible allergic reactions that might happen as the medication was being administered. It was just after 12 when my mom started the first chemo drug – a newer drug used specifically for breast cancer because it goes right to the cancer cells in the breast and has been shown to have good results. They give the chemo drugs separately, not simultaneously as I presumed. The first drug took an hour and a half to drip into her body. The first two drugs were the least toxic, both relatively new and both intended to be used strictly for breast cancer patients. It was the last drug that was the most venomous, causing the lion’s share of the side effects such as hair loss, fatigue, nausea, and a whole host of other potential issues. To test the body’s acceptance of this drug, they run a fair amount into the patient for 20 minutes then pause to see if the person is ok to continue. My mom did fine and the only thing she complained about was her eyes bothering her, most likely due to not sleeping well the night before. She called me this morning to report she is feeling ok and that she slept better last night. Now that chemo has started her attitude and her strong will have kicked in – she envisions the drugs as Annie Oakley, the best shot in the West, lining up all the cancer cells like bottles on a fence and blowing them away one by one. I think it’s a great image to have and great to know she has her game face on and she is ready to fight. She joked about wearing war paint to her first chemo session. She jokes about other stuff too. She was sad to hear she should cut her nails off (yesterday she asked me, “What doesn’t cancer take from you?”) but this morning she said it will make it easier to type and not having hair means she won’t have to hold it back when she’s vomiting. Laughter is good medicine and I told her no one believes this is a joking matter but that we all have to laugh at what we can to keep us going. So, if joking about not having hair to hold back when the drugs makes her sick helps keep her spirits up, then we laugh about it. This morning she told me she wants to live to see her grandbaby (not that there is one on the way, but the potential one I could be getting at any moment). For once I didn’t get defensive and huff that I’ve been trying – instead I just agreed, this was a good reason to keep up the fight. While it might sound odd, there was some good news yesterday too. First, her P.E.T. scan showed the cancer is not anywhere else in her body, just a few lymph nodes around her breast which the doctor expected. Halleluiah! And she found out, via her nurse friend glancing in her chart, that she is a stage 2 not stage 3 as the surgeon told her. As she put it, “that’s one step further away from a 4, so I’ll take it.” And, oddly enough, she is triple positive and while this sounds bad and I’m not really sure what it even means, it is actually a good thing. If you have to get breast cancer, you want the kind she has because it is very treatable. Not to say the treatment doesn’t suck or feel like it might kill you, but to know the success rates for treatment are high is encouraging. Halleluiah! The only thing that made my mom cry more than the issue with the port (ugh!) was when a woman came onto the floor and rang a bell, indicating she had won, she beat cancer and was now cancer-free. My mom wiped the tears from her cheeks and said, “I want to ring the bell.” I smiled at her and said, “Not today, but soon you will.” I will be there for that day too.

 

After the exhausting day I went home to a sick kid. He started feeling bad at his track meet on Wednesday and I worried about his asthma. He wanted soup from the diner for dinner, so I took him there and he ate three small bowls of Italian wedding soup. Then we went to the pharmacy to get him some OTC meds for his allergies/cold – we’re not sure which it is. We just relaxed the rest of the night and while he had a nasty cough (I think it sounds nasty because he wheezes due to his asthma) this morning, he seemed a little more chipper. I promised to take him to the movies tonight after we attend a matching event at CHOR.

 

There is a strange duality to my life right now. On one hand, my life is going on just like always – work, foster kid, honey bees coming on Sunday, stuff to do. But, on the other hand there is the added responsibility and worry of what my mom is going through. I feel like I have to be on my guard, ready willing and able to drop anything and everything to rush in and help my mom. I know she has my dad and I know he is a great source of strength for her – a true partner in every sense of the word – but who is there for him? I’m sure he won’t burden her with his worries, so who does he have? My mom started getting herself worked up about the gardening and house work she feels she should be doing and I promised to help her as much as I could. Saturday my grandfather is coming to my house to help me re-build the outside basement door to my house and this project will most likely take us all day. Sunday my honeybees arrive, so I will need to go to the farm to get them set up in their hive and do some yard work then plus make dinner, depending on how my mom is feeling. It’s strange that I have to keep living my life as my mom fights for hers, but that’s how it has to be right now. I’m hoping we can ring that bell soon and dispel cancer from our midst.      

Lost

I lost it. In church on Sunday, after the service had ended the pastor prayed for the congregation and, as he always does, invited individuals to seek personal prayer at the front of the church. I had rested my forehead in my hands to the back of the seat in front of me and I was praying silently for my mother, who starts chemo on Thursday, and I started to cry quietly. As the hot tears slid down my face I felt someone hug me from behind and sobs shook my body until I was no longer crying inaudibly. The weight of the world fell upon me and I felt such pain and fear – it was like a big black hole opened inside of me and claws reached out to drag me down. I feared being left alone and begged to the person stroking my head and rubbing my back to not leave me, although I doubt she could hear me through my gasping sobs. Where did this fear come from? It was a moment of weakness, a momentary slipping of the armor that I held tightly in place to shield me from the pain of the world. I took deep breaths to purge this fear from my body and soon I was able to hear more than just my own ragged breaths. I heard the kid, who had come down from Sunday school upstairs, asking me if I was ok, laying his hand on my shoulder to comfort me. The tears subsided and I could breathe again, the fear had left me. And it was then that I realized what it was – loss. Perhaps I spend too much time recounting the things I have lost over the past five years or maybe it’s just the great fear of losing my mother, but that was the fear that rose to claim me, to gobble me whole. “Don’t leave me.” Because so much has gone from my life and I don’t want my mother to be another loss. But, as the kid patted my arm and crouched beside me, I realized it was also the constant loss in foster care that reminded me again and again how quickly things and people can come and go – I was reminded then, that he too shall leave me. After the episode I felt abashed at my behavior, especially in front of the kid, and I apologized to him. He didn’t seem put off by it, he just shrugged and gave me a hug. I felt hallow, like my insides had been scooped out, as we left church and went about our day. My reaction was in exact contrast to what happened during the church service. The pastor was joking about there being a holy happy hour and encouraging the congregation to drink the living water, which had many people in stitches as the Holy Spirit dumped joyful merriment into their souls. The best I could manage was a lukewarm smile until I lost it after the service. True joy eludes me right now. I have moments of levity but that feeling of lightheartedness is always fleeting. The carefree feeling of true joy and contentment are distant memories to me, something I experienced as a child and perhaps a teenager but not as an adult. In the grown-up world there is always something to worry about and when the first cracks began to show on my façade, any semblance of carefree abandon fell away as the pain rushed in to claim it’s space. Infertility ate away at me, like rust slowly and steadily weakening even the strongest metal. Then Flaco left, stealing the very heart from my chest and quickly followed by the loss of my first child (legally, he was never mine, but in my heart he was). Subsequent losses of other placements, beautiful children I could only love for a short time, reinforced the theme of tepid happiness followed by gripping pain. Like Pavlov’s dog, I have been conditioned to expect happiness to be fleeting, followed by gut-wrenching pain. I don’t want to think this way, but it seems like every time I choose to believe things are finally on an up-ward swing, a new horror arises and I plummet back to the bottom of the pit once again. Sometimes I think I will close my eyes and wake up in my childhood bed, relieved this was all a very bad dream. Instead, I wake up to realize I’ve gotta put on my big girl panties and get on with it.       

For the Grace of God

Life is very strange sometimes. Yesterday after work I went to CHOR to pick the kid up because he had a visit with his mom and older brother. I sat in the waiting room for a few minutes before the three of them walked in together, escorted by a staff member since the visits are supervised. I had met his mom before on a few occasions, but usually I was sitting in the car and she was outside; this time we met face to face. We chatted a few minutes and the kids mom reiterated she was glad he was with me because he seemed content. He showed them silly selfies we took on my phone and his brother made inappropriate sexual comments regarding the kids girlfriend (enter eye roll here – but, it is also indicative of something a little more sinister because there seems to be this pressure on the kid to become sexually active, like his older brother. I find it troubling and think I will need to bring it up to his case worker.). His brother does not have a filter, whatever is in his head comes out his mouth. At one point the kid laid his head on my shoulder (something he does a lot) which made me feel uncomfortable in front of his mom. We walked outside together and the kid asked if I could take his mom and brother home, since it would be a long walk halfway across town. I agreed and we all piled in the car to drive them home. At one point the kid demanded his mom and I converse in Spanish, just to prove I could. Finally, after a conversation about me being able to evade getting in trouble with cops because I’m white, we pulled over to drop them off. As we were pulling away the kid commented, “I’m glad you and my mom can be friends because if I ever do get to go back with her we can all hang out and I can still see you.” What? First, let me address the “if” in that statement. I haven’t had that many older kids in foster care, but the ones I have interacted with almost always spoke of going home as a “when” and not an “if.” The pre-teen I had a few years ago would pepper her comments with a “if I’m still here” meaning in foster care. Not this guy. He speaks of the future as if his time in foster care is indefinite. I don’t know if this is a self-preservation effort to guard against the bad news that going home won’t happen as quickly as he had hoped or if he is unaware of the vocabulary he chooses when speaking of the future, but it’s different in my experience. I don’t question him on it. His desire and assumption that his mother and I could and should be friends is a little more problematic. I don’t dislike his mother, quite the opposite in fact, but we have chosen radically different paths for our lives. His mother couldn’t believe that she and I were the same age (nor could I believe it because I certainly don’t think I’m old enough to be his mother let alone have children older than him) because she looks and acts an entire decade older than me. I don’t think life has been very kind to her, but some of that stems from the choices she has made. Regardless, the lifestyle she now lives is totally opposite from the lifestyle I am trying to live. And I don’t say that as if I am trying to look down on her – but for the grace of God, there go I. However, I get the sense that his mother and brother think of me as a goody two shoes and so no fun to be around (the song Sandra Dee from Grease comes to mind). So do I think we will be bosom buddies? No, I do not. Could we socialize on occasion and be agreeable? Yes, I think we could, certainly more so than with any other biological family of the foster kids I’ve had. This foster parenting thing makes for strange relationships.  

In other news, my dad called with an official diagnosis for my mom - she has stage 3 cancer with lymph nodes involved. They did take one lymph node out on Monday when the did a second biopsy and inserted the port for her chemo which she is expected to start next week. They will most likely also do a PET scan to see if the cancer is anywhere else in her body. It's terrible, but I'm nearly at the point where I cringe when my father calls because it seems like every time he calls me it's with worse and worse news. It's really scary. Damn scary. We need prayers for total healing.