There’s moments unique to fostering and adopting- comparable to the moments of a positive pregnancy test appearing before one’s eyes, or an ultrasound image coming into focus. Those unforgettable moments when a life is unfolding and coming to you. One of those moments in fostering and adopting is the moment you get the call. You remember the details around it, the words of it, the feelings in it.
I remember exactly where I was standing in the kitchen when the phone rang and my husband was calling and I answered hoping it was that call. We had agreed the next time DSS called one of us, we would say yes without checking with the other. I answered, that split second hoping he wasn’t just calling to check in, begging that this was it, and he affirmed it- we were placed with a baby girl, 3 days old.
I remember already feeling the abundance of God’s good gifts. We didn’t specify that we wanted a baby or a girl. We were open to anyone younger than our youngest and either gender. But oh, how much I wanted a girl. And how deeply I desired a newborn. I could hardly imagine receiving both. And yet there I was, standing in the kitchen, standing in that kitchen, and how many bad-news calls had I gotten that last year? Too many, a relentless string of clotheslining calls that flattened me and deflated me, and yet here I was getting a call with good news.
We got out the baby stuff and were told to expect her to be brought to our home that next day- but the rollercoaster began swiftly, as we then received word that she was in the PICU and actually would be for several days. Dear friends of ours took our boys in the morning so we could go down to the hospital and meet her, as we found out we were the only ones legally allowed to visit her and we weren’t sure it would be best for our kids to visit yet. My husband and I went through the check in process to be allowed in her room, and then came that precious moment of walking in and peering over her basinet and seeing her for the first time. We learned that our boys would indeed be welcome to come as well, so the next day we all went down and they got to meet her. My husband and I were each allowed to visit her in the PICU for an hour a day, and oh how that hour became our favorite. I’d take the boys down with our homeschool read-alouds and hold her while they snuggled up and I read. My husband would go after work and hold her, and he still talks about those hours being some of his best memories. It was so wonderful to hold her, and the nurses were so kind to try to time her feedings around when we’d be there so we could give her a bottle during our visits.
Leaving each day was grueling. Knowing that that was it until the next day- that she would go hours and hours without being held, tore my heart. She was going through withdrawal, and it pained me to see her quiver, saddened me when they explained her lacy skin, and broke my heart to feel her stiff up when snuggled. But each day brought progress and healing, and I was thankful for every nurse and doctor showing her care. But her hard was already unfolding, as for several days she was alone way too much. I couldn’t wait for her to come home.
And it was strange, from the beginning, the having her but not having her. The first impression of cozy joy in her room to the then sudden awakening to other people’s belongings. We learned from the get-go how left in the dark DSS would leave us with information. We tried to figure out from the clues in the room what the bio family’s deal was, but couldn’t. We found a paper listed with relatives names. We felt the tension of embracing her and knowing how quickly she could be taken away.
She was 11 days old when she came home, and it was on my birthday. One of the many “extras” God gave to show His kindness. I remember the social worker’s car pulling in, and us going out to meet her with bursting excitement. We sat at our table for a while, getting drenched in information overload as the social worker went through the paperwork, DSS file, medical care, etc. I remember after she left, going through it all, picking up a thick folder of information with only tiny pieces to the story, and this has to be one of the hardest parts of receiving a foster placement: you have the full weight and work of adding a child to your family, but also the weight and work of so much more. It’s sad to me how often foster families get less support when adding a foster child than someone would when adding a biological child. It’s ironic to me because foster families have a mountain of added weight and work and actually need more support. We were blessed to have a supportive community, and it’s my prayer that more foster families will experience that. (Insert here the nudge to set up meal trains, have baby showers, sign up for respite care, etc. for your fostering friends!)
The social worker left and we were overjoyed with having this baby in our home. We also found ourselves with our work cut out for us as we now had a newborn still going through withdrawal, court dates already laid out, a list of appointments already set up, more social worker visits on the calendar, and a to-do lists handed to us by DSS. It was a lot to take in, and looking at her thick foster file it would have been easy to be overwhelmed.
But I don’t remember feeling overwhelmed at all.
I just remember carrying her to the couch and sitting down and holding her and smiling. I just remember joy. I knew we’d figure the stack of papers out, one step at a time, and I knew there were a crazy amount of appointments, but they were for other days. That day was for holding and snuggling and being.
And in the days to come we’d learn more of the story. We’d meet her lawyer who would be our best source of information and understanding and one of the greatest advocates for our baby girl. I remember standing in the nursery holding her, and asking the lawyer how long she thought it would be- weeks? And her wide-eyed, confident response: “Months.” I remember learning the long, painful history of the bio parents, learning about the many half-siblings, learning that the bio mom was arrested from the hospital, and the stuff in the hospital room began to make sense. I remember how complicated it felt, and still feels: the sadness for them, the recognition of loss and pain there, the true heartache for their journeys. And yet at the same time the frustration over their choices, the outrage over their paths they walked with her, and the fierce desire to protect this little one whom they didn’t.
Those first several weeks were a flurry of the beginning of the rollercoaster ride, of appointments, of court confirming her being placed in care, of phone calls and limbo and figuring out.
And I remember the busyness and the chaoticness and the angst of hoping she’d stay.
But some of my strongest memories are of sitting on the porch, holding her and rocking her in the rocking chair. In those previous few months of being wracked by PTSD, the porch had been a safe place for me to go to and sit and fight off panic and memories and re-experiences. Now I didn’t sit by myself going through grounding techniques and praying. I sat with a little doll lady, and I looked at her and thought about her trauma and sat and thought about mine, and we each had too much pain, but together we found healing.
It’s funny, we look back now and realize how soon we got her after we went through such a storm, how quickly post-trauma we received her. And it’d be easy to scratch your head and make eyes and think, well that was reckless.
Was it too soon? Any human brain would say yes. And yet I smile, and know, we were not dealing with a human timeline but God’s. Yes, it was crazy to jump in so quickly after going through trauma and still being in it in many ways. But aren’t we glad we don’t depend on our own intellect to figure things out? God always knows best. How many times that it seemed right to us did He shut the fostering door for us? And yet now, this crazy time, this far from perfect time, He opened it. And what healing He brought too.