The roller coaster had already begun, but the speed and ups and downs went into full motion over the next several months.
Our first month was bliss and adjustments. It was a lot to figure out, but a lot of beautiful too. We felt the roller coaster ride go up when her first court sessions confirmed her to foster care and in our placement. We had a month of enjoying the time together, but then the first drop down came when the social worker said it: “The family is requesting visits.”
I can’t explain the oddity of hearing that- the family. When you know their history, when you got this baby through withdrawal and had weeks of sleepless nights and your heart is already wrapped around one so tiny. The family.
After one of those initial court hearings, we received the court file. Received the full history of her broken in-utero “care”, and the record of their past would have broken my heart for anyone, ever. But my heart was especially wrenched as I looked at the dates. The dates of drug tests revealing positive use and abuse through pregnancy while I was losing mine. And there’s something in that that touches your spirit- wounds it- in a unique way. You know the wrestling questions when you miscarry- the Why can they’s and Why not me’s, but when you have names and faces and dates the comparing and wondering and aching punches deep.
But then the peace, some answers, when I would look down and see her face and remember- God made you and carried you through.
Visits began. Supervised, and we’d go downtown to a not great part of town and go through security, and that first visit almost broke me all over again. Her taken away, gone for those agonizing 90 minutes down the hallway, in that room, and brought back with cigarette smoke smell and strange perfume. That first visit the bio mom sent a message back to me wanting me to clip the baby’s nails shorter. And my naïve ache turned and churned and how I wanted to be thanked– wanted to scream from the rooftops about all I had done for this baby and sacrificed and all the awful ugly things they had done. But that’s not the description of foster care. You’re viewed as the enemy so often, and have to heart check yourself the whole time that you don’t go down that same path.
I clipped her nails.
Visits continued weekly, when they showed. Often late, but sometimes not at all. I took meticulous records for the social worker and lawyer. I sent pictures, gifts, updates for the bio parents. It took the Holy Spirit in me to balance this world of keeping-records-to-keep-her-safe-and-help-me-keep-her and yet also showing them love and support to get well and be included.
One day, after a visit, we went shopping at Ikea. I realized all the sudden she had another outfit on underneath the one I had her in. I pulled her onesie down and saw the one underneath that had been snuck on- with a cute saying about how-great-my-mommy-is.
That stung.
But I’m not playing that game, and the plan was reunification, and this is what we signed up for. To absorb hurt from the hurting to protect the already hurt. Can we stop the littlest one’s hurts? Can we at least pause it? Foster care struggles became real for us.
Can we stop the littlest one’s hurts? Can we at least pause it?
There were so many court dates, and court days were by far some of the hardest. We were so left out of the loop- waiting breathlessly at home for hours, knowing they were there meeting, knowing always anything could happen, but also knowing that for months there hadn’t been progress from the bio parents with the plan. There were times it would seem that way- bio mom would do a program, get a job, etc. But it would never last or complete, and drug tests kept coming back positive. Bio dad wouldn’t even sign the initial care plan to try to reunify. But he came to the visits with her, and I remember when we first saw them in the elevator, walking by, but no one knew it. Later I asked the social worker, and she confirmed it was them. It was just- strange.
And I remember the day I went in the bathroom and smelled that perfume and saw her. And little pleasant chit chat was exchanged and I knew she had no idea who I was. D.S.S does a really good job at keeping the families separate- but as time went on, it begged the question: was it a good job? This separating, this othering, doesn’t this just increase the feeling of opposite teams?
And I didn’t want to be oppositional with them- didn’t want it to be opposing teams, but the reality was that I had their daughter, and I wanted to keep her, and they weren’t fighting for her in the right way by getting well and stable. But they were fighting for her in court.
So functionally, there was a level of opposition. This is some of the messiness and stickiness of a broken system and a broken world.
So no, they didn’t fight for her by following the plan to reunify, but they kept fighting for her in court. And the court days went crawling slow as we waited at home to be notified on how it went (if anyone remembered to tell us).
After 4 months, she was already on her second social worker. Her first one had been amazing, and I was so sad to have her be reassigned. Getting a new social worker for your foster child is challenging- you are now working with someone who has not experienced any of the history and is trying to catch up on it from a file. Her second social worker had a reputation- not a great one. Kind- but scattered.
The months continued on, the supervised visits and sitting in that foster family waiting room that consistently had no water in the water cooler or coffee by the Keurig. The days they’d never show and we’d go back home annoyed but relieved. The updates from the social worker on how unwell they were doing. The court dates.
Another court date came. The social worker called. 30 days. We had 30 days before the judge said she would go back to them. They’d start full day visits that week, then a couple weekends with them, and then fully reunified. In 30 days. With a bio dad who never even signed the paper and a bio mom who was still testing positive for drugs.
I remember slamming the steering wheel and sobbing to God like I never had before.
The roller coaster came crashing down.