“The bio mom passed away.”
My stomach sank, heart broke, and devastation hung in the air when I heard those words. My tears fell, the tragedy of this woman’s life so bleak, the ending so unhappy. I was so sad for her, so sad that all the attempts at bettering never reached fulfillment. So sad at addiction’s grasp on too many. And so sad for my foster daughter to lose her bio mom this way.
And then the conversation with the social worker turned into next steps, which felt awkward and tasteless. It was surreal to know the attempts at TPR with her were no longer needed. But the question of the bio dad’s involvement lingered. He had never agreed to the reunification plan, and yet kept visitations up for the most part and kept battling in court. But he depended on the bio mom to make reunification happen. What would happen now? Would he let us have her? Allow me to fully be her mom now that he could know there would be no bio mom waiting for her? Could he see what so many of us could see- that we could offer her a full, stable, loving family. That we had been since those early hospital days. That this battle for her could be over, and she didn’t have to be stuck in foster care for much longer?
I grieved for the bio mom. And felt a hope that this journey may soon be over. And then I felt guilt for that.
The journey would not be over soon, though. The bio dad wanted to keep fighting, wanted to get her back. It made no sense to me. It was clear he wasn’t ready to even try to take the steps necessary to make that happen. We didn’t worry that he would get her back. We worried that he was going to legally drag this out for a long time. And in the mean time, who else might be found to have her? What relatives might step forward? And what if something happened to us to cause us to not qualify to have her anymore?
That last question is the one that weighed on me the hardest. I still to this day battle PTSD. It was a huge burden through the fostering/adoption process. I had lost two babies before and those experiences were connected to my own body and health failing. What if something happened to me again? To be a foster parent, you have to stay qualified to fulfill that role. I battled deep fear that my doctor would find something and I’d lose my healthy status and no longer qualify as a foster mom. Or what if something happened to my husband? Or our house? His job? The number of things that could go wrong grew in my mind. Time being dragged out felt like such an enemy. So many would say, don’t worry, there’s no way he’ll get her back. And I was too scared to even admit that that wasn’t my real fear- my fear was that she could be taken and placed with another foster family if anything happened.
I knew all the right Sunday school answers in my mind: none of this was happenstance, God was holding it all together and had it all planned out. But I also knew God doesn’t shield us from hurt all the time. I knew what He might allow, I knew what He had allowed before, and I knew I had to find a peace in the process that was bigger than my hopeful happy ending.
I had to find a peace in the process that was bigger than my hopeful happy ending.
It was January of 2020 when the word “adoption” was first mentioned by the lawyer. It had been a few months since the bio mom had passed away, and while it looked like a long legal battle may lay ahead, the lawyer was ready to talk adoption and explain to us what that could look like over that year. She was confident the bio dad didn’t have a chance, and there were no other relatives or anyone else in the picture. She said if things went smoothly, it could be as soon as that August. We were so excited to have this first initial conversation about adoption, especially since it had been 15 months since we received her and we hadn’t been able to even have that conversation yet!
Our foster daughter also got yet another social worker during this time. It was her 3rd case worker, and while the transitions were always concerning, we heard that this social worker was incredible and had an amazing reputation. Sure enough, we adored her from day one. We finally felt like we had a social worker who was truly fighting for our foster daughter and for us. She was everything you’d want in a social worker, and was completely on board with our adopting her. And she was ready to roll up her sleeves and make it happen.
We found ourselves in this new, odd in between time. Visits continued with the bio dad though he was never consistently reliable. Court dates kept coming. Adoption stayed the conversation.
Milestones kept coming, and they were always a bittersweet experience. Were these memories ones we’d tell her about one day while looking back on pictures together? Or would they be relayed experiences and sent pictures that someone else would maybe pass on to her? First Christmas, first tooth, first word, first steps, first birthday- all behind us, and the memories kept being made. We looked ahead at the new year wondering how many more holidays and milestones would be had together without closure.
But the beginning of 2020 looked bright with adoption hope. It looked like it could happen that summer, and if not definitely the fall. We had the “A Team” as they called themselves with our foster daughter’s incredible lawyer and social worker. We were all ready to move forward.
And then Covid hit.