Well, if anyone is looking for a cheery pick-me-up, this
blog ain't gonna be it. I am weary. I generally feel like I am equipped
to handle the long haul. I know where my strength comes from and I know
my calling--and I love it. I love motherhood. I love schooling my
children. I love being a wife. I love doing orphan care. But
tonight I just feel defeated.
I have been chewing over two posts that my friend Karen sent
me. They are written by a social worker and are intended to help explain
"the system" and give the justification for putting children through
long stints in foster care and focusing on reunification to the exclusion of
everything else. Here are the links if anyone wants to be sick…er…read
them.
I
am trying, trying, trying to agree with "the way things are" so as to
preserve my sanity. I want to be a helper and a good sport and a
cheerleader--a perpetual play-by-the-rules-er.
But
I keep knocking into reality and common sense.
I have been hearing from all the experts in this case (and now from this
blogger) that the imprint of being birthed is so powerful that it can overcome
egregious neglect, abuse, abandonment, multiple foster care placements, YEARS
away from said parent, and serial bonding/breaking up.
We are supposed to stand by the birth moms of
our foster kids as they miss visits, lie, go to jail, make excuses, suck the
system dry in every possible way, and use their children as meal tickets.
We rearrange our schedules so that they can
forget to show up.
We put our families
through hair raising scrutiny by the state, open ourselves up to allegations
and investigations, agree to live without information, without notification, and
without consideration from the social workers, the agency, the court system,
the lawyers (where’s mine?), and the birth parents.
We lose money, lose sleep, lose sanity, and
lose patience.
We comfort our kids and
our foster kids, we cry with them, we celebrate all their milestones, and we
keep records of their daily life that their parents don’t even ask to see.
We go to their school functions.
We take
instruction and correction from parents who have lost their right to parent, and
social workers who have never been a parent.
We grit our teeth through foster parent classes taught by people who
have never had a foster child in their home.
We pray and cry and pray and cry.
And
then we are told that, in the best interest of the children, this heartwarming
arrangement can drag on for YEARS! ARE WE STUPID?
OK,
grown-ups. Let’s rub two brain cells
together for a moment. A child’s loyalty
runs very deep, but they are cut out of the same human cloth as we are. When a mother wastes 20 months of her
children’s lives being addicted, irresponsible and non-compliant, her kids
notice.
They bond to the nice people who are busy being their parents. They start to call them mommy and daddy. They stop asking for visits. They get angry and anxious when visits do occur. They start letting down their guard and opening their hearts. They respond to love with love.
Basically they start making plans for a different life in this other family because love speaks louder than blood.
They bond to the nice people who are busy being their parents. They start to call them mommy and daddy. They stop asking for visits. They get angry and anxious when visits do occur. They start letting down their guard and opening their hearts. They respond to love with love.
Basically they start making plans for a different life in this other family because love speaks louder than blood.
How
do I know this? Because I watched it
happen with my two daughters, 10 years ago.
They are now lovely, well-adjusted, sweet-spirited members of our
family. No pining away for what might
have been. No angry outburst toward us
for tearing them away from their birth mom.
No yearning to go back to the chaos that was their life before. We speak openly and compassionately about
their mom, but they are our children in every way, won over by LOVE.
There
is such a thing as tearing up your parent card.
It shouldn’t be determined lightly, but when a person has a path to
reunification set out in explicit terms and they have to be pushed, dragged,
cajoled, begged, tricked, and threatened to comply, or when they sit back and
let a team of trained professionals comply for them over a period of years, then
I think they ought to lose their rights to being a parent.
And as to eyeopenedwider’s contention that adopted kids
always wish, deep down, that they could have been raised in their birth family,
I respectfully snort in disbelief.
There is a part of every one of us, adopted or not, that struggles with “the grass is always greener” moments. We look at other friends’ families and wish ours was a little fun-ner, or took better vacations, or laughed more. We look at other marriages and wish ours was different in some way. We look at other people’s jobs, and water those seeds of discontent.
The difference is that adopted children actually HAVE another family out there, so it is easier to grow those seeds. If you are an orphan, with that true mystery surrounding a life that might have been, you can make castles in the air whenever reality doesn’t suit.
The rest of us actually have to live with the knowledge that Uncle Bart is a drunk and insanity runs in the family.
There is a part of every one of us, adopted or not, that struggles with “the grass is always greener” moments. We look at other friends’ families and wish ours was a little fun-ner, or took better vacations, or laughed more. We look at other marriages and wish ours was different in some way. We look at other people’s jobs, and water those seeds of discontent.
The difference is that adopted children actually HAVE another family out there, so it is easier to grow those seeds. If you are an orphan, with that true mystery surrounding a life that might have been, you can make castles in the air whenever reality doesn’t suit.
The rest of us actually have to live with the knowledge that Uncle Bart is a drunk and insanity runs in the family.
Although inheriting your grandpa’s nose puts the kibosh on
the “what if I’m actually a member of the royal family” type imaginings, discontentment
is a part of the human condition. Not a
specific result of being loved and chosen by a different family.
I know that I haven’t been through all the helpful social
work classes. I don’t have a degree in
child psychology. And for that reason, I
can almost feel the patronizing head pats and pitying smiles I would get from
anyone in those fields who might accidentally read this.
Don’t bother tearing up my license, I’ll probably do it myself when this is over. Don’t worry about whether I’ll comply with all the rules and regulations. I love those kids too much to do anything else. Don’t think I am just trying to “take” other people’s children because I have become inappropriately attached. I already have 5. My life would be easier without two more.
Some days I have prayed that they would go home—soon. Sometimes I long for the peace and simplicity of life with just “my” family, but we were dragged into foster care with an almost irresistible force. (It had to be God, because I know the depths of my selfishness too well to think any different.)
Don’t bother tearing up my license, I’ll probably do it myself when this is over. Don’t worry about whether I’ll comply with all the rules and regulations. I love those kids too much to do anything else. Don’t think I am just trying to “take” other people’s children because I have become inappropriately attached. I already have 5. My life would be easier without two more.
Some days I have prayed that they would go home—soon. Sometimes I long for the peace and simplicity of life with just “my” family, but we were dragged into foster care with an almost irresistible force. (It had to be God, because I know the depths of my selfishness too well to think any different.)
I also know that if I
really, truly believed these little ones
would have love, peace, and safety in their birth family, then I would want
them there. But I am unfortunately
hampered by evidence, reason, and common sense.
Pity all the babies who are suffering at the hands of well
meaning adults and deadbeat parents. May
the rest of us know how to be faithful in this place for their sake.
