We’re wrapping up our first summer as a foster family, and our permanent placement (a 7-month-old baby boy) has been experiencing the daily outpourings of love, adventure, rest, and boredom inherent in the typical Snyder summer rhythm. As we reflect on these past months, I wanted to start with a few numbers that illustrate just how deeply this journey has shaped us.
Our Fostering Journey Statistics
- Number of placements: 3 (2 respite placements and 1 permanent placement)
- Number of ER visits navigating the intersection of Medicaid and assigned aliases: 2
- Cross-country flights with a foster placement (and the associated nerves of traveling with a non-related child): 3
- Licensure and post-placement home visits: 7
- Number of placement requests (calls, texts, emails): too many – and corresponding agencies requesting placement of children/teens: approximately 5
- Months it took to become a licensed foster family: 4-ish
- Number of months we have been a licensed foster family able to accept placements: 9-ish
- Number of times we have second-guessed our decisions as foster parents: innumerable
- Number of blessings we’ve experienced because of the decision to open our home to children in crisis: infinite
The numbers represent a dichotomous reality. Our ability to help and support is vastly disproportionate to the need for supportive care in Southwest Florida. But, we wanted to open our home and use our resources to honor God and support people experiencing hurt and trauma. And, if we can do that in even one case, I would call our journey successful.
Questions and Comments Received
I continue to hear the comment almost daily: “Wow! You started over at the beginning.” Yes, we took in a baby. Yes, I understand the comment – “He is blessed (lucky) to be with your family.” We still consider ourselves the blessed ones: to experience his growth and development; to figure out what makes him laugh; to understand his favorite foods and his various cries; even to wake up with him in the middle of the night. We recognize that as he grows up, he may need to mourn the trauma he has experienced. He may need to mourn the fact that he is still with us instead of his bio family. We want to understand how his brain processes all the information about his unique story – as well as the comments he’s sure to receive.
A friend asked me a couple months ago: “Are you happy now (that you have this permanent placement)?” The person knew my desire for more children and our years of infertility. I didn’t know how to respond, exactly, because I hadn’t really considered her question. Does my happiness and joy in this new life cure the pain of years of infertility? Because it’s true: I’m over the moon to be stepping in and raising this thriving baby boy. But it doesn’t take away the hurt of infertility, exactly. Some part of me will always feel the pain of bearing fewer children than I thought I would. The years of being able to give birth are over for me, theoretically. It’s okay that I mourn that reality, even with a 7-month-old little man giving me impossibly big, toothless smiles. Overwhelming gratitude and loss can co-exist.
It’s difficult to understand and respond to comments like: “It’s great that he didn’t experience the neglect or abuse that older children in care have experienced.” I understand the heart behind comments like that. But, I can’t see his situation in those terms; I don’t want to be too hard on anyone, but comments like the above diminish and discount the pain experienced by adoptive and foster children. Everyone who walks this earth experiences pain, heartache, and trauma – it’s part of being a human. By now, we collectively know and understand the danger of comparing financial success, material possessions, personal blessings/situations, etc. with others. There is danger, too, in comparing trauma and pain when children can’t be with their biological families for various reasons. When I look at our baby, and I count the number of days I’ve spent with him (205, to be exact), I feel privileged, honored, blessed. I don’t see myself or our family as preventing trauma, just stepping in and saying “yes” when asked.
The Truth
A friend asked us: “What will you tell him?” Meaning: what parts of his story will we tell him and when? I answered, simply: “The truth.” We never want to lie or shy away from the difficult parts. We want to share his story in a way that he can understand and is appropriate to his developmental level. We will likely have to share it again and again, and his reactions to the story may change with time. But I don’t know how much yet and when.
We thank God for our permanent placement. Every new day with my sweet family is a gift – one that wasn’t promised to me and one that I want to do my best to cherish. New challenges and joys abound, and I’m so thankful for this journey, and for the chance to share it with each of you.
Read the other installments in Anna’s fostering journey here.