Oasis

Post from Brian...

Thursday afternoon, we knew there was a chance that we could receive a little lady into our home. CPS was going to call later that evening, so I knew we had some time to clean and grab some child-appropriate groceries (i.e.- food we probably should be eating every day but have to now that a child is watching everything). I was at Wal-Mart, and I probably appeared to be a maniac on a timed shopping spree of fruits, vegetables, and Lunchables (don't judge).

After checking out, I drove by the front of our house on the way to our alley garage and saw two plain-looking vehicles parked in front of our house. I realized that it was actually happening and that they were probably already at the house. My heart rate jumped a bit as I made my way down the alley. I was  thrilled at the thought of being able to help a girl, loved that my wife would be able to pour her heart into a four-footer, and was hopeful that everything would work out in the long run (whether that ended up being reunification, which is always the goal, or adoption). I jumped out of my Xterra, grabbed the groceries (in one handful...because I am a MAN!), walked up to the door--and froze.

With my faded guitar-shaped house key in hand, half an inch from the keyhole, I froze. And I stood there. In the last eight months of this journey, we have prepared for this moment (and have been documenting everything on this blog). I have spent all my energy thinking about how to be a great foster parent or how to help a child...but I had never thought about what I'm supposed to say to this little girl the first time I see her. The one that spent the night with her parents last night. The one that was pulled away from her family, taking only the clothes on her back. The one that spent 10 hours being interviewed by the police and CPS and the foster agency, and the one that was shuffled between three different counties between breakfast and dinner. Do I smile? Wait, no. That would make her think I'm glad she was ripped from the vice grip of her mother or father before the police could separate them. Do I show her that I'm sorry? No, she feels sad enough for the both of us. 

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Over the last four days, we have done a lot to acclimate our Little Lady to our home. It's not her permanent home (that we know of), and she doesn't yet understand the gravity of what being in foster care means. In these last few days, I have constantly been assaulted by a barrage of emotions that span a cycle of accomplishment, inadequacy, compassion, frustration, patience, and joy...sometimes within a five-minute period. But most of all, I feel heartache. And it's exhausting to feel heartache all day long. My heart aches knowing that she isn't yet aware of how serious everything around her has recently become. My heart aches that she didn't realize that there was a different way for a family to live. My heart aches knowing that she's away from her family. But most of all, my heart aches knowing that I don't know what is yet to come. Will they prioritize other things over their beautiful daughter?  Will her family get better because they love her and so she can go home? I hope so. But if I'm being really honest, maybe I sometimes hope they won't. All day (for every day we have had her), I see half-second glimpses--flashes of her turning back to look at me when she's in her 20s and I have grey hair. I see flashes of her getting into her first car, I see her at her wedding giving me a bear hug and telling me that she loves me. But then, the mini-video stops abruptly--because I shut it off.  By choice, I stop every thought where my family has a future with Little Lady.  Then, I spend the next ten seconds blotting out that future vision like you do when those terrible, heartbreaking memories from your earlier days resurface in a moment of insecurity. I know that if I don't interrupt those beautiful, magical moments in my mind right now, they will blossom into hope, and I will never forgive myself when we have to give her up a month from now. Or a year from now. Or...a day from now. I can't bear the thought of allowing myself to have a future with our Little Lady if it won't happen or might not happen. 

I also realize that just as I am aborting those fantasies of our perfect life with each other 10 years from now, so is she. She could be thinking about what life might be like in our home 10 years from now, and it's possible that she either feels so guilty for imagining it, or she feels so afraid it won't happen that she shuts it out of her mind. Maybe she doesn't open up because she's afraid of what could happen if she opens up...perhaps she can't bear the thought of allowing herself to have a future with our family if it won't happen or might not happen.

I wish there wasn't a need for foster care. This fostering thing is hard. It probably won't get easier, and I'm not sure it would be a good thing if it DID get easier for us. 

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When I opened that door, I smiled, and she smiled back. It turns out that there's always room for a friendly smile, and even when our hearts are filled with heavy grief, the heart recognizes the need for an oasis. That's what we will be for our little lady--an oasis. Whether she is passing through our oasis to continue her long journey through the vast desert, or she stays: I will be here to help.