Too attached

I am no foster care "pro."  Heck, we were barely in the system before being able to adopt and fulfill our family size limit placed on us by the Iowa Department of Human Services' requirements.

{We had few placements before our baby G came to us, and then her biological brother, P.  

And maybe someday when our littles are not "littles" anymore, we might dive back into the foster care world.}

But we've heard (Gosh, sometimes we STILL hear) the question, "How can you foster, knowing what they've been through, and let them go back to their parents?  Dont you get too attached?" 

Or a person, while just contemplating foster care with me, saying, "I can't do it.  I would get too attached."

RIGHT.  

Thats the point.

I never expected that my heart wouldn't become broken when we got our foster parenting license.  Our hearts break over the things that break the heart of God.  I expected it.

Poverty.  Abuse (in various forms). Neglect.  Drug Use.  

Things we never want our kids to experience.  I am absolutely one hundred percent positive that the children coming through our front doors with black garbage bags of clothes and personal items will have experienced at least ONE of those things, probably several.  

And we slowly put together pieces of a broken child.  And surely, we become attached.  We form bonds.  We love.   And during those bonding experiences, we are keenly aware that this may not last forever, and this child may be leaving us forever.

But thats our job as foster parents.  

Because we could become biological/ adoptive parents to a beautiful little girl, and find out she has cancer at three precious years old.  Would we worry about getting attached through rounds of painful chemotherapy for our precious angel, because we could lose her to her Heavenly Father?

That seems silly, right? 

{I sure hope it does.}

We would grow even more attached than we probably would have if she had been a "normal" child running the halls of a preschool.  Even more so, we would cherish all the little moments, we would make memories now, and not wait years to go to Disneyland.  We would sleep at her bedside, and hope to teach her everything she needs to know about Jesus.  We would hold her hand, and kiss her forehead and never let her doubt the love (and attachment) we have for her. 

So why wouldn't we do the same for any other child that we could hold in our arms for only a short time?  

Why wouldn't we give all the hugs we have time for, all the words of affirmation, all the bible stories we can muster, to a child that may be leaving us to go to another place?  

Surely, our hearts will be broken.  Personally, my heart is broken for foster children BEFORE they are placed into their foster home.  But a child leaving, no matter what the circumstances, is hard.  Undeniably.  

But if you, as the foster parent, made just an ounce of positive difference, in the life of a child, you have succeeded.  I can with certainty say that no current or previous foster parent has ever said, "I wish I hadn't gotten so attached to that child."  We wonder where they've gone.  We google their names or their parents' names.  We Facebook stalk to catch glimpses of them as they grow.  We pray for them.  And we still love them and the memories we created.

Too attached?   I think there is no such thing.  A broken heart?  Yep, sure, for awhile.  But there is something about a heart, that keeps beating, keeps functioning, even after a loss.  And that heart probably has enough to give more to the next child who walks in your door.    

This time of year

Ugh...This time of year.  February and March.
There is no doubt that near the end of February every year, I reflect back on that one day.  That afternoon.  Sitting in a breast care doctor's office.  Wondering why everyone kept apologizing for my wait.  I had hardly been there 10 minutes.  They were acting...suspicious.
But still...I wasn't ready for what I heard in that office, sitting alone.  When I heard the word "cancer", my ears turned off and my mind started reeling.  I dont know much more of what the doctor told me after that.  I somehow, in the midst of his announcement, asked if I could call my husband.  My nurse ushered me into her office, and I struggled to get ahold of Dan on his cell phone, so then proceeded to call all the supervisors numbers that I knew in his office.  When I finally got him on the phone, I couldn't even tell him the word, "cancer".  I just asked if he would please come to the breast care doctors office.
And then he came.
I know I had been crying.  I couldn't help but think that I might die.  I had no idea how long I had had this lump.  Had it traveled to other parts of me?  Where else was in it in my body?  How long did I have??  My kids were young.  One and two years old.  Would I see them grow up? None of these words came out my mouth.
I was numb.  Shock.  I guess thats what you would call it.

Dan walked into the nurses office, looked at me and asked, "What is wrong, honey?"  I then started to break down, and knew words weren't going to come.  I choked out to the nurse, "Please, you tell him."
She proceeded to tell him what the lab results had confirmed.  Explained to him our next steps.  Made an appointment for an MRI that week, a surgery within three weeks.

Thats where we were on FEBRUARY 28th 2011.

Four years ago.

And March 24th, I was being wheeled away from my family in a hospital in Des Moines, about to enter into a 7 hour surgery to have a double mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.
March 27th 2011, I was home and three days later I turned 28.  With drainage tubes, scars and pain killers.  But also with a beautiful one and two year old.  Whom I couldn't pick up.  Whom I couldn't hold.  Whom I couldn't rock to sleep or lift into bed.  With a husband who had to look at this new body, and realize this was the future.  This was forever the woman whom he would love, even minus parts of her that he, also, had loved.
It was a sad time.  Not that I always felt sad.  I really didnt at the time.  The pain killers and numbness really were in control of my emotions.

Fast forward.

Two years later, April 11, in a hospital in Mason City, was born a beautiful black haired, brown eyed baby girl... while I sat at a kindergarten informational meeting at SouthEast elementary.
I knew my life was changing on that day- my oldest was going to become a kindergartener.  Thats serious stuff, guys.
But I didnt know that my youngest daughter was being born.
Four days later, she was carried into our home, so tiny in her carseat, and my heart stopped.
On February 28th, of the next year, we were sitting around the table with an adoption worker, finalizing the details to adopt our little G.  And then the worker slipped out some information, immediately knowing that he had made a mistake.  G's mom was pregnant again.

February 28th, 2014, we first heard the news of our coming son.  {Three years after receiving other life altering news. }

This year on April 1st, we will celebrate one year of G being an official Aguilera. One year ago, we finally got to share our love for this little girl with the world.
Two days after her first Gotcha Day, we will be back in the courtroom.  This time, adopting her little brother.
How GOOD is this time of year?!
Yep.  Four years ago, this time of year was full of pain, fear and some suffering.

BUT...
Now and forever more, it is a time of celebration.

AMEN to that!

 

A blog from 2010

I recently went back to a blog, mostly a private journal for myself that I started in 2009.
And I found this entry dated 2/23/10
"ADOPTION
This is the beginning of probably many posts in our family's quest to adopt one or two more children to add to our family. We know that this is going to be a long process, so we are taking it slow, and just starting to talk about it.
I have wanted to adopt since I was probably 16 and had learned of the extreme poverty and large numbers of orphans in Africa. It always makes my "heart swell" (one of my famous sayings) when I see what I believe is an adoptive family.  Reading and reading about poverty (primarily in Ethiopia, Nicaragua, and now Haiti) I am broken hearted. There is so much that I wish that I could do, but know that I alone can not do. 
I have committed my heart to be a mother and a wife. But never has this committment been to my own biological children alone. I have so much love to give and have always wanted to adopt, primarily internationally. 
Finding a partner that would choose to do this with me, and see the need to give children love and security regardless of their heritage, is a blessing.
Dan and I have agreed that we will adopt and start the process when we have a new, larger home. Once that home is found, we will start the paperwork and proceed with a home study. 
I am excited."

I smile at the changes that have occurred since that post.  I am happy God put it in our hearts to adopt.  I am humored by what we thought that process would look like, when God clearly had other plans.
Now in 2015, we have four children, two of whom came to us in the last two years via adoption.
I can say with 100% certainty that our family is done adding children biologically.  But I can not say for sure that our family is finished and that we won't adopt again.
I no longer feel this unsatisfied need for another child.  I don't long to add to my crew to fulfill some feeling inside of me.  But I am very aware that there is a need and a desire for thousands of children in America, a desire to be part of a family.
So I am working on my role in that.  Im trying to be obedient to God, and give where I can give.