Rachelle’s child was placed with Heather, a foster parent, five months after birth. Both women have written columns sharing their experience with foster care. Heather’s is below, and you can read Rachelle’s here. To protect their privacy, as well as the child’s, only their first names are used.
I was driving to work one December day when a hot tear snuck down my cheek. I tried to stop the wave of emotions by turning up the music and singing louder, but the sadness crashed down on me. I made it to the parking garage before the wracking sobs blurred my vision. Being a foster parent and losing a child to their own family is a unique type of heartache and sometimes, the grief overwhelms you.
I know time heals all wounds, but when I feel the loss of letting these kids go, the tears always come. And it’s at the most inconvenient times. Instead of sobbing while I pack up the last of their belongings, kiss them goodbye, and wish them good luck at their new old home, I cry randomly. Half an hour between meetings? Let the tears flow. Making dinner? Sob for a few minutes, then set the table.
Fostering is beautiful and tragic. I get to be part of putting families back together while my own heart breaks. I get to love a child and watch them grow every day … until I don’t. Sometimes they leave unexpectedly. Other times, there’s a slow transition that prepares you for the pain. But eventually, you’re not their person anymore. The first few kid-free days are nice, you enjoy sleeping in, wearing clean clothes and going out without worrying about nap schedules. Then you find a pacifier under the couch or a baby sock in the laundry and you break down.
People ask me how I do it over and over again. Isn’t it hard to root for the parents? Of course. But then you have a success story. For me, it was Rachelle. Her child came into my care abruptly. I got a text early in the afternoon and by 5 p.m., a caseworker was standing in my driveway, baby in tow. The next year was full of many milestones for the baby and many challenges for the mom. And while I loved that little kid from the moment we met, they were never mine. Behind the scenes, Rachelle was working hard to get her child back. She was becoming the parent her child deserved and, finally, they were reunified.
Saying goodbye to that kiddo was the reason I barely made it to work safely on that winter day. I was so sad to see them go, but I knew it was the right decision. Rachelle never stopped loving her child, and she never gave up. I am so proud of her. And while it would be easy for her to resent me for the time I had with her baby — time she didn’t get — she doesn’t. That baby is now a sassy little kid. And thanks to Rachelle, I get to attend birthday parties, take them to the park and feel like part of their family. I am immensely grateful. And I am so proud of Rachelle; it’s the ultimate comeback story.
Rachelle and her child are just one of my many positive experiences. I’ve been a foster parent for years, and while it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, it’s also the most rewarding.
You get to meet a scared little person who doesn’t understand where they are or why, and teach them you’re a safe person and your home is a safe place. Then you watch them blossom. And if you’re lucky, you get to see their family blossom, too.
It’s a beautiful thing, seeing a parent turn their life around to become worthy of their child. You become their cheerleader, knowing their success will lead to your heartache. But it’s not about you. All the swirling emotions and court dates and caseworker visits, it’s all for the kids. You know you’ll be sad when they leave, but it doesn’t stop you from loving them and supporting their family — and taking the next call, where you’re invited to love and lose another kiddo.
Heather grew up in Portland, Oregon. She’s a middle child, so you know she’s both well-adjusted and hilarious. After bouncing around from Fiji to New York, she landed in Salt Lake City where she has a house, a dog and too many plants. She loves riding her bike, taking her pup on hikes, playing pickleball and attending concerts.
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