[I was recently thrilled to find this time capsule on my computer. I wrote this on March 10, 2011 - my first full night as a foster parent. M & J had been placed in my home shortly before midnight on March 9th.... and although M has moved on to live with another foster family, J is still with me 20 months later.... ]
I crept out of the bedroom, wiping tears from my eyes. I
turned around to face the puzzle pieces, chicken nugget boxes, and random
blankets that were strewn all over my floor. Even though 4 year old M had actually persisted in picking up most of
the wreckage, a lot still remained. Why had I not noticed that? Oh, wait. Maybe
because it was 9:51, and I had envisioned an 8pm bedtime. I grabbed a bite of
my now cold chicken wrap, realizing I hadn’t eaten in almost 10 hours and
realizing also that this was probably one of many cold dinners ahead of me. I headed
straight for the computer. I’m going to want to remember this first night, I
thought.
It started less than 24 hours ago.
I laughed silently as I realized the earth hadn’t even
completed a single rotation in the time since I had met these boys. Could it
really be less than a day? This time last night, the children were probably
already asleep at home with their mom, blissfully unaware that they would be
rudely awakened in the middle of the night and stolen from their warm beds by well-meaning
social workers and police officers while their mommy cried helplessly. They
would say tearful goodbyes to her, clinging to her and her to them, until
unemotional strangers wrenched them away. The 8 siblings were separated into different
cars to be driven to separate counties in the midnight rain and dropped off at unfamiliar
doorsteps where anxious foster parents waited in their pajamas. I wonder if it occurred (at least to the older
children) that they would never return “home” again, never again live under the
same roof with their brothers and sisters, nor never again be tucked into bed
by the woman who had always been Mommy.
[That first day was a
rollercoaster, to say the least. Someday, when I have more energy, I hope to
commit the memory to writing before I forget it. But for now, I just want to
capture The First Goodnight.]
I placed 18 month old J down in his pack-n-play. M was
standing on his tiptoes, shining the nightlight into the crib. I quietly
ushered him away, pulled down the covers, and put him into bed. I hugged him
goodnight and kissed his forehead. I stood up and he silently opened his arms
wide to me, so I bent down again and gave him a real hug. The kind of hug I imagine
I would give my son. The kind of full frontal hug where my torso is nearly
smothering his small body. I kissed his cheek, and he whispered pleadingly,
“Will you lay with me?” As this was entirely impossible given the dimensions of
a toddler bed, I sat down on the floor and rested my head by his feet and
looked up at him. “For a little while.” He continued to play with the
nightlight, but he nonchalantly moved his hand near mine. I touched his fingers
and they gripped my hand, while M continued to talk to himself (making up a
song?). There in the darkness, like the Grinch in his happy ending, I felt my
heart grew two sizes. The hot tears dripped down my face, and I was thankful little
M could not see them in the darkness. I imagined how scary it would be to be
placed in a stranger’s home. … and he was showing me he trusted me. And that is how Day 1 ended: with my hot
tears, 2 sleepy yet safe boys, blue stars and a moon bouncing on the walls
around us, and a million questions mounting in my heart.
