FOSTER PARENTING BOOK: November 2006

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THIS IS AN ESSAY I WON A FEW AWARDS FOR

They come into my home frail and broken. They are afraid of every quick movement and flinch when I reach to brush their brow. The tears well up in my eyes and I have to blink them away. Some are going through withdrawals from their mothers addictions. They cry all night they cry all day. I rock them and hold then and sing to them quietly, praying their pain will go away. When they quiet down I wipe their tears away only to feel my own have started to fall down my face. Somehow I make it through these hard times and after these first trials, I notice that when I look in their eyes someone is looking back at me. I teach them touch is good and closeness is nice. It's OK to love and be loved back. I try to keep them well, and nurse them when they're sick.I clean their messes, wipe their faces and pick them up when they fall. I watch them learn to crawl, then walk, and learn to call me mommy.I tuck them into bed and pray for the best in their lives. I have been on a fast-moving emotional roller-coaster ride up one hill and down two valleys. Just when I think it's time to end the ride, they add more tracks, then comes the bumpy finish. Hang on for the finale! I pack up their things, never to forget their favorite toy. I make sure I have every last shirt and sock. The tears seem to sneak up on me when they're wanted the least. I brush then away hoping nobody sees. That final hour is coming up fast and I know the best thing for everyone is for me to hold back my tears. The worker shows up and I think my life is ending. I kiss them good-bye, praying God's will be done. My arms are handing them over,, my heart is sucking them back. They drive away and I let my tears fall. I think I will drowned in my own tears. A day or so later I dry my eyes and notice a hole has been burned through my heart. I still use too many noodles and set too many places at the dinner table. I look behind me to finish my count, only to be reminded there's one less of us now. Why do I do this I ask myself, Then I remember what they were like way back then. I think the pain in my heart could never go away. Why do I do this I ask myself again. The phone rings. There's a worker on the other end, "We have another one." ,,,,,,,,,, "Bring him on in."

FOSTER PARENTING BOOK

Friday, November 17, 2006

IF THERE IS NOT TIME TO READ IT ALL,, CHECK OUT THE ESSAY ON THE SIDE PLEASE IT IS SHORT AND YOU WILL BE GLAD YOU DID.

THIS IS AN ESSAY I WON A FEW AWARDS FOR

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