The Emotions and Impressions of a Foster Mother

I'm the lady the children come to when they are removed from their homes. I open my door all hours of the day and night. I see their scared faces; I hold them while they cry. I assure them that mommy still loves them and misses them, and that we will see her later on next week.

I attend all the court hearings and meetings I am allowed to attend, because I know the busy workers don't always have time to tell me what's going on. Attending these meetings allows me to be informed, and it also lets me get to know the parents of the child I am caring for.

I have watched as parents use these meetings to fight, scream, and shout down anyone who wants to talk to them. I understand what has happened is a terrible thing. I grieve as I watch the parent's waste precious time trying to convince the social workers that everyone else is the bad guy, even though their own drug test came back dirty. Even though they abandoned the child on their watch. Even though their beautiful baby was born addicted. Even though their boyfriend is a child molester who has been messing with their little girl, and yet they will not leave him. Even though their boyfriend is so violent, the workers fear for the child's life if they return the child to that home.
I watch as other parents can only hang their heads and cry.

I watch as some parents work desperately at their plan, and although it breaks my heart to see the child leave, I'm glad I helped in some way to reunify that family.

I watch the tears when the social workers tell parents, after six months of no progress, that they are changing the goal from reunification to unrelated adoption. It also breaks my heart.

Even though I did not take the child away, or have had any part in that aspect, even though I am just the lady hired to care for the child who needs a home during this terrible time, I have watched the parents turn on me. I have been accused of sexual abuse in court because a child has a diaper rash. I have been investigated myself because a two year old child with a sensory disorder had a bruise and the parent threw a fit. I have been shouted at, I have been the reason a child has been fussed at because they called me mommy.

Then I have gone home and taken a small face in my hands and kissed it, a face that may be the exact though younger version of the person who has just verbally abused me, and promised myself that my hurt and anger at her parent will not carry over onto her.

I have also been loved and praised by families who realize that I am doing my very best to help them get their child through this terrible time with their mental health as intact as we can make it. That I am not out to 'steal' their child. That it is a very good thing that I love the child, and that they have managed to learn to love me.

I am a foster/adoptive mother. I am here to help, not destroy, your family. Let's work together.