Showing posts with label foster family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label foster family. Show all posts

August 20, 2012

A "Real" Family


“We don’t really consider him to be a part of your family.”  When my daughter heard those words recently, referring to the foster child who has lived with us for 2 ½ years, she wept bitterly.  And why wouldn’t she?  She, herself, had once been a part of the foster care system before she had been, by God’s grace and providence, adopted into our family.1  What message was this respected adult now communicating to her?  “The only reason we consider you a part of a family now is because a judge signed a document and declared you to be.  Before that day, it didn’t really count.  You didn’t really belong.”

My heart aches and I can’t help but cringe when I hear people, even upright, God-fearing people make comments like that.  You know that feeling when someone makes an unexpected remark, and you have the perfect response?  Three days later?  Here’s what I wish I would had the clarity to articulate at the time:  If we aren’t “really” his family, then who is?  The mother who rarely showed up all those months of his infancy that he spent in the hospital, and who hasn’t seen him at all in almost two years?  The grandmother who will only agree to fill that role if she is financially compensated to do so?  It’s not his fault that he was born into a family who were unable to care for him, only to then be stuck in a flawed system that continues to delay making a permanent decision about his future.  He didn’t ask to be raised in these circumstances, with the title of “foster child” perpetually hanging around his neck.  

And if all the things that mothers do for their child – getting up with him when he’s struggling to breathe in the middle of the night; snuggling with a well-loved book after a bubbly bath and a creamy massage; teaching him the proper way to hold a fork and insisting that he eat his peas before getting dessert; training him to pick up his toys at the end of play-time; hearing the little voice declare, “I love you, Mama!” as I’m preparing his favorite snack – if doing those things don’t qualify me to “really” be his mother, then what does?