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Author Jody K. Gore
Stories of broken
families, hearts and homes abound within the foster care system. I don't
hear of many making front page news. I do see celebrities hit the headlines
when out-of-country adoptions are made by these same individuals.
My story starts with me not able to bear children. I knew I would adopt.
When my husband and I sought adoption agencies, we were shocked by the
amount of American children, especially older, that were and are in both
foster care and the adoption circuit.
My husband and I became foster parents within a program entitled, fost-adopt.
This program held risks. The child/children that would come in our home and
heart, would leave for permanent adoptive families along with the scars of
separation from birth parents.
In addition, these children and families held the biggest challenge for
what the social workers entitled, blow-outs. Blow-outs were when caregivers
could no longer keep a child under their care. Often sad, always devastating
for all involved.
Soon after paperwork was complete and our home was certified, we were
called to meet the social worker that would change our lives. This social
worker worked specifically with fost-adopt families; working the fine line
of the emotional fall-out between birth parents and foster families. Our
social worker, and others like her, climb into sad, painful trenches and
pull shattered children to safety.
We met our daughter in the parking lot of the Best Western Motel. It rained
torrents that day. My husband and I waited in the car for the green van
entitled, Social Services, to appear. When it did, a five-year-old dark
eyed, dark haired child peeked at us through van windows.
I remember my heart pounded and my throat was dry. Yet this child appeared
non-plussed as she eagerly held the hand of hers and now our social worker.
She gave a shy smile to my husband, Guy as we hustled out of the rain to our
room.
This extremely beautiful child, and her brother, were fost-adopt children.
Recently separated from her younger brother, mother, she, by the age of
five, had lived in two foster homes and occasionally with her birth mom.
Birth dad had long since deserted the small family. Drugs, neglect, and
molestation brought to this child survival characteristics she would deal
with the rest of her life. Regardless, she held a vitality for life that was
and still is remarkable.
Our foster home was her last chance. Her next move in the foster system was
group home. She was prone to violent temper tantrums. Add to this a strong
distrust of authority and it was no wonder a psychiatrist had deemed her,
'un-adoptable'. To say she was a challenge was an understatement. My
daughter had the advantage of strong, persist ant social workers that
believed she could succeed within a family setting.
What did we bring to the table as foster parent's of a high-risk
child? Love, tenacity, structure and very open minds to education as to how
to foster what was good and unique in our child.
Within eighteen months, our daughter's birth parents' parental rights were
severed and we received full custody for adoption rights. As we heaved a
sigh of relief, the call most regretted from within foster care circles came
from our social worker. Our daughter's brother had blown-out of his fifth
fost-adopt placement. I cried. Not only for him, but for all involved. At
3:00 a.m. he was delivered to social services emergency care with what he
wore on his back and a paper bag that held shoes two sizes to big. What a
set back.
My daughter, now six and a-half, asked me what was wrong. Why was I crying?
She was not a child of innocence. She knew the terminology of the social
system and she knew she was ours, forever. To buffer any pain I held her and
explained that brother had blown-out of his fost-adopt family. She
contemplated for a moment and then quietly stated, "better him than me." I
knew what she meant.
From there things moved in a blur. Social workers gathered to fight for a
home for brother...our home. Would it be wise to bring in another high-risk
child to our sometimes fragile mix? Bottom line, he was brother. In our eyes
and hearts that made him our son. The rhetoric of unknowns in bringing
brother home continued until my brave husband announced simply, "let us
bring our son, home."
Now, years later, my daughter and son have stable marriages. Each have two
beautiful children. They have ended the cycle of abuse that haunted them and
two generations before them. No body's past or present is perfect, but a
willingness to learn and the guts to love makes a life worth living.
I wrote this as a
tribute to those social workers that are under paid, rarely appreciated, and
still works their butts off for the betterment of American children.
Thank-you!
Jody K. Gore
Make extra easy money
http://www.instantprofitz.com/?ref=jody_gore
Please help
build this information base, share your Fostering experiences.
All stories welcomed.
Please
Click Here
to send your contribution.
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