It doesn’t rain in our household it pours!
We go through what I term as ‘quiet’ times, certainly not quiet to the regular family but a lull in our activity levels. When the drought breaks it really breaks.
This week would be for some, completely exhausting. The revolving door ramped up once more and moved a precious soul on from our care to another. Amidst worry for his future and tingling of attachment for twelve week old ‘Tiny’ I tried to be excited for his move and hopeful for a happy life. Such emotions that are best guarded against on short term stays but we are human and not meant to have brick walls around our hearts.
The scenario unfolds whereby our second guest six year old Ben10 is requested to stay a little bit longer. Sadly it’s not easy to ‘place’ a six year old boy. Even sadder, it’s easier to place a puppy!
This week was our scheduled and very much counted down visit with ‘My Boy’. We counted down the days, took the regulatory deep calming breaths and soaked up every precious moment of the allowed two hours that we’ve been afforded four times a year! An insult but one that we dare not turn our backs on for fear of losing him completely. Welfare still has a powerful grip that is manipulative and extremely cruel but when it comes to children it’s a game best played well.
To top it all off, on the day that ‘Tiny’ moved on a plain brown envelope was delivered via the usual method of snail mail. Upon opening it there was a printed, laminated certificate of the government variety. No fan fair, no balloons or bottle of wine, not even a voucher for a massage. We don’t ask for much, we give much and we are often made to feel selfish if we express wishes we had more. These moments I allow a twinge of a smile, even a slight chuckle as I whisper the deep truth of what is at the heart of every foster carer who reaches 15 years. Our only motivation…
FIFTEEN years of service to our country in caring for displaced children in the care of the government. 15 years of FOSTER CARE.
At a loose count over 65 children have gone through our revolving door. Five never left. I can put the count at a firm 4 cases that have ended in a negative manner, that’s still 4 to many, that break my heart with memories and wishes that things had turned out better and prayers and hopes that happier memories covered the negative ones for them. Sometimes because of many different reasons a child does not suit a particular family style.
A certificate in the post and so I say, LET’S CELEBRATE! So Mr Bumpy and I will go out Saturday evening and have some ‘us’ time and a glass of wine in memory of all that has gone, all that is, and all that may come.