A lockbox inside a lockbox

CPR training is every bit as exciting as it looks.

It's always been my policy at work not to let anyone know all I'm capable of, lest they expect me to do it. As I am now, weeks or even days from being licensed to foster parent, I worry about the things I know how to do. I know how to administer psychotropic medications. I know how to restrain a kid who is trying to injure me without causing harm to him/her. How to stop him from choking me, biting me, kicking me, grabbing me. How to perform CPR. How to properly discipline a traumatized child, one who may be acting out as a result of any number of tragedies. How to keep a Life Book so the child has a continuing sense of place, understanding of self. I know how to protect him, care for him, and properly provide for him. I'm just afraid I may have to do it.

Over the past two months, Shawn and I have been working with our new agency to become a licensed foster home. Outside of the mountains of paperwork we've completed and 20 hours of training, we can prove to anyone that our cars are inspected and insured, that we've paid all our taxes. We can show you our three-year certified driving history, our diplomas, the fire escape route for our home. We've documented where we'll be if there's a disaster, we've wall-mounted a fire extinguisher, we've re-vaccinated all the cats. I'm in the process of background-checking my parents and sisters. The health inspector and fire inspector have signed off. Essentially, it's all over but the lockboxes.

MINIMUM STANDARDS FOR CHILD-PLACING AGENCIES
Subchapter J, Foster Care Services: Medical and Dental
Division 4, Medication Storage and Destruction
§749.1521. (4) Store medication covered by Schedule II of the Texas Controlled Substances Act under double lock in a separate container.

The only thing left between us and a foster license is a series of locks. Locked up tools, locked up cleaning supplies, and in the case of certain medications, a locked box inside another locked box. As I think about my errands for the weekend, it just barely strikes me as odd that I have to find a way to keep Schedule II medications under double lock as required by law. It no longer occurs to me that it's strange that I even know what I'm talking about (I know most people don't). What I know is if I don't have a lockbox inside a lockbox by Tuesday morning, we won't get our license. Tuesday is the first of two visits by our caseworker that will finalize the process, part interview and part home inspection. After that we will begin to receive broadcasts for available children again, this time for legal-risk foster placement in our home with the intention to adopt once the child or children are legally free.

I'm excited that Shawn and I have worked hard and have nearly survived another trial on our unique path to parenthood. And I'll have all those locks in place on time. What I'm more concerned about is what we are unlocking. This license is the key to opening ourselves up again, to more children with the potential to become ours. Opening up our home to the fishbowl that is foster care and the visits from CPS and agency caseworkers and child advocates. Opening our minds to the idea of documenting every doctor visit, every pill taken, every t-shirt purchased, every altercation, every breath it seems, that this child or children will take in our care. Opening our hearts and our arms to troubled kids who will not be ready to love us back. To be honest, it's my telltale heart I wish I could put inside of two locked boxes sometimes. But it's a bit late for that. Because soon, everybody is going to know what I can do.

Standing on the precipice

There are approximately 30,000 children in foster care
in the state of Texas alone.

What comes to mind when you hear "foster home?" Is the connotation positive? Most likely it is not. Foster homes and foster parents are just one piece in an impossible puzzle of state caseworkers, therapists, doctors, birth families, extended families, judges, and abused children in limbo. One hopes that when the pieces come together, the child is in a safe, nurturing, forever home. But the picture doesn't always come out that way.

The term "foster home" isn't positive for me, either. From terrible news stories to my own students, I've just never gotten a good impression of this necessary but imperfect aspect of the child protection system. Which is why I approached with such trepidation our meeting last Friday with a new adoption agency - the first step in our effort to become just that - a foster family.

¹fos·ter  adj   \ˈfȯs-tər, ˈfäs-\

: affording, receiving, or sharing nurture or parental care
though not related by blood or legal ties

At our current straight-adoption agency, we have support group meetings every two months. At the most recent gathering, I had the chance to ask an actual CPS caseworker where the children are. I asked her why we are seeing so few broadcasts and even then mostly for large sibling groups or children with severe needs. She said the rest are being adopted directly by their foster parents, a truth I had come to realize but was thankful to have confirmed by someone working directly in the field. Therefore those kids are never made available to straight-adoption families.

Since that meeting, Shawn and I were turned down on our submission for Destiny and her brother. We were sent another broadcast for a sibling group of four kids, which we declined. Around the same time, with the help of some good friends who made an introduction, I spoke at length with a foster/adoption expert about her experiences fostering 23 children and adopting six. Her comments on the place in line of straight-adopt (from foster) parents are that we are at "the bottom of the totem pole" and, more succinctly, "screwed."

Armed with this new information, we met a week later with a new agency that places children in dual-licensed foster/adoptive homes (our current agency handles straight-adopt only). We learned about the process - more paperwork, more training - that we'd have to go through to get foster licensed in addition to our already approved adoptive home study. It seems likely we'd be finished with that process in October and ready to receive a foster placement.

2 types of foster homes were described to us by the new agency. One type, “legal risk,” is where the state is 90-95% sure that they have exhausted birth family and extended family placement options and that the child or sibling group is headed for termination of parental rights and adoption. The second type, an “emergency placement” foster home, is one where the state has in some cases almost no information about the child/children, but needs a foster home in which to place them, sometimes straight from the police squad car that removed them from the abusive birth home. In those cases the state will have at least a year to decide where the child ends up.

What’s troubling me is that the new agency has said that the wait and competition we could face as a “legal risk” foster home could be nearly the same and just as fruitless as our straight-adopt experience. This really surprised me, as I’d assumed the risk we would take on as any kind of foster home would pay off in the closer proximity to available (or nearly available) children for adoption, the ones we were told were all being adopted by foster parents before they ever get to straight-adopt. The new agency, however, is in the process of adding “emergency placement” families to their caseload, because of the fact that potential adoptive parents are having less success as “legal risk" foster homes. For my husband and I, the idea of becoming an “emergency placement” home (when our goal is adoption) is still much too terrifying to consider. Watching kids come and go with no assurance they’ll be part of our future is not what we wanted, and the truth is I guess we’re not desperate enough to try that. Yet.

Today I'm going to let the new agency know that we're transferring our case over to them for dual licensing. We've been wrestling with this decision for about a week and a half since that initial meeting, and I'm still so nervous to relinquish this much control that I can hardly write the email. I've never been bungee jumping, but as we stand on the edge of the abyss that is the foster care system, I hope and pray that there is something or someone there to catch us as we fall. And that we don't end up on the news.

The times, they are a-changin'

Like sands through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives

An e-mail exchange this week between our agency caseworker and me:

From: Whitney
Sent: Monday, June 25, 2012 2:32 PM
To: [Caseworker]
Subject: Re: Destiny and [brother] Adoption Broadcast

Hi [Caseworker]:

Hope all is well with you. It's been three weeks since we submitted for Destiny and [her brother] and I just wanted to check on their status. Have you heard anything?

Also, I wanted to inquire about the number of broadcasts we are receiving. We're only getting one every month or so. Are no kids coming through? It's so much less than expected.

Thanks,
Whitney

On Jun 25, 2012, at 2:53 PM, [Caseworker] wrote:

Hi Whitney,

In response to your questions, I have heard nothing about Destiny and [her brother].  If we don’t hear anything this week, I will e-mail the case worker.  It is not unusual to go a month or so before hearing on anything after you submit your study.  Right now there are a lot of older kids coming through, teens and some younger kids with some physical and mental health disorders that I know none of our families would like to handle.  For example, we have had broadcasts on some autistic children, kids with feeding tubes, etc.  The other thing I am noticing are a lot of sibling groups for four or more children.  Right now I have four brothers ranging in age from 11 to a 2 year old, Anglo and I believe the 8 year old is probably either learning delayed or has a developmental disorder.  I also have another sibling group that I believe you all got the broadcast on with two boys ages 12 and 10 and two girls ages 8 and 3.  I believe the oldest girl in this group has some serious learning delays and the boys don’t like to share a room because they do not get along.  There are no kids coming through in singles other than teens or some with some serious disorders.  I am sending on to you and our other approved families any kids in which I think you may have an interest.  We are in the process right now of placing three brothers in [another family's] home who are 12, 11 and 8.  Another family is getting a sibling group of 5 children this summer and another family is getting a group of three, two of whom are teens.  The competition for single children under age 10 is fierce.  When you look at the numbers of these children available in Texas for adoption, there aren’t that many.  Also many of the children coming through are Hispanic and the CPS workers really prefer to place them with Hispanic families if possible.  So all I can advise is that you hang in there and eventually we will find your kid or kids.

Regards,
[Caseworker]

From: Whitney
Sent: Monday, June 25, 2012 4:06 PM
To: [Caseworker]
Cc: Shawn
Subject: Re: Destiny and [brother] Adoption Broadcast

Thank you for the update. I do not think that it was made clear to us from the beginning how few children would be available within reasonable parameters. In orientation, families are told that children under age six, especially younger, would not be available through the state, but that is really the only restriction put forth. It seems like what you are saying is that groups of three or less children of any age combination below teenagers are not usually available, and that we will not be considered to parent Hispanic children (though we would very nearly prefer to), which is a majority of the population.

Groups of four and five children with or only children with severe problems were definitely not presented as the norm for the program. Those are the difficult to place children, the ones who end up on the news or the websites; in long-term foster or a group home. It would not be feasible or healthy for Shawn and I to parent those children. What I'm confused about is the rest of the children. Are they being adopted through foster? Or do they not exist? Please help me understand as I am really at this point shocked at how this has turned out so far.

Thank you again,
Whitney

On Jun 25, 2012, at 4:25 PM, [Caseworker] wrote:

Whitney,

I can understand your confusion regarding the “pool” of eligible children available for adoption.  It seems to have changed every year since I have been with [the agency].  I cannot guarantee that it will stay as it is now.  A year ago, we were not seeing all of the large sibling groups like what are coming through this year.  The children who are tough to place, those with chronic disabilities such as autism have and will probably always be there.  You are right that many if not most of those will grow up in foster or institutional care.  I would not advise any of my families to consider adoption of one of these children as it requires a life time commitment to their care, which most families cannot do. I personally think there is a shrinking number of children available for adoption that are suitable for many approved adoptive homes. That is due to changes in the CPS system that looks first to relatives with whom to place children, as well as a reluctance on the part of judges to terminate parental rights until every chance has been given to them to show they can parent safely.  When kids who are basic or moderate level of care come available for adoption (especially Anglo and Hispanic),  Caseworkers have their choice of multiple good homes for any child under 10 years of age.  We have been saying for sometime in orientation meetings that flexibility is key in finding a child or children for your home and that the hardest part of the adoption process is the waiting that families go through before getting a placement.

[Caseworker] 

My husband and I are at odds over the meaning of this exchange. He seems to think it means we just have to wait longer. I feel as if it more likely means what we are waiting for is not coming. I wonder if we shouldn't explore something riskier that might produce results, like foster care. And I wonder at what point the stress and sadness might require us to take our names off the list.

I look back and can remember the joy I felt the day I realized I could adopt. That the obstacles of my health issues and my husband's age could be overcome, that we could still have a child and maybe even provide a home for a suffering, lonely kid in the process. I can remember how I felt when I found out that the international adoption I initially desired costs more than $40,000+ and therefore would not be an option. I remember the year we spent struggling to come up with a plan to fund a $25,000+ domestic infant adoption, following the advice of books like "You CAN Adopt!" in search of non-existent assistance from employer programs and churches and grants. And I remember the day we sat down and spoke again about the pros and cons of older child adoption through the state, which is largely cost-free but can be a minefield since you are dealing with children removed from abusive homes. I remember the day in December that we received the broadcast for Mark, and I stupidly believed he might be our child. What I don't remember is exactly when I lost the hope I had before. I'm not sure when I stopped looking at bunk beds and nearby schools. I just know I did, and I'm not sure what to do about it.

A date with Destiny

Will they choose us this time?

Shawn and I were approved to adopt six months ago. At the time, I envisioned my summer off of work as a teacher as the perfect time to spend preparing for or acclimating to our new family. As it stands, we are not one step closer to that reality than we were in early December. This has been a harsh realization. Despite statistics citing thousands of waiting children, despite having survived the dreaded home study, despite nine broadcasts for available kids...we wait.

After my last post it became difficult for me to write again. I was weighing the benefits of shared disappointment. Was it better to keep it light with others and suffer these losses alone, or to face the sadness of others in order to experience their support? I could not decide. So I did not write when we lost out on Jonathan, the red-head. I did not tell my family. It was as if telling everyone made it final. It served only to remind me that we were again waiting for no one. For Godot.

My pride wounded and enthusiasm stunted, I did not receive the next broadcast well. Another group of three, the kids had Easter clothes and country names. They were adorable. A boy and 2 girls, 6, 5 and 3 years. Their broadcast came through two weeks after we were turned down for Jonathan. I sent it to Shawn, who was ready to submit for them. But I couldn't do it.

All I could see in the broadcast for these three was the coming rejection. Another email, a month from now, with their names in the subject line and something similar to the text we'd just received:

I just heard from the case worker for Jonathan and she has chosen three other families to be considered for Jonathan. We will keep looking.

So I waited. And I waited too long. There was a deadline on the broadcast that gave me about a week to think on it, and think on it is what I did. A lot. Finally, I submitted us for the three. What came back was another shock. The caseworker had received so many home studies so quickly that she had cut off submissions the day after she sent out her broadcast. Meaning she gave only one day to submit instead of the posted week. We missed out, though I'm not sure on what. On those kids? Or on another rejection? Regardless, I apologized to my husband for my reluctance and the unsuspected outcome.

Ten days later came a broadcast for a group of four. 2 boys, 2 girls, aged 12, 10, 8 and 3. Pictured with Santa. This was way too much for us to handle. I didn't even write back.

Meanwhile, parents are busy with their summer plans. Camp, swimming lessons, vacations and staycations. Every third Facebook post is somebody's kid doing something precious. My best friend in the whole world is pregnant and due in October. They know when their child will arrive. Those who know me well are aware of the family from my school I've been mentoring for over a year. Immigrant mom, five kids, lots of issues. While I love them and care deeply for them (and they for me), there are constant reminders that they aren't mine, and I can see what a difference it makes. When a child is sick, he only crawls in bed with Mom.

Which brings us back to Destiny. I had to laugh at the subtext when the broadcast came through. See, Destiny is a 7 year old girl. Her brother is 4. They are biracial, a first among the children we've considered so far. Destiny has been beaten. She has been abandoned by her mother. She lives in a fantasy world she has created to numb her pain. Her brother knows her as the only mother he's ever had. No pictures were sent of Destiny. I do not know what Destiny looks like. I do not know what will happen to her, whether she will be ours. We submitted for her and her brother on June 5. So again we wait. This time, for an email from Destiny.

A red-headed dream child

Red hair occurs on approximately 1–2% of the human population.

"Look at that beautiful hair!"

Throughout my childhood, strangers would stop my mother to comment on her children's gorgeous hair. Problem was, it wasn't mine they were interested in. It was my two red-headed sisters they were so taken with; Erin, with her straight strawberry-blond locks and Abby, with more auburn-colored waves. I developed something of a love/hate relationship with my sisters' ginger status, appreciating their unique beauty while simultaneously concerned that my own genes might one day produce a similar aberration of nature (afraid I'd have to hear about that dang red hair my entire life).

Clearly I was envious, as I love them both dearly and adore their truly lovely coloring. Which is why it felt so serendipitous that Shawn and I received a broadcast for J., a 9-year-old boy (an only child this time) with bright red hair.

J. is being placed out of a DFW area CPS office. Information on him was lighter than in some other cases, so we're not aware of the back story at this time. The one photo shows a handsome boy in a striped polo leaned up against the trunk of tree, posed, perhaps by a professional photographer. His pale white skin reminds me of my sisters who always required t-shirts over swimsuits at the beach or pool. In my mind I'm purchasing his high-SPF sunscreen and repeating the mantra we tried so hard to teach Abby..."reapply!"

We were turned down last week for the three boys described in my last post. Once again, the e-mail came like a punch in the stomach as I taught my fourth period class on Wednesday. Surrounded by middle school children who can't begin to understand how I feel, I wanted to run out of the room, fall on the floor, cry, something/anything to express my feelings but I could not. So again I just took the hit and kept on going. I wish I could say it gets easier. Currently J. is our only child to hope for.

"J. is a very sweet, loving, and calm little boy. He is a little shy when he first meets new people. He is likable, funny, and easily engages in conversation. He strives to do his best and does well in school. He is very inquisitive and is interested in the world around him. J. enjoys riding his bike and skateboard, playing cards, playing with action figures, and watching television. He is developmentally on target for his age and likes dogs and cats."

J.'s caseworker's description of him sounds like perfection. It is, of course, intended to make the child sound amazing. But when all you can do is dream, why not allow yourself to believe it? In fits and starts, my mind wanders on subjects like decor (would he like a space theme, like his father?) and education (give DISD a chance or plan on private school?). It can be so difficult to find this balance between hope and reality.

On the subject of descriptions, I decided after our latest rejection to request from our caseworker at the agency a copy of our home study, just to see what's being sent out on our behalf. As I suspected, she had written an extremely insightful and accurate account of who we are as a couple, as individuals, and potential parents. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to read an 18-page document about themselves? My husband and I both read it and agreed that for what it's worth, what's in there is the truth, so help us. If there's something in it that for some reason counts us out, at least it's something that's a fair representation of who we are and what we have to offer.

On that note, I wonder what kind of a world this would be if everyone had to be subjected to what we endured to create that home study. Imagine, if someone out there had to read YOUR 18-page history and decide whether or not it is time for you to be a parent, whether it ever will be. What would be in your study? Could you handle reading it? Could you handle the lack of control, the rejection?

In The Neverending Story, the young warrior Atreyu must look into a mirror and face his true self. If he cannot, he will die, as many have before him. I'd like to think that if nothing else, through this process we have put it all out there, seen our true selves, and survived. Happily, there's not much to fear about raising another human being after that.

My Three Sons?

It had been over a month since we received our last broadcast for available children. At the end of February we found out that Mark M., the original child for whom we submitted our home study, had run into legal issues regarding his availability for adoption, so that is no longer an option. It's hard to let Mark go; his was the first little face I ever dreamed about calling our own.

In all it was a month and a half of nothing. No broadcasts, no information coming our way. Mid-March Shawn and I took our first trip to Europe, and I resolved to give my mind a rest and just enjoy myself. As luck would have it, while checking email in Italy I saw that we finally got another broadcast, this time for three blue-eyed boys aged 7, 6 and 3. We were very excited to submit for them. The boys have experienced no physical/sexual abuse, instead suffering some relatively brief neglect and malnourishment which can leave fewer scars. On Tuesday it will be two weeks since we submitted for them, which is when the caseworker will check in on the status of their search. I dread another email saying we’re not in the running.
 
Late this week our caseworker sent another, different sibling group of three for our consideration. We were cautiously optimistic to submit our home study for them because the group had 2 toddlers, and we have not had much luck with young kids in previous broadcasts. Also, this group had one girl. I sat at home that night thinking about day care and what I am supposed to feed a two-year-old. When you are deciding whether these might be your children, you cannot help but become invested in the possibility. In fact, I feel it’s more responsible to think it all the way through.
 
The next morning our caseworker sent another email about those three. Someone at CPS had not made clear that they were “legal risk” kids intended only for foster, not for adoption. So almost as quickly as it came, the opportunity was gone.

This is such a roller coaster of a process, and each time a child is yanked off the table it hurts me and I mourn the loss. I wonder how long it will take for us to be chosen to parent children who need a forever family. I wonder how long I can take it until that happens. Discouraged, I reached out to other members of an online forum (people waiting for U.S. foster adoption) for comfort. Here are some of their words:

"Be patient. I’m a year in, with 2 considerations and both we had to decline. Our SW [social worker] said the average wait can be two years. Try not to be in a rush. It’s hard but you want the right match."

"...I keep all my dreams and plans in a notebook and try not to talk about each new listing to my friends…waiting until the time we really move forward with visits."

"Adoptive parents have to be hearty, if not - we would not be here for the real journey that arrives, when children come to live with you! Best Of Luck!!!"

"...it is sad in that you grieve the excitement you would have had building toward your baby if it was a baby you were carrying, but it also made everything easier to just try to be invested in other parts of my life. It has really helped me be in the moment."

"I had one failed match when I was adopting and it tore my heart and soul out. I really believe that, because we are so vulnerable and open during our adoptions, you can develop a bond very quickly with potential children, even sometimes without meeting them. And it is truly as serious emotionally as a late term miscarriage...Sending you lots of loving encouragement to persevere and keep the faith. It is SO worth it."

Patient. Hearty. Vulnerable. Perseverance and faith. It's a tall order; one that makes you wonder what kind of stuff you are made of.

Thank you for your submission

On the phone with my best friend last night, I discussed the dangers of getting attached to these broadcasts for available children. About how impossible it is to look at them and have to make the massive decision that yes, you would be willing for these to be YOUR kids...while at the same time holding back, being unable to daydream or plan because you have no idea if they'll ever be a part of your reality.

When I got to work this morning I had an email from our caseworker saying we were out of the running for the three children I wrote about yesterday. It felt awful to read that, not knowing why we hadn't been seriously considered for these. One can only hope that there was some perfect family for them, with attributes that can best meet their specific needs. This is the first experience we've had with this type of response, and while there are many platitudes that might offer up solace, that has never worked for me.

I can't help but think, why not us? I asked our caseworker, what causes CPS to make such a decision? After only 2 weeks, I felt like we didn't even get a fair chance. I asked for reasons why they might have skipped over us. She said it's possible they wanted parenting experience in order to handle all that these three brought to the table. But we don't get to know. All we get is this:

Our caseworker:

Whitney, Sorry about the attached news. We will keep trying.

CPS caseworker: 

This is to inform you that the Mahan family has not been selected to participate in the selection staffing for [kids' names redacted]. Thank you for your submission. Please let me know if you have any questions or concerns.

Questions or concerns? Yeah, I have a few. A million. But I don't get to ask them, and it doesn't make a difference, anyhow. On the scale of horrible rejections I'd say it still feels worse to have to say no to kids than it does to hear this caseworker say no to us. Still, we have so much to offer if someone would just let us -- love and patience, safety and security, a chance for healing. Free movie tickets. Shawn's spaghetti.

Maybe they were too much for us to handle, and someone more seasoned than us knew it. They say the only thing worse than this rejection, whether from us or from them, is moving forward with a bad match that ends in a failed adoption and more pain and loss for the children. I wouldn't want to be responsible for that, no matter how much we wanted it to work out. After all, Shawn's spaghetti can't fix everything.

Betcha he reads, betcha she sews

So maybe now it's time, And maybe when I wake
They'll be there calling me "Baby"... Maybe.

It is becoming apparent that the easier question for us to answer with regard to this process is not what is happening with the adoption but rather, what are you waiting for now? Because the "happenings" occur in small, furious little jolts and the waiting's the thing from then on.

Two months have passed since we submitted our home study for little Mark M. in the Houston area. It's been a month since they sent us an email that no one had been chosen for him. Since Mark, we have received three more broadcasts for available children for whom we might be suitable. The second was the twins discussed in the last post. Then came the Little Women.

In our adoption application, Shawn and I expressed interest in one child, possibly two. We said we'd like an elementary age child, around 6-10 years, with mild to moderate emotional/developmental needs but no physical/medical special needs. This is what we were comfortable with, what we felt we could handle, what we felt was in the best interest of a child or children who would become ours.

In the system, the more you limit your criteria the harder it is to match you with a child. The CPS caseload is full of large sibling groups, children with severe special needs, teenagers, you name it. And younger children with the more basic level of care we specified come along less often than others and are more coveted by other potential adoptive parents. Which is why, I believe, our social worker at the agency sent us an inquiry for FIVE girls, sisters, aged 1 to 6.

The girls were precious to look at, and difficult to ignore. Again in the Houston area, these girls had three different fathers and a mother that subjected them to sexual and physical abuse as well as - in the case of the youngest three girls - severe neglect. Their records, however, showed much potential as they were so young and had so few placements behind them. Shawn and I stared in disbelief at their files and photos, desperately trying to wrap our minds around the possibility of parenting all. those. girls.

In the end, we couldn't do it. We are not prepared to make the massive life changes that five very young children would require. I don't want to quit my job or put four kids in day care. Two of the girls had been diagnosed with Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD), a very serious, life-long condition in which a baby is so neglected that she fails to learn how to form bonds with other human beings, and often cannot. We thought about these sweet girls for three days and nights before I was finally able to write back to say no.

Incredibly, that same day, we were sent yet another broadcast to review! I saw the email on my phone on the way home from work and could hardly stand the commute to get to the house and read through it all. One thing I did see via iPhone - this one was for three kids. Once again, we're looking at an entire human being more than we had said we were ready to handle. But when presented with these kids, living breathing children, waiting for forever homes...it is much too real to go only by the numbers.

When I got home, I sat down at my computer and prayed. Before opening the email, I said God please just let there be something in this one, even just a feeling that they are for us or we are for them. After the twins and the Little Women, we don't want to have to say no again. As soon as I began to read about these three, I knew Shawn would be in. But would I? I am the detail-oriented one and the worrier; if Shawn is a colander then I am the Brita filter.

The files revealed a ten year old girl, seven year old boy, and three year old boy with soap opera names, big smiles and sad stories. Two different fathers had abused them and their older sister, a fourth child who was placed with her biological father (not abusive) following the termination of the mother's parental rights. Exposed to physical abuse and domestic violence as well as neglect, these kids have endured several failed attempts to be reunited with their family as well as three different foster placements. The report indicated there was possibly a meth lab in their home, and that their mother cared more about the dogs she bred for a living than her children. One of the fathers is in jail and never responded to the paperwork saying his rights would be ended. He remains incarcerated.

On the upside, the kids presented a colorful challenge. Brilliant and bossy, the oldest girl loves her brothers and is already in a gifted program in school. Sensitive and anxious, the middle boy is bright as well but needs love and support to get past his anger. And at three years old, the youngest boy is completely bonkers. He is too emotionally disturbed to function, and is in desperate need of stability. Shawn's favorite line in the report read, "K has also snatched food from strangers' tables at restaurants."

The great news is, they love each other, can form bonds, can excel in school, and have no severe medical or psychological special needs. They have major behavioral issues, which is to be expected. The oldest girl loves movies! And the boys are so adorable - I lost my heart to the seven year old immediately and Shawn has never responded to a child quite like he did to the three year old boy.

So, what are we waiting for now?

We submitted our home study for these three. We said yes, we'll take the chance on them to move forward, so that we might be chosen for them, too. And our name is still in the hat - assuming there is a hat - for Mark M. It's been two weeks since we submitted our names for the three kids, and two months since Mark. This week I emailed our caseworker at the agency just so she'd write back - just so I could see her name in my inbox. In the meantime we can only wait and wonder what's coming our way next.

Careful what you wish for

We've been waiting and hoping, fairly patiently, for news on the adoption front now that the holidays are past us. Hoping to hear something more about Mark M., or to receive a broadcast about another child matching the profile we submitted. This week we got both. 

On Tuesday, a teacher preparation day at work (no students), I sat in my classroom at the computer, gushing over photographs sent from another of the couples in our training class. Our friends Mr. & Mrs. Y were matched with three children before Christmas and met them in Houston last weekend. I wish I could share the photos of the adorable new family. They had pizza, went to Build-a-Bear and the aquarium, hugged and cried and prayed and smiled. Such a rush of joy and envy I felt as I viewed them. A success story in the making, I was so happy for them and so hopeful for us at the same time.

In an unfortunate coincidence of timing, our caseworker emailed me about 30 minutes later about Mark M. She had finally received a communication from the CPS caseworker on his side, whom she'd been emailing about the status of his placement. She asked whether any decision had been made on a home for him. The six words we got in response:

Not yet, will let you know. Thanks.

I think about Mark sometimes, what he's doing, how the waiting must feel for the child. Earlier this month we attended an adoption support group meeting with our agency, part of the state's mandatory continuing education for approved families. From this particular meeting we left more discouraged than supported, as we heard two families share stories of submitting their home studies for children,  being matched (chosen by the children's caseworker to be the parents), and then receiving the massive file history and finding details that made it impossible for them to move forward.

I asked one woman, the wife of a prominent local architect, if I might speak to her a bit more about their inability to adopt the teen girls for whom they'd been chosen. We've been trained to view these files, I said. We know what's in there — the abuse, the neglect, the terrible details — so how is it that you get to that point and you can't accept what's in the file? She relayed to me the girls' story, how their birth father was their pimp and sold them to his friends and on the internet for sex. With pain in her voice she explained how the girls, already teens, would need years of therapy before they could function in any home, having been so tortured by their initial "family." She talked about the guilt you feel when it seems God is leading you to these children and then you must say no, because some situations are just that bad. How could she stand it, I wondered?

We didn't have to wait long to find out.

On Thursday, Shawn and I received a second broadcast about available children, asking whether we wanted to submit our home study to their caseworker. I was so excited to receive the email, and even more so when I saw that there were two children this time — an option we had been open to since there are so many sibling groups in the system. M & K are 9-year-old twins, a boy and a girl, Caucasian, possibly in the metro area. Viewing photos of them at the Dallas World Aquarium made it feel so close, so possible. I emailed and called Shawn and we began pouring over their information.

I read the girl's file first. Dark hair, bright blue eyes just like Shawn's. Left handed, like me. Struggles in school, eager to please, loves her twin brother. The poor child had been physically abused, malnourished and neglected by her birth mother, and was adopted with her brother at age 3 by their aunt and uncle. Now, at age 9, M & K are in foster care with the state due to physical abuse of both of them by their adoptive family, their own biological relatives. The report read:

K has experienced a significant amount of loss in her short life and has a great need for long term stability. 

I wanted to provide this for her. I opened her brother's file, expecting a similar description. As I read, my heart sank. At age 9, the boy is on anti-psychotic medication. He's been institutionalized twice in a psychiatric hospital. He would urinate & defecate in his bedroom, steal from peers, destroy property and hoard food. He's expressed suicidal thoughts, aggressive behavior, and has reportedly set a fire. For those who don't know, a child with a preoccupation with fire is almost as dangerous as it gets. Cruelty to animals is the only behavior that is a worse indicator of psychiatric instability in kids.

So we said no. We had to. And it made us feel like dirt. Because who will help them? Doesn't that boy deserve a home, a chance? And who are we that we won't make that happen for him? The guilt is excruciating. I now understood what the woman in our support group meant, and even though she was further along in the process, a bit of how she must've felt.

In a matter of days, I envisioned us joyful, with our new child or children, eating pizza and buying stuffed bears. And I pictured us destroyed and defeated, having taken on a psychotic boy out of desperation or guilt and living to regret it. Moving forward from this week of disappointment — mixed with the thrill of happiness for our friends who will soon bring their kids home for good — I can't help but guard my heart, and check my email with a bit more trepidation.