Three Years

Let me dust off this blog real quick! I can't believe it's been more than a year since the last time I've signed on here. I don't know if it's more because I haven't wanted to re-live the pain of that time, or because my home has been crazy busy for the last several months. I've thought about what I would say here all day long. Please understand my emotions and thoughts are still reeling and I'll be figuring them out as the words flood onto this page.

Three years. That's how long the twin baby dolls have been floating through the crazy foster care system. My family celebrated their third birthday last month. Three years. How can a child not have a  sense of permanency for so long? How can a child hold onto the hope of feeling settled and safe and loved for so long? I have no idea how the girls have survived these first three years of their lives. They've been through so many changes. They've seen so many things their little eyes never should have witnessed. They've endured more trauma than one person could ever imagine. It took three years, and today their lives changed forever.

Let me back up a bit and catch you up to this moment. October 2015 was my rock bottom. That's when I had to say goodbye to the girls and spend the next 270ish days praying for their safety. They were moved into their biological mother's home and I will never know all that they experienced. I know some details, which I'm unable to put into writing, but I cannot imagine the fear and stress that was put on them during that time.

At the beginning of June 2016 I was asked to take placement of another sibling set. I had finally come to a place where I realized I would never see the twins again, and I needed to move on with my life. So I opened my heart to Little Man and Baby Girl. Three weeks later, as I sat in a meeting at work with my co-supervisor and boss, the call that I never expected came: "Anna, can you take the twins back?" Without question, I became foster momma to FOUR babies under the age of three. What?!? And I bought a mini van. What?!? It took almost two months for the girls to move back to Topeka, again for reasons I cannot put in writing, but they finally were safe. Unfortunately, Little Man couldn't handle a house full of women, so he now lives with an amazing family and we still see him every week.

The twins came back to my home in a very sickly state. They had lost the weight we had worked so hard to gain and they were not verbal. I will never forget the moment I saw them. The agency car pulled into my driveway (after I paced my house for an hour waiting for them to get here) and I was at the driver's door before she even had time to put it in park. I was very fearful the girls wouldn't remember me. So I carefully opened one of the doors and ever so quietly and gently said "hi baby" as I held back every tear fighting to flood my eyes. She looked at me. And what felt like minutes of a blank stare passing from her face to mine, she slowly grinned at me and I knew. She remembers. I carried her in the house with her sister just a few steps behind us in the driver's arms. Inside the house, I sat in the middle of the living room floor with her on my lap. The driver placed her sister down to walk, and she came straight to me and backed up to sit on my lap. All was well. If I had it my way, the girls never would have gone to bed that night! But we eventually did, and the next morning we went to see my parents after dropping the other kiddos off at daycare. When we arrived at my parent's house, my Dad opened the door and there were lots of giggles and then they bee-lined it to the hidden toy box in their living room. We all laughed and said "well, they're home!"

Fast forward to today. After multiple court hearings in the last few months, today was our big one. Today their parent's rights were terminated. Three years. Three years of hard work. The girls have an  incredibly hard working case manager. I am so thankful for her and the encouragement she's been to me. For those that think negatively of case manager's in this field, you have no idea what their job entails and the daily grind they endure. Without her, the twins' case would never have gotten here. She deserves recognition for what she has done.

So what's next? Well, it isn't hard to guess that I've already cried A LOT today, Ha! So we can check that off the list. Now I plan to just sit in this moment. This moment of relief. The girls will never go back to where they came from. They will never endure the trauma. They will never feel scared for their safety. They will always have a home. They will always be safe. They will always be loved. So we sit here for a minute. Eventually I'll have to make a decision that will change all of our lives. I honestly do not know what decision that will be. Assuming I will adopt them is unfair. There are a lot of aspects to be considered.

Like any young girl, I always dreamt of the day I would be married, then get pregnant and have a baby, and then adopt a child in need of a loving family. I never dreamt of being 36 years old, single, and facing the biggest decision of my lifetime, alone. I have a laundry list of fears and dreams I'll have to let go of. If I adopt, I will have to let go of the dream of marriage. Because who's gonna want to sign up for this mess of my life?! I'll be doing things "backwards". I'll have to make sure I can financially support three of us, and what if I lose my income or get sick or hurt? I'll have to consider whether the girls will resent me for "taking them away from their family" when they get older. And I'll never be coordinated enough to braid their hair right! These are just a few of the gazillion thoughts I've been mulling over for the last few months. Some are petty, some could be life altering. I keep hearing friends and family tell me I'll make the best decision for me and my girls and I'll be supported either way. That's not helpful people!! Someone just tell me what to do! Can I imagine my life without them? No. But doesn't every parent secretly wish they could have just one weekend without their kids?! I hope that's normal and it doesn't mean I'm a terrible momma! There's so much to consider, process, and stress over. And on top of all of this, I still have Baby Girl to consider.

Three years is a long time. I can finally breathe again. So for now, I'll do just that. I'll breathe. And I'll know that God is good. He is bigger than I give Him credit for and He knows my future. Please continue to pray for my little family and the decisions that will be made. And thank you for being patient with me while offering grace around my crazy.

Saying Goodbye

Twelve hours ago the girls left my home and moved to live with their biological mother full time. This is a part of the foster world that we all know is bound to happen. But it doesn't mean knowing it will happen makes it easy to cope with.

In the weeks leading up to this day, I was preparing myself as best I could. I purged my living room of toys they were not giving much attention to in hopes I would get used to not tripping over their things. I cleaned out their closets and only left the clothing and shoes that would soon be packed in their bags. Their dresser contained just two polka dot baskets sitting on top filled with socks and hair bows for easy access. And as the diaper basket grew more empty, the closer today came.

Today I had a plan. The plan was to get up early and complete my own morning routine so I would be fully prepared for the girls to wake up. My mom would come over at breakfast and help feed and dress the girls. Then my dad would arrive for last minute pictures and play time before the white car arrived to load up their luggage. There would be giggles from the girls and lots of hugs and kisses. A few tears may be shed but nothing major. We knew this day was coming, we talked about this day many times, we were ready.

Today went as planned, almost.

Saying goodbye is never easy. No matter how much you pre-plan. The last time I experienced a heart breaking goodbye was when my grandpa left this world a few years ago. Soaking up every minute I had with him that last weekend I spent in Iowa was sort of like how I felt yesterday with the twins. Making sure you say "I love you" that one extra time, getting one last hug, and then another. Feeling like you got your chance to say goodbye and then wishing you could say it again. There's no worse feeling in the world.

Last night my clinical supervisor emailed me to see how I was doing the night before the big day. We started emailing back and forth and eventually I found myself curled up on my couch, face buried in my shirt, allowing myself to feel all those confusing emotions I'd been fighting for over the last year. By the time I went to bed I felt relief. Relief that I had that moment. Because crying now means I won't need to cry tomorrow. I can be strong for the girls. I can be strong for my parents. They'll need me to be strong. Both the girls, so they don't know any different...and my parents, because these are their grand babies. And their goodbye is just as hard as mine will be. So I will be okay, and like always, I can let a few tears fall and fight the rest until later.

A few minutes before the driver arrived, as my parents and the girls and I were sitting outside playing, one of my sisters pulled up. A huge lump formed in my throat. My family was coming together to say goodbye. More pictures were taken and we all ended up inside the house to wait. The more time passed, the more anxious I grew. And finally the car turned into my driveway. And those tears I thought I was rid of began to take shape.

My dad and the driver got the car packed and then I noticed an act of kindness so great and appreciated. The driver quietly walked up my drive, far from the car, giving my family the time we needed and never would have expected. The girls gave out hugs and kisses, not knowing they would be our last. I buckled one into her seat, with whisperings of all my love and expectations for her to be kind and good for her mother. I covered her in my kisses as tears found their way from my eyes. Then I repeated the same with my other sweet girl. My mom prayed through tears as I finished buckling her in and I gave both of my babies one last squeeze. We thanked the driver and he wished us well.

Just as he put the car in reverse I pressed my hands on the back window and waved at my beautiful babies. Their precious eyes looked back at me, certainly trusting they would see me in a few days, and then one waved with her tiny innocent hand. And I broke.

The burst of emotion that escaped my body came out as a sound I would never hope to experience again. As I fell into my dad's grasp, the gut-wrenching pain was something I could never describe. My babies were gone. They made me a momma. And they're gone.

I have spent the day feeling a loss I did not know would hurt so badly. Moments come and go where I lose my breath and feel tears in my eyes. My mom kept me busy shopping all morning but those moments hit me off and on. My uncle took me on a road trip this evening but everywhere I go reminds me of them. I took a nap with my nephew and it was wonderful. But holding him in my arms, curled up on the bed, tears burned my cheeks as I fought the waves that kept crashing around me.

I know I will need to grieve. I know not everyone will understand how difficult it is for a foster parent to let their children go. I know others will hold me up and are praying for me. Today is a hard day. It was expected, but it was not fun.

And through it all, I know with confidence that in the last 15 months I have learned a great deal as I have journeyed this path of foster parenting. My family has felt great joy and heart break. But they have joined me as I open my home to children in need. In my sadness and pain today, I know my God gave me a heart that will continue to grow large enough to love more children. The twins will always be my babies. They captured my love and in my heart they will always be.

A song we sing at church sticks in my head as I write this note. One thing will always remain.

Higher than the mountains that I face
Stronger than the power of the grave
Constant through the trial and the change
One thing remains
One thing remains
Your love never fails it never gives up it never runs out on me
Your love never fails it never gives up it never runs out on me
Your love never fails it never gives up it never runs out on me
On and on and on and on it goes
It overwhelms and satisfies my soul
And I never ever have to be afraid
Cuz one thing, remains
Your love never fails it never gives up it never runs out on me
Your love never fails it never gives up it never runs out on me
Your love never fails it never gives up it never runs out on me
Your love.

A Crashing Wave

Driving to work this morning I experienced one of those quick-thinking parental instincts. Big sister sneezed and blew a snot rocket all over her face. It was one of those moments when panic sets in. I searched quickly for something, anything, that would soak up the mess. I had NOTHING. Immediately, I began rifling through problem solving skills in my head. Pull over? That won't help. Go back home? That'll take too long. Use the wadded up receipt tucked under the floor mat? Probably not the best option. Gas station!! I could see it ahead of us just a few blocks. But wait, it would be incredibly time consuming and challenging to get both girls out of their car seats, walk them into the store, back to the bathroom, and then use toilet paper. All that snot would most likely be all over my work pants or her new outfit at that point. I can't leave them in the car and run inside to buy a box of Kleenex...Lord knows I'd get turned into the state child protection services. And seeing a how I work for them, I'm sure I'd lose my job.

Then it hits me. As I turn into the gas station, I pull up right next to a pump and see the paper towels from the window washer buckets flapping in the breeze. Perfect! I swipe one, reach back and clean her face, and toss the towel on the back floorboard as I step on the gas. A 30 second detour and we made it to daycare on time.

Now, that's a picture of my brain during this 5 minute episode. What drivers around me and what my girls could see and hear was a totally different experience. I'm sure Sister kept putting her fingers up to her face because she was doing some research. She was researching "what sound momma makes when my fingers get close to this goop on my upper lip." And the drivers around me were probably wondering if they should stop and offer medical assistance. Here's what my person looked and sounded like: "Ew! That's so yucky! <cough> No! Don't touch it! <gag> Ew! No! Put your hand down! No! <dry heave> Sister no! Don't touch! <gagging dry heave>" as my head was whipping back and forth from watching the road to watching those tiny fingers smear that goopy, thick mess down onto her lips and over onto her cheek...with a huge toothy grin growing on her face the entire time. Ugh!

Once we reached daycare, life was back to normal and my stomach was back in it's original setting. We have a little routine we go through when I drop them off and then I escape while they get distracted with breakfast. Today, when I got back in my car I took a quick minute to check Facebook. The first status that popped up reminded me that today my childhood friends, who are also foster parents, would be facing a very difficult day of telling the children goodbye that have been in their home for a very long time. I sent my friends a text and then began my drive to work. I only made it a few blocks before it hit me.

A crashing wave. It hits every once in a while, when you least expect it. The world around you disappears and you don't know up from down. All of your breath gets knocked out of you and you feel as though you're suffocating. The sounds coming out of your body are unrecognizable. When your chest finally opens up, and you suck in air like its the first time you've tasted oxygen, the wave crashes over you again. I've met this wave a few times over the last several months. Sometimes it's just as I'm falling asleep in a very quiet, dark house. Sometimes it's when I'm relaxing on the couch after they're tucked in bed. Sometimes its when I'm sitting in my office. Today, as always, it was least expected. It came with the heavy emotions I was feeling for my friends. Knowing their hurt. Knowing their sadness. It's such a bitter sweet process, telling your foster children goodbye, and it's never easy. I will experience it in a few weeks, and I can hardly breathe when I think about it. Knowing today was their day, reminded me that my day is closer than I realize. When I drop the girls off at daycare or load them into a car that takes them to visit their family, I give them kisses and know I will see them soon. In a few weeks, I will give them kisses and face the reality that I will never see them again. I expect a typhoon to hit. I don't know when, but I know it will.

For now, I will pray for my friends that are hurting. I will find the pride in those quick-thinking moments of parenthood. And I will wipe those gag-inducing little noses.

Looking For Answers

As my cousin Chad would say, "Oy!"

A lot of people have recently asked me what is going on with the girls. I decided I should update with a blog because it's been weeks since I've taken the time to do so. It's not easy to sit down and put all my thoughts in writing because sometimes I just can't record what is going on. Either it would break confidentiality or I just can't form the right words. But I'll try my best.

We've been to the children's hospital a lot this summer. A lot. I've missed a lot of work and it hasn't been for fun. I was just telling a co-worker today that all the PTO I've been using may look to others like I'm relaxing and having a good break somewhere in the world. But in reality, I'm either sitting in a small hospital room for hours or I'm driving from back and forth from KC to Topeka for the girls' appointments.

To sum it up quickly, the girls are on track to becoming healthier (they have a long ways to go still) and they will more than likely move to a family member's home soon. I wish I could say everything that has been going on, but I still don't have all the answers. We've had scared of possible hospital stays and feeding tubes, but God has answered prayers and people are beginning to do the right thing, so I am confident the girls will be okay. We have two more upcoming hospital days and then I'll know where this road leads. This is why I always say, "Oy!"

So the other question people want to know is how am I handling all of this. My entire life I've approached the unknown with a casual attitude. I don't focus on what could happen, but rather what is happening right now. Right now I know I am focused on following the multitude of recommendations I get from different doctors each week. I'm focused on enjoying each weekend with my girls. I'm focused on learning new hairstyles and picking out cute outfits every morning. I'm focused on cheering for one baby each time she decides to practice walking...she's very wobbly, extremely hesitant, and hilarious to watch! Her total steps without falling over so far has reached FOUR! Lol!! The other baby could care a big fat less about walking.

What am I trying not to focus on? Exhaustion. I'm tired. I'm worn down and I'm ready for this ride to end. The day I lose my baby girls will be the worst day in my life. But I know it's going to happen. I've prepared myself multiple times and then something stops it from happening. But one of these days, very soon, it won't be stopped. Even though I'm dreading that day, I'm also looking forward to the day when I can finally breathe again. For so long I've felt like I'm suffocating on my emotions. The back and forth, the blame I get from their family, the court dates, the doctors, the case managers...I'm focused on the day when all of that disappears.

Then my focus will be on healing. I'm going to need a lot of time for healing.

But for now, I'm focused on finding answers. I'm focused on tiny steps. I'm focused on moisturizing, braids, and puffs. I'm focused on sweet kisses and snuggles. And most of all I'm focused on cherishing every moment I have with my two tiny babes.

01:15:00

One hour and fifteen minutes. That's how much time it takes to drive from my house to the children's hospital nearest us. We've traveled that way just a few times in the last year. Only when absolutely necessary. Most of our appointments are with doctors in Topeka. As the girls have aged, their deficits have become more pronounced. Which means we'll have more opportunities to make that drive.

One hour and fifteen minutes is plenty of time to make a list. So that's what I do. Today I made a list. One of the girls has chronic ear and respiratory infections. So today we traveled to the children's hospital to see a specialist. While I drove, I made my list. My list of questions for the doctor, for the case manager, and for God. Questions for the doctor included a lot of Whys. Questions for the case manager included a lot of What-are-we-gonna-do-about---. Questions for God included a lot of What Ifs. Once I had a solid list, I took a deep breath. The anxious feelings swelling in my gut were too confusing to deal with, so I did what I could. I prayed.

One hour and fifteen minutes is a lot of time to pray. I prayed for the girls. I prayed for the innocent, not-feeling-so-good little one sitting behind me. I prayed for their biological mom. I prayed for their family member that is still trying to get them. I prayed for my family. I prayed for my friend, whose little girl is having surgery later this week. And then I prayed for my heart. My heart that doesn't allow for any feelings around the unknown future of our case. Because allowing any feelings would only result in breakage.

Once we arrived at the hospital and saw the specialist, we got some answers. Not all my questions were answered, but some. Next Monday we go back. On that day, both girls will see another specialist. That time it'll be for more tests. These girls have been poked and prodded so many times, but my hope and prayer is that we will gain more answers next Monday. The good news, the girls are using their legs! They both stand at furniture, and one decided to show off last weekend and let go, and is now walking behind a ladybug rider toy. They eat really well but continue to not gain and lose weight. They're 18 months, wearing 9 month clothes and infant size 2 shoes. And they have mouths full of teeth that are too big for their tiny, beautiful faces! One says "Mom, Mom, Mom" over and over and over and over and over, no matter how many times I say "what?" while the other one disappears in the house like a silent ninja. They both giggle so hard they fall over. And their hair continues to grow puffier! The bad news, the specialist today answered questions about their care while on visits with their bio family that I didn't like hearing. After leaving the hospital I was able to get my mind off some of these answers while visiting a friend. And then I had phone conversations with my parents. And then began the drive home.

One hour and fifteen minutes home. Plenty of time to think. It was pouring rain on our drive home. The radio in my car wouldn't pick up a signal. So I listened. I listened to the raspy breaths of a sleeping baby behind me. And I got mad. The thought of a parent not doing everything in their power to keep their child safe and healthy angers me. As a therapist, I do an exercise with kids I work with. We blow up balloons. Red balloons. Red equals the color of anger. The size of the balloon equals how much anger you're feeling in your body. Small balloons equal marginal anger, or the feeling of being mad. As the balloons get bigger, we identify different stages of anger feelings. If I were to blow up a red balloon in my car today, it would have exploded. The list of questions for God I had made earlier in the day began to consume me. I wasn't just angry at the girls' bio family. I was angry at Him. Not just for the girls' sake, but for mine. For putting me in this place. For opening doors I now wanted to slam shut in His face. For breaking my heart.

What if I can't stop the girls from moving to another state? What if I can't control where their tiny feet go? What if I can't protect their small, delicate hands from being pulled into harms way? What if they move out of my home, leaving me broken?

One hour and fifteen minutes. Driving through rain. Through tears. And then it stopped. The radio found a station. I could hear her sleeping behind me again. She was safe. And I was reminded of His great love and the peace I have for God's will in my life. This is what played:
        When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll; whatever my lot, thou hast taught me to say, "It is well, it is well with my soul." Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come, let this blessed assurance control; that Christ has regarded my helpless estate, and has shed his own blood for my soul. "It is well, it is well with my soul." Oh Lord, haste the day when my faith shall be sight, the clouds be rolled back as a scroll; the trump shall resound and the Lord shall descend; even so, it is well with my soul.

Mother's Day

Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Mother's Day. Every year this is the day I spend focusing on my mom. In the days leading up to tomorrow, I would normally buy a gift for my mom and plan a lunch with my sisters to honor our mom. It's a day I've never celebrated for myself. A day I've wished were mine to celebrate. Every year I've sat in church and clapped for the Mothers as they stand and are recognized for their greatest accomplishments. I've watched Mothers accept flowers or small gifts from those they love. I've watched Mothers on this day through eyes yearning to be "just like them."

As I gave the girls their usual Saturday evening bath tonight, I realized tomorrow is My Day. Mother's Day! A day I finally get to celebrate for myself. It's surreal. The girls were crawling around after their bath being silly, as usual, and repeatedly hollering "Momma!" I am their momma. I love them more than I could ever imagine loving two little bitty humans.

They give kisses now. They're pulling themselves up to furniture and toys. They're gaining weight (barely!). They're walking their stiff-legged walk with help of anyone that will be patient with them. If you don't mind turtling it from one place to the next they'll hold both your hands and giggle while they practice their walking skills. One has this new move she constantly does, it's like she's making a bridge with her body, standing bent over with her feet and hands on the ground while looking upside down through her legs. She cracks herself up and makes everyone in the room laugh. The other one sings sweet songs to you if you sit quietly and listen--but be warned, she will sing long songs, all in the same tone, using one syllable. They're changing so much, every day, and growing up so quickly. They're still my teeny tiny girls, but they have huge personalities.

Tomorrow I get to celebrate being their mom. I won't get flowers from a husband. I won't get a card. I won't be spoiled for a day. But I'll know I'm a mom. I'll look at my beautiful twins and see all their accomplishments. I'll stand in church and not have to wonder when it's my turn. Tomorrow is Mother's Day. Tomorrow is My Day.

The Red Book

When I was preparing for the girls to move to their family member's home, I had to organize a notebook. A notebook of all their personal details. Doctor visits, prescription medications, TARC evaluations, schedules, and anything else I have documented about them while they've lived in my home. Both girls have books. They are referred to as Red Books. They get their descriptive title from their color.

While going through all their paperwork, the book begins to take on it's own life. It reminds me of one of those flip books you make as a kid. As you flip through the drawings the book comes to life. As you flip through the pages of a Red Book, a child's life flashes before your eyes.

So what would you see in the twins' Red Books? Here's a quick peek:
Doctor office visits: 27
Prescription medications: 39
ER visits: 2
Blood Lab Visits: 7
Specialty Doctor Visits: 1
TARC sessions: 11
Court dates: 3
Case meetings: 4
I also have more than 250 pictures of each of the girls for their family to keep. I've documented most of their life in pictures so their family doesn't feel left out of their childhood.

When I look through their Red Books I see all the heartaches we've had. The constant illness we always fight and the court and meetings I've endured. But I also see the exciting days we've shared. And the people that have loved on my girls with me.

I see all those doctor visits, hospital visits, and lab visits. And I see our pediatrician and nurse that have become friends. That call me just to check on the girls when we haven't been to the office in a few weeks. That pretend they're going to help me hide the girls so they can't leave my home. That greet us at the door when we arrive for appointments and take a carrier from me because I probably look like I'm about to pass out. I also see the head nurse at the ER that recognizes our names because we've spent so much time there and in the lab department. That's the nurse that comes to find me when she sees we've checked in, just to see the girls and say Hi to me. And bumps us up on the list of patients so we don't have to wait so long. I also see our TARC team. The ladies that come to my home and always tell me I'm a good mom. The therapists that show me new ways of helping the girls develop those pesky large motor skills. Our Sabra. She's our number one TARC friend. I can never say enough good things about her. If you ever receive services from TARC, make sure you ask for Sabra!

For a very long time their Red Books would show the girls' deficits. Their delays in development. Their health issues. Their lack of weight gain and growth. And the long road they seemed to have ahead of them when they first moved into my home. And now, now their books reflect all our exciting changes. When it seemed they would never simply roll over. Or swallow without choking. I've learned how incredibly difficult it is for a child to grow and develop. I've also learned how incredibly exciting it is to watch a child grow and develop.

They never develop at the same time, but if one does something new the other one soon follows. The first time they rolled over. When they sat without falling over. Their first tooth. Crawling! Gaining an ounce is always a huge party at the doctor's office. And now they're putting weight on their legs and standing with help. I'm always asked how old they are because both of their petite 16 pound bodies make them look much younger than they are. And when strangers assume they can walk, based on their age, and set them on their feet and let their hands go. Noooo!!! Cue the slow-mo action movie clip as I dive to their rescue before they face plant.

They've got it rough sometimes. And it's unfortunately due to poor choices prior to their birth. But I love these little girls. And I'll continue to spend my days in doctor offices and not-so-fun meetings for them. Getting to be a small part of their life is worth it. Getting to celebrate the developmental milestones is worth it. Getting to watch them grow and share the joy they bring me is worth every documented event in their Red Books.