Placement

They told me to come pick you up from the DSS offices at 10am on Monday. I had a whole weekend to prepare. They said that you had plenty of clothes and toys.

I bought more hangers. And diapers. Sippy cups. Boy clothes. Big Legos. Dinosaurs.

I reorganized the room. I washed clothes. I called daycare. I called friends. I cleaned the house again. That's probably the last time it was truly clean.

On Monday morning I met you. At the back of the DSS offices your previous foster parent introduced us, and we shuffled your belongings from the truck to the car. She said, "Remember me telling you about Miss Katie? You're gonna go live with her now." You were running around and around her. She gave hugs and kisses and passed you to me.

"Hey, buddy." I signed one sheet of paper, then buckled you in and took you to my house. Your eyes were dark and blank.

Your clothes were stained--grass, marker, paint. I put you in new clothes. I showed you your room. You played with the toys. You tried to talk to me--I tried to understand. You talked through your teeth without opening your mouth very much. When you want something, you call me "Lady."

"Hey, Lady." "Here, Lady."

The questions start. "Where Mama?" "This mine?" "Where Beanie Bubba?" We've been home a couple of hours, but I decide I need my mama. She's dying to meet you.

At Noni's you wander around looking at everything. Someone from church brings toys and clothes. "This mine?" Mama takes a picture. In it, I'm smiling at you, but you are just hanging on my hip with blank eyes. Inside I'm terrified.

I don't know how to love you. And I don't know if you can love me.

My Story Begins...

Just over a year ago, I was a single women living alone in a 3 bedroom house. One bedroom was a rarely used office. One bedroom was loosely prepared for the arrival of a child. My licensing worker told me that a toddler would be the easiest first placement. So I bought tiny pairs of underpants and toddler appropriate toys.
I had spent over 7 months trying to get certified as a foster parent. The home study had been written, but I never heard if my certification was approved. In the months of waiting, I had questioned over and over again whether I was crazy or not. Every step and hurdle along the way made me think it was God's way of showing me I was making a mistake. If someone found out I was trying to get certified, they would say, "Oh! That's great! I could never do that."
I imagined all the ways I would help a toddler deal with being separated from his/her parents. What they should call me. I eventually settled on "Aunt Katie." I shopped for tiny socks. I shampooed carpet. I waited. And waited.
When the call finally came, it was not at all what I expected. First, I didn't even know I was certified. Secondly, the social worker told me the child had been in foster care for over a year already. He was aggressive. They were separating him from his brother. He needs to be the only child for a while, she said.
So I called my mom.

"What do you think?"

"Yes. Tell her yes. Call her back and tell her yes."