The amount of strength that it takes to write about our experience here is sometimes overwhelming. That is why it is so long between posts. I've been working on a 12-step program to heal some things in my life, and one of the steps requires making amends and asking forgiveness from those you have wronged. After working on that step for over a year, I realized that I had not asked nor given forgiveness to myself. I've spent time the last two weeks working on a letter to myself asking for forgiveness. This post is going to be one of the more painful ones to write. I need forgiveness from myself for this.
Early in our process of foster care, just after I finished the second round of training, we found out about a little boy that I will call "Preston." We kept him on our mind the whole time. He was the youngest of five children (if I remember right). He had been homeless for most of his life with his dad. The mom had abandoned all of the children and most likely died of a drug overdose. The state had no idea where she was. Two of the children were in institutions for mental or physical disabilities. We were told Preston was on the scale for Autism, but we felt capable of handling that. We wanted a second son so badly. In hindsight, we were blinded by our desires.
We met with Preston a few times. It wasn't perfect, but we felt that we could help him in any way possible. We felt that part of the reason he had so many struggles was because of the type of home he was living in. The family who lived in the home ran foster care as a business. They would take in as many children as possible, the children would spend all day watching tv and playing video games, and the family gathered all of the money. I hated sending him back to that home each time after we spent time with him. They didn't even speak English in the home hardly. I don't mind Spanish speakers, except that Preston is an English speaker. So, he was rarely spoken to, and never spoke to others. In fact, when he did finally get to move to our home (at 5 years old), he had never ridden a bicycle or a scooter. It was heartbreaking watching him play outside. He didn't know what to do except watch tv and play video games.
Ok, I don't think I can write more tonight. I'll write more soon.
Early in our process of foster care, just after I finished the second round of training, we found out about a little boy that I will call "Preston." We kept him on our mind the whole time. He was the youngest of five children (if I remember right). He had been homeless for most of his life with his dad. The mom had abandoned all of the children and most likely died of a drug overdose. The state had no idea where she was. Two of the children were in institutions for mental or physical disabilities. We were told Preston was on the scale for Autism, but we felt capable of handling that. We wanted a second son so badly. In hindsight, we were blinded by our desires.
We met with Preston a few times. It wasn't perfect, but we felt that we could help him in any way possible. We felt that part of the reason he had so many struggles was because of the type of home he was living in. The family who lived in the home ran foster care as a business. They would take in as many children as possible, the children would spend all day watching tv and playing video games, and the family gathered all of the money. I hated sending him back to that home each time after we spent time with him. They didn't even speak English in the home hardly. I don't mind Spanish speakers, except that Preston is an English speaker. So, he was rarely spoken to, and never spoke to others. In fact, when he did finally get to move to our home (at 5 years old), he had never ridden a bicycle or a scooter. It was heartbreaking watching him play outside. He didn't know what to do except watch tv and play video games.
Ok, I don't think I can write more tonight. I'll write more soon.
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