The Process

As a religion major, we had to study several different aspects spirituality and what it means to us as humans. One aspect is the process of grieving. We grieved hard the weekend the kids left. Granted, we’re not done, but time makes things easier. As time has passed, I have thought about things over and over and over. I have more questions than answers; and I’ll most likely never get them. (Foster parents aren’t privy to such luxuries.)

As far as the process goes, I’m at a confused and angry stage. I’m at the, “if you look at the details, how does this make any sense?!” stage.

If I may just slightly ramble/rant for a moment…(as writing helps with processing emotions and thoughts so…)


Now real quick, we like the parents. They a nice couple who’ve made some not great choices. We could even see them from time to time with no problems if we wanted. So I don’t mean this to be necessarily about being against them; just about how “the system” didn’t make them any more prepared than the day we got their kids. Also, everyone has different standards…and of course mine are always too high. Anyways…

When we got to court, the parents were told to be prepared to take the kids if the judge ruled in that favor. The judge ruled as such. So we went to each daycare to pick up the kids.

What happened next will be another one of those events of that day to stick in my mind. The parents were told to be prepared…you should have food in the home, appropriate clothing, and so forth. I don’t know the actual standards, but those seem to be pretty basic. One thing I’d consider basic is having appropriate car seats for them. We got to the daycare and the social worker had to remove the little boy from the so-called booster seat that the parents were using. She then removed the booster seat itself. It was in such awful condition. She did it quickly…as if she didn’t want anyone to notice the parents’ already being incompetent; since she was in fact petitioning for them to get the kids back and that probably makes her judgment look pretty poor.

There it was…looking like some sort of torture device. No pads or cushions. It had a shine to it so it looked as though it were made of aluminum or some sort of metal. It could’ve been plastic but nonetheless it looked medieval. She retrieved a booster seat from her government vehicle and put it in the parents car. You can imagine what some of my first thoughts may have been.

At that moment, I questioned everything we’d done in 9 months. If they can’t even provide a basic booster seat…if on the very day they get their kids back they can’t provide something so basic…then are they really ready…and who’s fault is it?

But as usual, and as any foster parent knows…if or when they’re ready isn’t my call.

Back to “the process.”


Jason

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