The Hours That Pass

FEAR. 4 little letters. One simple word. Yet this is a daily reality that is so hard to bear. As foster parents we can live in constant fear. Fear of kids returning home to unsafe situations. Fear of them not returning at all. Fear that no one will fight for them. Fear that the system will fail them… again. Fear that they will be forgotten. Fear as you are told they will be having visits with family members who have harmed them. Fear of loving and losing. Fear of what will happen at your next court date, or visit, or team meeting. Fear of how they will react the next time they are "triggered", or where you will be when they are "triggered". Fear that no matter what you do, your kids will still push you away, and will never want you. Fear that no matter how hard you try, it wont make a difference. Fear that in the end, you don't get to choose what is best for your babies. This fear is such a deep fear. A fear that leaves you sick to your sto

"Dear Momma, Yes, you, the one who is eating last. Whether it's for the first time, or for the 40,000th time. Whether it's because you were too busy making sure your kids got something to eat before you left for their school concert, or because you are too busy nursing a baby while everyone else is eating. I want you to know something very important. I. See. You. I see the sacrifices you make. I see your working hard to make a nice warm and healthy dinner, just to eat it cold hours later. I see you sitting down to eat, taking 3 bites, only to have to get up to get everyone else seconds. I see you wishing your kids would just go to bed so you can finally finish your food. I see the tears you cry because it's been such a long day, and you are hungry and tired. I see you snap at your kids, when you know they really don't deserve it, and then I see your remorse. I see you dragging yourself to bed, knowing you only have a few hours of very interrupted sle