This past Saturday we went to the first training that we need to become an active foster home again. It's been over two years since we have done foster care. A lot has happened in two years. We have fought an appeal, adopted, and moved in a young mom and her son. We have been busy, but not with foster care.
On the way driving out to the training I had a pretty epic meltdown. I said it was about hamburgers and running late but I know myself well enough to know that my freakouts are never about what I say they are about.
While we were driving and I was crying, Matt offered to turn around. "We don't have to do this!" he said, "We can go back!" I considered it for a second. We don't have to do this. My life is full enough. Complicated enough. Then, I remembered the thing that I always remember.
I remembered the kid. The kid I haven't met. The kid I know nothing about. The kid that's already out there, most likely experiencing a version of hell that you and I have not had to survive. That thought made my heart shrink down to the size of a raisin. That thought makes me want to simultaneously lie down curled, and run through walls.
As we come up on our sixth year doing foster care, knowing what we know, seeing what we've seen, the question has gone from: "How can we do this?" to: "How can we not do this?"
My husband lied. The first part was right, we don't have to do this. But his second statement was a lie...
We can never go back.