Vol. 6, No. 2• May 2002

Mending broken lives

A foster/adoptive mother reflects on her calling and the children in her life

by Marion H. Duncan

Editor’s Note: The story below is true, but Ms. Duncan has changed the names she uses to protect her family’s confidentiality.

The other day I decided to really clean my house. This meant dusting ALL of the furniture. Yikes! There are certain times when you must remove everything from the shelves and tables, then spray and polish. You know the drill. I even had the momentum to go through drawers and throw away the trash. We always give the outgrown clothes and toys to local charities.

As I began to work in one of our adopted children’s room, I was forced to sit down and reflect, fighting the tears. My attention was drawn to a very small picture frame with three young, smiling faces. It suddenly struck me that this is one of the few possessions our daughter has to help bridge her newfound teenhood with her childhood, a life we were not part of.

The children in the picture were Sarah and her biological siblings. The three had been separated and each adopted by different families. Even though all had agreed this was for the best of the children, the situation still breathes an air of sadness, a prickling around the heart when you realize these children no longer have any links other than the small picture, a few worn notes, and a small plastic turtle filled with water—a sad looking ninja turtle whose water must surely be slimy and green by now. I picked up the turtle, dusted it, and put it back on the shelf. You are spared the trash can once again, I thought, biting my upper lip to stop the uncontrollable trembling.

Most of Sarah’s belongings are no longer in her room. Her clothes and other necessities are with her—in a therapeutic group home, an environment that offers safety and a place to deal with the past.

Sarah needs to learn to deal with the small remnants of memories she has of another life, a life when the three children lived together in a home where they were unloved, uncared for, and unsupervised. Their innocence was stolen away from them when they were hardly more than babes in arms.

Do I need to explain? The thieves in the night kissed away their innocence with disgusting signs of physical affection, both offered and requested. I can still hear Sarah as she screams with nightmares, awakening oblivious to her inner fears. I remember her exaggerated fear of darkness. I recall all of the nightlights, nightsweats, and night terrors.

Sarah’s pain runs so deep. Her short hair lacks luster and style. She constantly cuts it. We have dyed her hair every possible color, it seems. It is as if she believes a new hair color could give her a new identity, that of a child born of love.

My husband and I first met Sarah when she lived in another foster home in our area. We were adopting Jamie, a boy living in the same home. Jamie was a small, mentally-challenged nine-year-old—as wild as an untamed colt and as beautiful as one, too. We adopted him many years ago, right after making the decision many foster parents make. We desired children who would not leave us. My husband and I, parents of two lovely biological daughters, were still young enough to be effective parents. We have learned that age is not really a factor. The requirements are love and commitment.

We love fostering but continued to adopt. Jamie blended in beautifully in our family. His simplistic approach to life keeps us grounded and laughing through even the toughest of times.

Next we adopted Jeff, who was thirteen when we met him. We were drawn to this pleasant young man with a cleft palate as soon as we saw him. He was a natural fit for us from the word Go! Ed and I were happy with our two sons, back-to-back adoptions.

Not long afterwards Sarah came to live with us. She was then eight years old and had just faced another rejection—a failed adoption. We subsequently adopted her and soon thereafter adopted another little girl.

We got Ellen as soon as she was discharged from the hospital after birth. She was born prematurely. She is biracial and was exposed to drugs in utero. Ellen has been a pure delight. Her determination has brought her through many crises. We never tire of her endless chatter and pranks.

There are no small framed pictures of Ellen as a child. Our walls are covered by 5" x 7," 8" x 10," and 11" x 14" photographs of every stage of her development. Our wall decor is largely handprints, footprints, and other pieces done by the master skills of Ellen.

Where is Sarah’s childhood? It is some vague convolution of emotions, as deadly as a grenade, choking her spirit.

We have pictures of Jamie’s biological family. He still has contact with them. Jeff somehow escaped the identity crisis many foster children face. He is now a mature man, recently married. His future looks bright.

What about Sarah? Where is she now? Why can’t she understand that we love her and that her past is over and gone?

Looking at her empty room, I think back to the first day she came to live with us. It was a temporary move that will last a lifetime.

Jamie was so excited when Sarah came back into his life. Aside from a lack of confidence and poor school performance, Sarah seemed to do well until she began to ask, Who am I? Who are my parents? Why am I the way I am?

These are important questions, pieces of a puzzle that make us whole. Sarah can only see herself as a misfit, an outsider. Even though she is not, she will have to learn to love herself and forgive herself and the others in her life who hurt her and disappointed her. These steps are crucial for her recovery. We will be there for her as she struggles to take them.

When Sarah began to hate school and lose interest in things around her, we knew her time had come—a time to grieve for her lost childhood. Thank goodness for strong intervention. Groundwork is being laid to build up her self-esteem. Recovery is beginning, and we are optimistic. We have witnessed the miraculous response to patience and love over and over again.

Ed and I are strong advocates for adoption, particularly of adopting children with special needs and older children. As stated before, Jamie keeps our spirits up. Ellen keeps us young. Jeff keeps us proud. Sarah keeps us ever mindful of just how important day-to-day words and deeds are. Parents can help make or break the young egos.

We pray for Sarah. We look forward to a bright future for her. Ed and I realize Sarah’s problems do not indicate our failure or even the failure of a system that does sometimes appear to be crippled by bureaucracy and red tape. Thank goodness the laws are changing to help remove children more swiftly from hazardous situations. Thank goodness the wheels of justice now turn more quickly and young children have a chance at a younger age to find permanent love.

Too many children still fall through the cracks. Ed and I have worked with a wonderful agency that has been trying in every way to caulk these cracks.
Foster children still come into care with only a few treasures in their black trash bags. However, instead of cleaning up their trash and dusting their rooms, let’s clean up the broken pieces of their lives.

Marion H. Duncan and her husband, Ed, are foster parents in Cabarrus County, NC. She says, “We treasure our life. Problems do arise. Realistically, we have to address them. Attitude is the key to successful parenting, whether the children are biological, foster, or adoptive. Hopefully more good people will be up to the challenge and excitement!”

Copyright � 2002 Jordan Institute for Families