I took some time to process my son, the child, and his mother. I needed some time alone. I didn't take in any other foster children for a while, instead, I focused on work, and getting back to my social life. I danced salsa, bachata, and kizomba. I spent time with my friends and my daughter. I was fully prepared to close my home to DFCS until one day I received a call asking if I could help with two children for ten days. The grandparents had recently become their kinship parents but had a previously scheduled trip they wanted to attend. I took a deep breath and said...yes.
I met the grandparents at a local park. When I arrived they were shocked, I was black and they didn't anticipate that, since they were white. Their reservations were short-lived once I began speaking with them and answered a few of their questions. The grandfather shared a few "black friends" stories that I allowed since I could tell he was battling through the idea that his grandchildren were in foster care and he now had to leave them with a black woman. If he only knew...we were in this together.
What DFCS didn't tell me was the four-year-old was nonverbal autistic and didn't know how to go to the bathroom, so he wore pull-ups, and the 18-month-old girl was just a cute stinker. I had never taken care of a special needs child, but for ten days I gave him all of my love. They both came with terrible rashes that the grandmother told me about. I could tell she felt a little ashamed, so I did my best to let her know it was all going to be okay.
I took them to water parks, playgrounds, out for dinner, and more. The four-year-old had a special diet, so I packed food where ever we went. When I would pick them up from daycare and the teacher would call their names, they would look around for me and sprint into my arms. A couple of times I even took them to my office with me. After each diaper change, I would apply medication to clear up their rashes and made them feel safe. For ten days I protected those precious babies and showed them the good in the world. When it was time to return them, their rashes were fully cleared up and they were as happy as can be. In fact, the four-year-old clung to my leg. He wasn't ready to go.
The children may never remember me, but their grandparents will. And I pray that if they are ever faced with a black or brown child in need, they will not withhold their love and kindness. Because in the end, we all need each other.
S
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