Epiphany #43--Why I Do Foster Care

I've wrestled with the idea of posting these ideas and feelings. I've talked to Brad about blogging, and although he hasn't commented in a while, I know he reads every post. He's devoted to me like that. His opinion of blogging is sharing family stories and pictures and leaving it at that. I don't know what he will think of this post.
I can't decipher my compulsion to write this experience. But it was so raw yesterday, and I spent the entire day thinking about it and analyzing it.

Here goes:
I found a new cyber friend--Snarky Belle, aka Natalie. I love to read her evaluations of politics and society. I enjoy her biting sense of humor. But I feel such a bond to her after reading her essays on losing her daughter Victoria. You see, I too, have an invisible daughter. It was the most excruciating, life-changing, spirit-stretching experience of my existence. And it was supposed to be her birthday on February 13. Her sixth birthday, to be exact.
Through Natalie's blog, I found another mother, Carly, who lost her son, Christian, and after doing so, she began to memorialize lost children by writing their names on a sandy Australian beach at sunset, photographing them, and posting a memorial to these lost, invisible children. Although I consider my daughter's name almost sacred and share it with very few people, I thought that it would be appropriate to ask Carly to write my daughter's name in the sand, and then maybe post it and the letter I wrote on February 13, 2003--her due date--on my blog. So I sent her a request, hoping that she would be able to get to the name before last Friday.
I checked the site faithfully every day, but the name never came up. I know Carly has been inundated with hundreds of requests, and I had no reason to believe that mine would be done on time, so after checking and rechecking the site dozens of times a day, I realized I'd have to wait.
Yesterday, I assumed my now-familiar pose at the computer and checked all my regular places. Last of all, I looked at the beach, hoping to maybe see the post meant for me.
And there it was. Clear back on February 13th, just like I had asked her to do. How had I missed it? I was mad at myself, wondering how I could have been so careless. So I clicked on it. And I was completely unprepared for what happened next. The flood of emotion and tears was one I hadn't experienced in years. I thought that the pain was gone, permanently replaced with a scar that would always remind me where I had been but would never sear me again. How wrong I was. It brought me back to that place, a painful, empty place.
I spent some time in my room, pulling out that tiny box of mementos and a small photo album, racked with sobs and memories, aching for my child. Wishing with all my might that she was here.
And that's when it hit me.

The epiphany of all epiphanies.

That's why I do foster care. Why had I never seen it before? Of course she was the reason. I've taken child after child into my home, hoping to fill that void that she left--in my family pictures on the wall, in my nightly homework rituals, in my place settings on the table, in my soul. And nothing--no one--will ever fill it.

The pain of losing a child haunts you at the strangest, most unpredictable times.
When I talk to my friend's darling daughter--white-blond hair, blue eyes, freckly nose--I try to see her and what her face might look like. And in my mind I try to picture how the two girls would have been buddies, dressing up, giggling, fighting. Then I push the image away, before the pain is too great.
When I see a kindergarten class walk by at the school and think that their ranks are down by one, I see her.
When September 10th rolls around and no one, not even Brad, really remembers what day it is and why I might be melancholy, I see her.
Now, when I look into the faces of these neglected, abused children that I've been bringing into my home, I will see her too. And I don't think my perspective on foster care will ever be the same. I'm not one of those people that grew up knowing my calling in life would be to shepherd and save the world's masses from pain and neglect. My journey just led me there, trying to fill the hole in my family. It will never be filled.

I know there are blessings I've enjoyed in my life that I never would have had if I had not lost her. One painful memory is this: When I was pregnant, I remember telling a friend that this was the last time. If she had stayed with us, would I have my funny, handsome, sweet Micah? Or my stubborn, energetic, darling Hyrum?

Would I ever have gotten to the place inside myself where I could care for another woman's child?

Would I have ever developed empathy? Or compassion? Or eternal perspective?

I'll never know.
All I have are those few mementos and two dates--one when she should have been here and one when she came and left.
Now I can add this beautiful image. Thank you, Carly. I'll never forget you.
Click here to access Carly's site.