Originally posted May 24 2014
read Part I
I felt stupid, embarrassed. Ashamed to witness the mother, the Brave One’s “shame”.
Horrified that my children were seeing this, first hand, for the first time.
Yes, they’ve heard us talking, they’ve seen the presentation, and seen the pictures. I have overheard their make-believe games…
“and I was an orphan, but my mom was alive, she just couldn’t keep me because I was a girl”…
I held my own baby in a baby carrier, and clung to the hand of my two year old. My perfectly healthy 5 and 8 year old were ahead of me, dancing along behind their daddy.
I was aware, oh so aware.
Of my privilege
My wealth
My options
My freedom
My choices
These things are only mine by birth. I did nothing. They are just there. My birthright.
My husband knocked on the door.
A voice hollered back, before opening
“are you the fostering people?”
Their home is so humble.
Dominated by a blue, towering tank of oxygen.
A child at peace, sleeping underneath a white, dreamy mosquito net.
Like the one that decorated the alter when I married my friend.
The Brave One trying to smile, happy to see all my kids, their cheer, distracting her from the pain of the moment.
My foster son’s minor disability surprised her. His missing fingers, not a problem for people like us, who do not take our living from the land, from working with our bodies.
She was expecting us to walk to say goodbye forever, to walk out of that room with her treasure.
We said all the right words. We thanked her husband for letting the child live. We thanked them for loving her enough to let her go. Her shame hung over her like a cloud, regardless.
And I didn’t have the words to explain, only to tell her we did NOT judge her.
The were surprised, and eager, when we asked if they wanted to go with us to the child’s new home. They were surprised, and tears finally came, when they were told they could visit any time they want.
We loaded that enormous tank into our car, and drove for an hour, across town.
The foster family greeted our little troop with smiles, with gentleness, with love.
His love.
No other kind of love could be so willing to sacrifice, so without agenda.
Our job was done.
We said hello to the other children in the house.
Thanked the new foster mother.
Smiled at the Brave One.
Thanked her husband again.
Took the hand of my son.
Closed the door behind us.
[…] read Part II […]