621 Days

621 Days.

We have just concluded our longest foster placement ever. The details of our boys’ departure are not for us to share publicly–except to tell you that we believe the right call was made, and they are where they should be. 

Some of you have followed our foster journey since the beginning. You’ve been with us through all the code names over all the years: Bub, Sis, Li’l Bit, Buddy, Baby G, Sweet Pea, Darling, Mowgli, Baby L, Sport, Champ, Baby S, Mega Baby, Angel, Sassy, Squirt, Peanut. And finally, Mario and Luigi.

This last placement was different from all the rest, and that’s why I have to tell you the story.

When our family left Arkansas four years ago, we knew it was time for us to hit pause on our foster life. Starting over in a new place was hard on all of us, and our kids needed our full attention. This was definitely the right call, and I realized early on that I wasn’t totally sure who I was anymore with that part of our life missing. It took some time to sort that out in my heart. Meg had a similar struggle. When we bought a bunk bed for her room, she immediately assumed it was to make space for her new foster sibling. “I just think it’s a shame to waste such a nice empty bed…”

To further complicate things, I injured myself during the first week at my new school–an injury that required three surgeries and years of physical therapy and recovery. Particularly during the nine weeks I couldn’t walk or drive during the spring of 2022, our family was under major stress. We were just holding things together. Adding anyone else to the equation was not an option.

By the end of summer 2022, Matt began wondering aloud if things were settling down enough for us to climb back in the saddle. Merrilee had just moved to a college dorm. Meg pointed out that her high school siblings were gone all the time, and she “ could play with someone, just sayin’…” I was ready to consider the idea, too. But here’s the deal: it doesn’t matter that we were seasoned foster parents before. Nor that I was literally a trainer for prospective foster and adoptive families in Arkansas. You have to start all over again. I am a teacher and a realtor with four kids already. 

“I can do the parenting part. That’s like riding a bike. But look at the calendar. It’s impossible. We can’t attend the training right now.”

Matt reached out to a church member who works in child welfare. We investigated the requirements and figured we could carve out the time in the future, maybe after the crazy fall/Christmas season. This conversation took place in early September.

On Sunday, September 18, Matt and Miles were t-boned by a vehicle at a major intersection in Lee’s Summit. The truck was totaled, and it would take us months to realize the seriousness of Matt’s brain injury. It’s also worth mentioning that our washing machine was broken. We had our hands full.

All of these details swirled in my mind at school the next day. Doctors. Insurance companies. Borrowed vehicles. Washing machine repairmen. 

Second grade would arrive in five minutes, and I had forgotten to copy the notation worksheet I created on Friday. I hobbled out the door and bumped into our school counselor.

“Hey, can I talk to you about something?” she asked.

“Sure! But I have to walk and talk on the way to the copier.” I replied.

“Misha, it’s not that kind of conversation. We have a problem…”

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So. Here’s some important information for the uninitiated. There is one scenario in which a foster child can be dropped on your sofa in no time flat. Regardless of whether or not you have completed the mountain of training.

In Arkansas, they called it “fictive kin.” Here in Missouri, they used the term “non-licensed relative placement provider.” Many of you know that I have fostered my own students several times before. But we were a traditional foster home in those scenarios. We chose to foster, did all the training and home study and visits, etc. Then once we were officially open, the kids began to arrive. 

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On Monday, September 19, a determined, proactive caseworker called my school. She asked for the counselor. She explained that two students from our school had entered foster care over the weekend, and she was desperately seeking a local family who could open ASAP. Was there anyone at school who would consider taking these boys tonight? And who might even consider committing for the long term?

I locked eyes with the counselor. “Can you watch my class? I have to call Matt.”

I speed-hobbled down to the copier and waited for Matt to answer the phone.

“You are never going to guess what is happening right now…”

I told him the story. He laughed out loud. “Ah. So this is how it goes this time. Fun”

“Right? The truck is destroyed. The washer is broken. Your brains are scrambled…”

“That’s all true. But this is the right call. It’s time.”

So I called the case worker and got all the information available. The principal met me in the hall and asked what I needed. Answer: I need to talk to Meg. Then I need to leave.

I met her in the hall outside her classroom. “Listen, kiddo. This is a big surprise to all of us, and I will explain more later. I know I told you we can’t get fosters for a long time, but…we are getting some fosters. Tonight. I should warn you that they are boys. And they attend school here. So it’s important that you don’t say anything about this right now.” She literally jumped for joy.

The clock was ticking, so I left.  I texted our three older kids with our old code phrase. “I know this sounds crazy, but…wheels up. There are some kids that need our help.” Basic background checks were performed on Matt, Cassidy, and me. The boys’ caseworker expressed her joy and amazement that her phone call had led her to such an experienced foster family. And she was right. This case has been the most complicated and difficult of our fostering career. Experience was definitely a help.

Miles prepared to move his things down to Merrilee’s room. Cassidy bought a cake because it was Luigi’s birthday. Merrilee made plans to come home that week to help us get situated. I dragged all the bedding to the laundromat. 

By 8:00, they arrived. I opened the front door to two weary boys and the little bags of clothes, toiletries, and toys they had received during their emergency placement with a faraway (and wonderful) family.

“Hi, Mrs. Parker. This is such a nice house,” Luigi said, wide-eyed.

“Hi, boys. We’re so glad you’re here. Would you like to see your bedroom?” I responded. 

And the rest is history. 

Nearly two years passed. The boys were able to spend the first school year in the place they knew. Then they came with me to my new school this year. That change was hard, but it also gave them a fresh start in a place where none of the kids knew that one day they had lived at their own house, then the next day they moved in with Mrs. Parker. 

We watched them grow. We watched them heal. We advocated for their lifelong connections with stable family members. And now we have watched them fly away. 

Once when we took the boys to City Museum in St. Louis, Matt and I sat on a bench under an enormous tree sculpture. The branches were a maze of twisted tunnels that kids can crawl through. That day, Luigi’s face frequently appeared in the gaps of the winding metal cages. He called our names (always and only “Mrs. Parker” and “Mr. Matt”), and waited for us to acknowledge him before advancing further from our home base. I was struck that day by the way the certainty of us freed him to explore the world.

This weekend, Matt and I stood at the edge of the departures area of Kansas City International airport and watched as the boys and their caseworker wound their way through the security line. Every few minutes, Luigi glanced over his shoulder, his eyes fixed on us. He gave us a furtive smile and a little wave. Another smile. Another wave. We stood there long enough to meet his final gaze across the crowded airport. It’s time for him to gaze at someone else. Someone permanent. A new home base.

Like all of our foster placements, this experience cost everyone in our family. Miles gave up his bedroom and lived like a visitor in Merrilee’s old room until we finally found the time to redo it for him. Merrilee slept on the bottom bunk of Meg’s room when she came home. Cassidy had to share our divided attention during her senior year and transition to college. Meg was sometimes the third wheel with those boys. They were prone to illness. They passed many illnesses on to us. We had to schedule our lives around multiple weekly visits and necessary appointments. Sometimes you just don’t want to hang out in a house with eight people in it, so that can bring tension and conflict.

These are not small things. It was hard. Some days, it felt too hard. We are exhausted. 

But these are also opportunities that make this life worth living. Doing hard things. Being the person you would need if you were the hopeless one. There but for the grace of God go you, right?

People often tell me how special I am because of this work that we do. But I have shared the story with you because…well…there are plenty of people who could step into a situation like this. I am not really special. In fact, I know four public school music teachers who have either fostered or adopted a student from their school. And every one of them entered the situation on a moment’s notice as fictive kin. In Lone Jack, I was one of two foster moms on staff. At Richardson Elementary, I am one of FOUR current foster providers, plus another teacher who fostered one of her husband’s students in the past. 

Teachers, especially, understand the assignment of foster care. You take responsibility for creating a climate and culture of structure, nurture, and high expectations. You pour everything into shaping, teaching, correcting, and loving a child who will leave you. You navigate the effects of their family culture. You roll your eyes and shake your head at all the ways the system is stupid and utterly fails to meet their needs. And you keep showing up anyway.

Maybe you’re thinking, “But Mrs. Parker, I am not a teacher.” No problem! Extended family, neighbors, babysitters, parents of the kids’ classmates…all of these relationships could theoretically be tapped as non-licensed relative placement. To be clear, there is eventually some training and a home study after kids are placed with you. But that’s just paperwork. Our experience in Missouri was that the process was more streamlined for relative placements.

The question is not whether you are special enough to stand in the gap for a child. It’s mainly this: are you willing? I agree that the foster parent role is not for everyone. But maybe it could be right for you. 

We are hanging up the spurs for awhile, but I am hoping to blog more on the topic of foster care this summer. If you have questions, feel free to reach out.