A Letter to my foster child

The last few months have been really tough in our house. To truly understand the mind of a traumatised child one has to live with the reality. As a Christian I am carried and sustained by the promise that God is sovereign and all that we are experiencing is completely within His plan for our lives. I am carried by the many friends who pray for our family and I am constantly reminded of the price and yet the great privilege to be included in Gods family.

What follows is a letter I have written for my eldest foster daughter (who is only 6). My prayer is that one day she will actually read this letter and look back on this time as an important part of growing her into the woman we are hoping for her to become.

My sweet precious child,

I am trapped, I am struggling and trapped beneath the weight of your trauma and grief.
I am crying, I am grieving and crying for the life they have stolen from you.
I am drowning, I am swimming and drowning under the burdens I am carrying for you.
I am trying, I am failing and trying to understand how your world can be so dark.
I am battling, I am weak and battling to break through your walls, to feel all your pain and give you some hope.

My daughter you are struggling, I see you every day wanting to draw close and bathe in a mothers love but being so scared of what that may mean. Risking it all when this one could turn out just like the rest, another ‘hurting mum’.
We play this dance, you and me, I draw you close, you allow me in for just one brief moment and then you push away. When people ask you how your mother feels about this you tell them ‘she doesn’t care’ the problem is she cares too much. But how can I expect you to feel when all you have felt is pain, abandonment, loneliness, fear and rejection.
I want to push back, push you away, send you away, reject you too and ask why would I love you when you are so hurtful and unkind, when you hurt with your words and your actions. I don’t want to give to you anymore because the pain inside is too much to bear but then I stop short of that call because I would only be doing to you what every other adult has done. How can I expect anything different when what you are modelling is what you have learnt. I’m asking you to take on a life that is so completely foreign we may as well be speaking different languages.

How do I show you the future I see, you trusting in people, you laughing and smiling when you catch sight of me, instead of the usual fear and distrust. How do I help you when all hope appears lost. Time is the key everyone says but time seems so long in the middle of battle.
How can I help you when I feel so inadequate and weak. When all my attempts to reach you are met with resistance. I ponder this question all day long and my only answer is that I need to keep giving, even when there is nothing left to give. I need to keep praying because that’s my greatest hope. I need to keep holding you close, I need to let you watch me and build up that trust. Little by little breaking down those walls reminding you that you are deeply loved by a mum who wishes she could have carried you into this world and saved you from all that you’ve been through, a mum who wishes she could’ve been there to respond to your cries and kiss all your hurts, a mum who wishes that she could have been there right from the beginning teaching you and giving you someone to trust and rely on.
BUT this mum wasn’t there for the beginning of your journey. This mum promises though, that she will be there for the rest of this journey and maybe just maybe when you’re old enough to understand this letter you will finally understand how deeply loved and treasured you are by this mum.
Love mum xx

Permanant Temporary-ness

Picture this….my children joking and playing around at the dinner table talking about all the things they will claim in the event of my death, a few things were squabbled over and my daughter who lives over 2 hours away also brought into the discussion. This scene played out in my house a number of weeks ago now but since then I seem to have been reminded constantly of our ‘temporary-ness’ on this earth.

We don’t like to talk about death, because well really none of us want to think about anything other than being right here doing the very things we like doing. For me, the last few weeks have been very interesting and somewhat challenging at times as I have confronted the thought that I will not be here forever.

I have heard multiple stories of peoples lives cut short because of illness. I have numerous people in my wide circle who are currently fighting diseases which will ultimately see their lives cut short….and then I have one story that has affected me more than I imagined it would. Here is this story.

An acquaintance from my past, in fact a teacher who taught at a school that my children attended some 10 years ago was going about his life as you would. In the space of a week he became aware that he was unwell and within that week he passed away. Why has this had such a profound affect on me? I think because he was similar in age to me, I think because I get really busy with stuff and I don’t stop to think about the possibility that today could be my last day, I think because I like many others don’t like to think of a life cut short.

But what IS a life cut short? My nana died 2 years ago at the most amazing age of 100, my dad the year before that at age 76…would I say that either of their lives were cut short? What is the magical number at which a life is considered to not be cut short? Why is it that I live with the perception that I will live to be 100 (that’s what I’ve told my kids). Why do I not view my life as something so much more fragile and why do I waste so many hours of so many days, living like there will always be tomorrow.

I found myself thinking about what I would do differently if I had the knowledge that this would be my last few days, and I made a mental list.

1. I’d want to spend time with people who were important to me
2. I’d want people to feel free to come and say goodbye
3. I’d want to pack my children’s lives with lots of love and a few living tips (just to help them not make the same mistakes I have)
4. I’d want to reflect on my life and see that where it was possible by me that I was at peace with others

After making this mental list I thought about the affect my death would have on those around me. Who would turn up at my funeral, would I be surprised by people in attendance and those that were missing, what would they say about me and then how long would it take for me to just be a name uttered once in a while and remembered fondly.

As morbid as this all seems I actually have found it quite therapeutic to consider that my time on this earth WILL come to an end. I hope it has changed the way I am living right now, I hope I’m taking more interest in people, I hope I’m being more focussed on the really important things and not allowing myself to get drawn into the not so important!

Another favourite bible verse of mine is found in Psalm 90:12 “Teach us to number our days aright, that we may gain a heart of wisdom”……in other words let me evaluate the use of my time in light of the brevity of my life.

I want to live with a permanent temporary-ness, a mind set that today may be my last.

My Five

1. Something I read today – ‘The Time Travellers Wife’
2. The last text I sent today – to a friend
3. My moment for today – seeing a mama duck with a whole line of ducklings waddling behind her on the road to school
4. Something I smelt today – clean sheets…mmmm
5. Something I learnt today – how much I would receive if my husband was to die (in light of todays blog this is quite interesting…and I would much rather him here with me than the money!)