Probably. But I will keep writing. Read on brave souls...
This is the equivalent to me writing out Asher's birth story. Eh... or something like that.
I am currently sitting on the couch in our living room where I sat and signed papers on December 4th, 2012 stating that I would be Malia's care-taker until further notice.
It seemed at that time that she would not be staying in our home for long. The day of her placement we received several calls before CPS even brought her to our door, saying that she had siblings in foster care and she would be placed with them instead. However, the siblings' foster family was under investigation at the time, so we would be Malia's placement until the investigation was over.
CPS informed us at the beginning of 2013 that they would be moving Malia to live with her siblings on Friday, January 18th. So that week I pack up her belongings, cry like a baby, then emotionally shut myself off from her. Thursday evening rolls around and her CPS worker calls us saying the paperwork was not processed in time, therefore he would come get Malia on January 22nd instead. Seriously?! I had already become emotionally numb towards this little baby and I was supposed to be her mom over the weekend too? And it was a three day weekend for crying out loud. Obviously, I was very mature about the entire situation.
Monday comes. I cry again. I pack her things up again, knowing she is leaving the next morning. Then Monday afternoon she doesn't drink much of her bottle. By 7pm Monday night, she refuses all food, becomes limp, lethargic, pale, and cold. So we take her to the Emergency Room and it felt like an out of body experience. When we handed her to the nurse who does an initial evaluation at the front desk, the nurse took her temperature then scooped Malia up in the blink of an eye and rushed back to where the ER patient rooms are. She kept saying: "I have a very sick baby! I need help now!" Then the rest was a blur. Otha and I watched as medical staff rushed in, intubated her, and saved her life. Within hours, Malia and I were on a plane to Texas Children's Hospital.
There I was with a very, very sick child... who was under my care... who I had already said goodbye to, twice... in the ICU in Houston. What?!? Meanwhile, we are on the phone with CPS asking if her new foster parents will be coming to the hospital to take over or if Malia transitioning homes will not happen anymore. Yes- she will still move homes. But not until she is out of the hospital. So be her parents while she is in Houston, but once she is discharged from the hospital, she will also be discharged from your care. What the what? I will not even go into the conversations we had with the foster parents of her siblings during those two weeks. The excuses they had for not coming to see her in the hospital were terrible... and terribly alarming.
ALL THAT TO SAY- she was supposed to leave our home, but instead her body tried to die instead.
She gets discharged from Texas Children's a few weeks later. CPS decides that Malia's cardiologist will just need to clarify that she is "stable enough to move homes" at her next follow up appointment in March. Between discharge and follow up appointments, Malia is sick. All. The. Time. People could hear her breathing in the other room. The weekend before her follow up appointment, I pack her bags again, cry again, and emotionally distance myself again. I take her to the appointment and the cardiologist says: She is a very sick baby and needs to be admitted into the hospital. And before he signs papers to admit her, I explain the situation and ask him if he can decide whether she is stable enough to move homes. He says - yes, I don't see why she couldn't change foster parents right now. I ask him to put it in writing. He says he is too busy, just ask the cardiologist in the inpatient unit to do it.
After Malia is settled into her hospital room, I ask the other cardiologist the same question and he says - no, she is not stable enough to move homes. Um... excuse me? Ok, can I get that in writing? A few hours later, he hands me a letter to fax CPS saying that Malia is medically unstable to transition homes at that time. Otha and I then spend hours on the phone with CPS, our foster agency, and Malia's lawyer's assistant telling them that if they have plans to move Malia after she is discharged, then her new foster parents need to be at the hospital too learning about Malia's conditions, medications, etc. Back and forth, back and forth. Finally the lawyer decides Malia will stay with us. Her situation trumps the priority to keep siblings in foster care together, for better or for worse.
ALL THAT TO SAY - she was supposed to leave our home again, but her primary cardiologist was too busy to write a letter.
We sat by Malia's bedside for weeks and weeks in March and April, not sure if she was going to live. I begged God to heal her. We shed so many tears, thinking we were going to lose this precious girl because her body was just not strong enough. Then God did heal her. It was beautiful and miraculous and we took her home with us, unpacking all of her belongings again.
At that point, we knew that unless Malia's biological parents fulfilled their court appointed services, Malia would be with us forever. Happy Ever After, right?
Wrong.
Summer came. And my immaturity struck again. What if something crazy happens and she doesn't stay with us? I don't want to be that foolish foster parent who gets comfortable and attached and becomes a wreck when the unexpected happens! These were real thoughts people. I could not even call her Malia, even though that's what we decided we would change her name to when we finalized her adoption. I could not commit to something unpredictable.
So then I felt disconnected from Malia. Really, really disconnected. I spent hours thinking through people who could adopt her instead of us... because those people could really love her like she deserves. Those people have bleeding hearts without guards, walls, and moats to protect them from potential pain that comes from love. I was basically saying that I wanted her out of my life before I got hurt.
[When people tell me how selfless I am for doing foster care, I want to laugh. Does the paragraph above sound selfless? Selfishness to protect myself ruled my world that summer.]
Then in mid July, Malia's body tried to shut down again. We moved into Texas Children's Hospital again. And it was this hospital stay that God did more healing, but this time in me. He healed my heart of so much anxiety, fear, selfishness, and a million other things that prohibited me from loving Malia 100%. As much as those two months were terrible, watching Malia struggle for life once more, those months brought so much life to my soul. It was the first time I really recognized myself as her mom and wanted to advocate for her as my daughter, not just my foster daughter.
In all that time, people were helping us raise Asher, counseling me through my brokenness, and holding our family together. Seriously, I cannot think about Malia's life so far and not think about the incredible community who truly did life with us during our hardest year ever. Those were some of the darkest times of my life, yet I never felt alone.
There were also a few months during the fall where we thought we would be adopting Malia's two siblings as well. The foster family that Malia was supposed to move in with initially, lost their foster license. So we are extra thankful that Malia was never moved into their home.
When I reflect on our journey the past 18 months with Malia, I am overwhelmed by God's grace and patience for me. I was an eager 24 year old wanting to save the orphan and passionately throwing myself into being a foster parent. And it destroyed me. In the best ways. My love alone was not enough. My passion for helping those in need was not enough. My pride in not wanting to be vulnerable and get hurt like the average foster parent was not enough. My experience working with families from hard places was not enough. I, myself, was not enough for the task. I jumped into an ocean of foster care and I was barely keeping my head above water. Yet, God saved me. Not in a way that he just took me out of the water. He graciously taught me how to swim... how to depend on him and how to love Malia whole-heartedly with full abandon. He taught me how to risk everything for another person, in the same way that he gave up himself for us. He taught me how to be a mother in a whole new way.
I am a different person because of the past 18 months. It's truly been life-changing. So life-changing that we are going "in-active" with our foster care license for awhile. I am exhausted.
Our next big adventure is moving to Fort Worth the beginning of June. We are excited to live close to an amazing children's hospital for Malia and to be close to my parents as well.
I'm sure I will write a sappy blog about how much I love Bryan, TX though. So don't worry, that's coming soon.
But first, I would like to introduce you to my daughter, Malia Catherine Graham:
