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Monday, April 7, 2008

In whose best interest is this, exactly?

Right smack dab in the middle of our slow waltz with Sir Influenza, we had yet another ray of unpleasantness: Oliver had his first visits with his biological parents.

In case you're as in the dark as I was to the entire process of foster-adoption, let me give you a crash course. A child who is not yet legally free, but who is approaching the end of the federally-mandated limitation of time in foster care limbo, is placed in a home that has been accepted as a "pre-adopt" situation. The reasoning here is that something along the lines of 95% of people who have failed to comply with court-ordered services (such as substance abuse counseling, mental health evaluations, etc.) or follow through in the court-approved visitation of said children within the generous length of time set forth by the law fail to ever come into compliance. Want that in English? No problem: people who are not absolutely set on fire by threat of losing their kids rarely manage to get their acts together. The children of these people--the ones who fail to show for visits, who refuse psychological evaluations, who fail drug tests again and again or can't seem to make it to the parenting class they were ordered to take--these kids are singled out to be placed in homes open to adoption before their parents rights are terminated, in the hopes of not losing precious months and even years to the slow grind of the wheels of process.

The catch here is that these children still, legally, belong to the parents to whom they were born. And those parents still have rights. Chief among these rights for those who haven't already blown it is the ability to visit with their kids on a weekly basis.

Going into foster-adoption, this is the part that made me get a lump in my throat. I can't imagine that you're shocked. What will probably be shocking is why I was afraid. I'm going to confess it: I was afraid that I would meet and like the child's biological parents. You know, really like them. Want to maintain some dreamy contact where my family and I somehow serve as this conduit to Christ for these wayward folks, and manage to help them begin picking up the pieces of the mess they've created. And then, of course, we'd have to give them their child back because well, there was no more issue in regards to their ability to parent.

Yeah, I actually thought that. Call me a romantic.

Actually, call me a fool.

The fact is, Oliver's records make for some pretty heart-wrenching reading. By the time I had spent half an hour scrolling over the horrors to which some people feel justified in inflicting on their infants, I was actually nauseous. And trust me, Oliver's case is no where near the worst I've heard from other families who have adopted from foster care. The point is--it would take an absolute act of God to compel me to befriend Oliver's bio parents beyond the level of common courtesy. And it's only Christ in me in the first place that stops me from spitting every time I say their names.

No joke.

But back to Oliver's visits with his bio parents ...

Last Tuesday, I drove an hour or so to take our little guy to his first visit with Bio Dad. Got him there just a touch early in the hopes of a social worker whisking him away into a back room before he could see me crying as I walked away. Imagine my shock and horror as I walked into the office, baby on my hip, diaper bag on my shoulder and saw a taller, older version of Oliver sitting in the only occupied seat in the tiny waiting room.

You guessed it. Oliver's biological father and I ... in the same 12x12 area.

Because I can come off as a pretty cold fish when I put my mind to it, I managed to act like he was completely non-existent as I made my way to the glass-enclosed sign-in area.

"Hello," I greeted the elderly lady at the desk through the little vent. "I'm here with Oliver X."

"WHAT?!" she yelled through the same little vent.

"Ol-i-ver!" I yelled back, pointing at the baby boy. "Visitation!"

"OH! SIGN IN PLEASE!"

She shoved a clipboard at me through the sliding tray door. I noted with increasing revulsion the name in the last space. Identity confirmed: Bio Dad. As if I needed confirmation. Seriously--the guy is an absolute picture of Oliver. Only with really tacky bleached hair.

Being the cautious/paranoid type that I tend to be in such instances, I wrote only my first name on the line. When I returned the clipboard, the elderly woman nodded at the man in the waiting area.

"I THINK THAT'S WHO YOU'RE WAITING FOR!" she bellowed helpfully.

"Uh-huh. Thanks," was my rueful reply.

At this point, I had absolutely no polite choice but to select a seat relatively close to the man and try, try, try to make come sort of conversation. The first thing that came to mind was completely inappropriate ("Well, you made it! Lovely of you to show! What's different about today that you actually grace us with your presence?") so I went with plan B and commented on the fact that he must be very happy to be seeing his son after more than a month.

"Yeah." His voice was flat and toneless, not unlike my heartbeat.

How warm and engaging, I thought sarcastically. What a softie.

We continued on like this for a few more minutes before I managed to excuse myself (and Oliver) for a trip to the bathroom. It was there that I hit my knees--literally.
"God, I have no idea why You have me here right now, but I do not like it! I'm not going to whine, and I'm not going to beg for it to be over, but You know that this is the most uncomfortable I've ever been in my entire life. So I really need You! Help! 911! What on earth do you want me to say to this man? How can I even look him in the eye? Give me words, Jesus. Give me words!"

Again, I'm just being honest about the tone of things here. This isn't a word for word translation of what I brought before the Lord, but it's pretty darn close. It wasn't a pure prayer, and it wasn't an especially eloquent one, but it was real. Probably one of the most real prayers I've ever prayed.

It worked, of course. I walked back in that waiting room with a shaking heart and fear that turned my knees to water ... but I did walk back in. That's proof enough of Divine Intervention right there, if you ask me. But the real answer to my prayer was this: on Bio Dad's right hand, in the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, are Oliver's initials. I saw it, and I knew that this was God showing me a piece of this man. A piece I could grasp onto as being more than a rundown of evidence of neglect gleaned from a court document. A tiny glimpse of him as a person. More than that, really; a vision of him as a father. Not a great one, but somewhere inside, still ... a father.

With this digesting in my mind, I managed to direct a fairly innocuous conversation around the finer points of Oliver's life for the next few minutes. Got his birth weight (5 lbs., 14 oz.), saw a few pictures of a tiny, wasted version of Oliver that were saved in his father's cell phone.

And then the social worker came. I handed Oliver over, spoke a blessing over him right there (hey, the state knows I'm a Christian and if they don't like me blessing kids, they ought not give me any!) and fled. Ran to my truck, shook so hard I couldn't get the keys in the ignition, and sobbed.

An hour later, Oliver was back in my arms. Face puffy from tears, breath jerky from the exertion of it all. I buckled him into his car seat and listened to him wail the entire way home for the first time in five weeks.

He was a pill the next day. Out of sorts, clingy and often inconsolable. We geared up for Bio Mom's visit the following day with nothing short of loathing.

Sure enough, it was another bitter pill--this time, though, I didn't find myself face to face with the parent. Honestly, I think this was a direct answer to my prayers; Oliver's bio mom was the greater perpetrator of his neglect, and is also noted as being hostile and aggressive. Not meeting her was a massive blessing.

But not for Oliver, of course. When I picked him up, he was high on caffeine from the can of soda she had given him for lunch (allowed by the person overseeing the visit in the DSHS office) and glassy-eyed. He refused to nap that afternoon (you're shocked, I know) and spent the entire next day
vacillating from fits of anger to shrieks of terror.

And Saturday, our baby boy returned. Woke up bright eyed, happy, and full of joy. Sure, he was a bit less inclined to stray very far from my side than he had been a week before, but still, he was himself. The Oliver we've come to know and love.

Of course, it all goes back around this week. Wednesday and Thursday are visit days, I've been informed. For the next two months, I've cleared them on my calendar to accommodate the wishes of the court.

But I'm going to admit that I'm praying it all ends sooner rather than later. While I hate these visits (I'm the mother, after all, who doesn't even leave her babies in the church nursery, let alone with folks who have abused them) I can't help but feel that they sincerely damage Oliver. Seeing his biological parents clearly caused him to revert to survival mode. The progress of the last month was completely erased until he quite literally rebooted his entire system.

What is this doing to his heart? I don't know. But I know that it's breaking mine--and I asked for this. Oliver didn't. He's an innocent bystander ... in his own life.

15 comments:

Sarah said...

You are Jesus to this boy, MG! Of course you love him and this breaks your heart. I'd expect nothing less from you. Jesus is there for you, Oliver and his bio parents that need forgiveness and salvation. God has His way of working...you know that!

Huge HUGS to you and thanks for letting us read about your heart.

Jamie said...

Mary Grace, I have been following your progress with your newest little angel. What an amazing story--I'm breathless every time I log on and read the latest. We are far from you and can't help directly, but wanted to pass on some info that may help. DH is a therapist who works with foster kids, many of them horribly traumatized. Read up on two techniques to help him process his transition and early trauma: NET and EFT. EFT you can do with Oliver yourself at home. We have seen amazing results. I can't teach this to you myself, but can help you find someone who can, and would be thrilled to help you. Also, I know a wonderful counselor who may be close enough to your area, someone whom I know personally and love who will pray and cry with you in addition to giving you all some fabulous tools for getting through this transition.
Blessings, prayers and hugs to you all,

Jamie
mo3angels@gmail.com

Christine said...

MG, stay strong and keep your eyes on Jesus. This is the most painful part in the process. We went through it for 14 months with our dd! She was 5 at the time and it affected her so badly. I will put you on my Wed and Thurs prayer lists for sure...and all the days in between.

Paula said...

Praying for you MG! This whole process breaks my heart just hearing about it.

Karla said...

You have more grace than I do... that's all I can say! But then... God is faithful to give us grace as we need it, isn't He?

Stacy said...

What a great post. I loved reading it and I could relate a few times, too-- seeing our foster baby's birthmom in the waiting room of the DSHS office was super uncomfortable. And I, too, wondered what to say? I said little.

I was shocked to find out that even with our 2 month foster baby, she was not herself for the rest of that day. Wouldn't settle down, wouldn't sleep, was fussier-- every day she had a birthparent visit. Crazy.

~Stacy

Steve Sensenig said...

Wow. We were blessed with our little Hope Giver not to have to go through bio visits. Those were all done by the time she got to us. But I know that even just the transition from her former foster family WHO LOVE HER was hard enough going back and forth for a few weeks. I can't imagine having to deal with bio visits.

Thank you for sharing so vulnerably. I wish we were close enough for our families to get together and encourage one another, but I do hope you have some sort of support network there where you are.

Oh, and your title says it all. It is very hard to understand some of the decisions that are made by the state in these situations. They claim to be "for the child", but sometimes it almost seems like they bend over backwards to appease the bio adults. It's hard to watch, to be honest.

You're in my prayers.

~ Angi :) said...

Herein lies the evidence of your skill, ability, talent as a writer: This was so . . .so . . .CLEAN. Free, not of the emotional content, but free of the vomituous type of emotion that most certainly came up from within you. And then, the crowning reality: All of the emotional vomit had been washed into the sea of forgetfulness by a gracious Creator. Powerful.

OH, MG. May you be strengthened with might by His spirit in your inner man ~ and may the Lord intervene: quickly is my request ~ and bring closure to these bio folks that they will slip on into the future of their existance. And I pray another laborer, not you, not Oliver, into their harvest field. Please, Father? I ask in the name of your Son. For Oliver's well being and benefit. Please secure this child to MG's family forever. Soon.

anya* said...

wow, what a great post mg. seriously, you are a really great writer! but i can also tell by that post (and many others), what a great mom you are as well.

in all honesty, as was reading your post, i kept thinking, thank you God that i am not going through that! it is enough that the kids constantly talk of their bio mom and family- and even when they look at their picures of family they start acting differently- i cant imagine what they would be like returning from a visit with her...

we are surely on the front lines with what the Lord has put on our plate- but like you said- we asked for it!
much love to you.

Anne Devlin said...

Wow! I LOVE your blog! You inspire me :-) I hope you will turn your journal into a book someday. God could work in mighty ways through your eperiences, insights and eloquence!

Hope you are all recovering from the flu - my teens and baby Owen (the only ones who didn't get the flu shot) are all down with it this week too.

Many Blessings,
Anne Devlin
DH - John
DS - Max - 17 - bio
DD - Suzy - 13 - bio
DD - Lily - 6 - China
DS - Benjamin - 2 - Guatemala
DS - Owen - born 10-27-07
http://devlin-family-circus.blogspot.com/

Gayle said...

I was so moved by this post. What an honor to be the ones who get to show him Love, Security, Hope, A Future...Jesus! What would happen to him if he didn't have your arms waiting for him after these visits?

Bless you guys.

texastanya said...

I came across your blog today. It brought back such memories. We adopted our boys from foster care, and I can remember the days of Family Visitation. The boys would come back home either starving or hopped up on sugar, caffine, or something that they shouldn't have eaten. I'll never forget the day the oldest, who was 3 year old, returned and screamed that his insides were exploding because he had been given a liter of soda and a bag of Hot Cheetos. So glad we don't have to deal with that ever again...
Just remember, this too shall pass.

Jess said...

Goodness gracious, Mary Grace-- I really had no idea how these things go... thank you for not only being the storyteller of your family's story, but for informing us about foster adoption.

I wonder if I could link to this story sometime from my blog or if you'd prefer for it to remain more private, for family and friends only?

Jess

Deanna said...

We just had our first experience with our first foster son's visit with Mom and Grandma, separately. I met Grandma, a sweet lady who wants custody of him.
His response that evening was to cram every bit of food he could get his little hands on into his mouth at top speed despite it being very hot. It breaks my heart.

Kim & Dave said...

Oh my, MG......

My heart is breaking for all you....but mostly for your precious boy.....

:hugs: & :prayers: