The day after A came to live with me, we had a hearing in
which the judge would decide if it was necessary for her to have been removed
from the home. Depending on the verdict,
she would either stay with me or go to a relative placement. I was super nervous. It’s a strange feeling walking into a
courthouse with someone else’s child, knowing they are about to fight for her
and petition the court for her back. I
didn’t know what they looked like or who they were, yet I was taking care of
what was sure to be most precious to them.
A lady led me straight to a door, and when I walked in I was at the
front of the actual courtroom. I assumed
I wouldn’t be a part of the actual hearing, but was needed to bring A in case
she was returned to her family. That definitely
wasn’t the case. A social worker took
her to a room to play while the court proceedings got underway. The attorney told me I was on the list of
those allowed to be inside the room as the hearings took place. I watched as the sheriff walked in, we stood
as the judge walked in with her black robe, and I was as nervous as I would
have been had I been bungee jumping off the Empire State Building. I listened as both parties went back and
forth pleading their case to the judge.
Thankfully, she agreed that it was in A’s best interest to stay in
custody of DHR and return home with me.
I was told she would be with me for 4-6 weeks.
Once court was dismissed, they whisked us away through a
staircase at the back of the building to avoid seeing any family members as we
were exiting. I was told I needed to
take A to DHR immediately and meet the social worker, as well as some members
of her family and their attorney to devise a plan for the coming weeks. This is called an ISP meeting. I met A’s mom. She’s really nice, and I can tell that she
loves her dearly. She asked if she could
hug me, which made us both emotional.
She thanked me for taking care of her daughter and told me how much she
loved her. She gave me numerous reasons
she was a fit parent and told me she was going to do whatever she had to in
order to get well and bring A home. I
told her I wasn’t there to judge her and promised I would love her child until
she was well enough to do it again herself.
We discussed goals for her and what was expected of her in order to
regain custody, and we planned times for weekly family visitation. I expected a social worker to walk us out and
accompany me as A said goodbye to her family.
That was an awkward situation to witness for sure. What made it even more awkward was that when
we walked out of the building, A chose to hold me hand instead of her
mom’s. I could tell her mom was visibly
upset, then she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “now don’t let her get
attached to you.” How was I to respond
to that? I don’t even remember what I
said. She hugged her family and got in
my car just as if she were going to see them again in an hour. I just couldn’t believe how well she was
handling such a terrible and sad situation.
We went to lunch after the meeting. It was surreal looking at such a precious
little girl, knowing I was her foster mom.
I was a PARENT! Biological or
not, I was her sole provider, her comforter, her nurturer, her everything for
the next undisclosed amount of time. I’m
telling you- I don’t think I’d ever felt more fulfilled in my life.
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