Learning What “Foster Child” Meant

As the door opened, a woman who looked familiar was standing on the other side of the door. I remembered her, she came to visit my family several times over the years. But I had no idea who she was. I just knew she was always sad, especially when she left.

Behind her were two little boys. They had to be about a year or two younger than I was. It was a small apartment. To the left was a living room with brown checkered wool material couches and a coffee table. On the far wall of it was a sliding glass door leading to a balcony.

To the right, was a kitchen with a small table to the left side, and on the right, a stove, refrigerator, and brown cabinets.

Next, on the left was this woman’s bedroom. I remember looking in and seeing the leopard skinned sheets and drapery and a big bed. In the middle, was a bathroom, as you stared into the room you seen a bathtub.

To the right of that was the boy’s bedroom. There were bunkbeds and one long tan dresser.

Out the window was a tree. I instantly wondered if I could climb down the tree and escape. I wanted to go home to my big bedroom with my canopy bed, and my bookshelves and my dolls, I didn’t want to stay here. I didn’t know these people.

Only, they were my family. Family I never even knew I had. This was my mom. These were my two little brothers. But at the age of 6, you cannot even begin to process this information. It’s like a bad dream. Nothing was real anymore.

Not the other lady, who I knew as mom. Who took care of me for 5 years. Not the man, who said he was my dad. Not the girls who said they were my sisters, not the boy who said he was my brother. None of them were my actual family. And the worst blow of them all. The woman who I loved more than anything, my grandmother, was not my grandmother after all. These were strangers who took me in when I was a ward of the state. People who opened their doors, their hearts and brought me into their lives. Took care of me, fed me, clothed me, taught me. And now, they were gone. Did I imagine them? Was I ever really there? Did they ever really love me? Where was all of my stuff? Who was sleeping in my bed? Where are my baby dolls? Where is my sisters? My brother? Did they know I wasn’t coming back? I didn’t even say goodbye, I know I was bad sometimes, I got into their stuff, but did they really have to send me away?

The emotional impact that alone has on a child, is unbelievable. You wake up one day, and your last name is one name. And then the next. It’s a new one.

I won’t lie. I believe that was the day I never really trusted anyone ever again. It’s a feeling I wish upon absolutely no one, not even my enemies.

That night, I lay on the top bunk of the bed, staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down my face. I was so scared. I missed my bedtime stories, my grandma. I was so scared. I had no idea what was going to happen to me next.

Raven Sapphire