Cooked Goose

It was all going according to plan … and yet, driving away, all I could hear were the sobbing cries of my wife and daughter.

Last Friday, we handed our foster child over to his family. After months of steps, moving forward and back with his parents, out of nowhere, his grandparents were suddenly approved for a temporary placement. A month ago, all we knew was a looming court date. Then one morning, my wife gets a call from the social worker about the possibility. Two weeks later, we were dropping him off. Just like that. After ten months of holding, kissing, changing, walking, playing, feeding … it took all of thirty minutes to say, “Good bye.”

I know it sounds embittered. I can only tell you that we are not. Was it too abrupt? Yes. Would a different timetable have helped? Probably not. Did we want to keep him. Yes and no. You see, there in lies the complexity. We all – but especially my wife – loved this boy like our own. Unreservedly. Almost immediately, my wife dropped her guard and opened her heart. He was hers. It’s exactly what he needed. A real mom … well, while separated from his real mom that is. It’s what made him chunky and smiley. Can any real mom want to give that up?

All the while, we spent eight hours a week with his real parents, doing everything we knew to help them get their son back. Praying. Encouraging. Hoping. Coaching. When together, we longed with them that one day their son would be returned to them. We exhorted them, even pleaded with them to do all that was mandated.

Paradoxically, the only way to do this was to work ourselves into wanting to keep him while remaining unwavering in our commitment to return him. My wife did this. She did it well – just like we’d planned. And by so doing, she guaranteed for herself a broken heart. And in a way, this broken heart is her last generous gesture … a parting gift given to a boy who will not be forgotten.