Home?

While my husband was alive, it didn't really matter where we lived, as long as we lived there together.  I could have lived in a shoebox, as long as he was there.  But since he has passed, I don't feel that way anymore.  I feel adrift, something that I haven't felt in 29 years. 

Going through life with my family was fun.  From age 0 to 12, we moved almost every year.  But we were still a family, for the most part.  Always doing something together, even if it was simply walking to the lake to fish (I never did catch a single fish).  We made dolls out of flowers and dollhouses out of magazine pictures, fabric scraps and pieces of wood, usually all put into a cardboard box that was hanging around, or a shoe box.  But we were home... always and no matter where we lived.

Then foster care took all that... home was gone.  There were no more dolls made of flowers or sisters to argue with and share with.  I simply went from place to place whenever the social workers and whatever foster parents decided I wasn't "right" for the situation.  Sometimes 3 times in as many months.  I was adrift....

As I got older, my daughter was my anchor.  She was my focal point in life.  I lived in a space, where ever that was, and I was home....

Now, I have no idea where home is anymore.  I mean, yes, I live in a house.  I have pets.  I see my sister almost every day.... but I am not home anymore. 

I guess hearing from a guy from high school kind of brought up a lot of things that I thought had long since passed.  Things that, for the most part are not pleasant.  Feelings I thought were gone, dead and buried. 

But mostly it made me realize that I am homesick.  Really homesick.  The problem is, there is no home.  My husband is gone.  My daughter might as well be gone.  And I have no idea where I want to be or who I want to be.....


Is there really a place called home?

How Can I Help?

I have often wondered how I can help the youngers (what I call current and just aged out fosters) and have considered a thousand things.  One, adopting the older kids so that they have that safety net of a home that won't just runaway or where they are not ending up back in the situation from hell.... Or just doing foster care for teens (which is what I am working on right now).  Then a friend mentioned something that set off a bell inside me.

I really have to know, who teaches us to do the simple stuff that is normal in everyday life?  I know that I was lucky, I have a natural talent for cooking so as long as I had a place to cook and a little food, hungry wasn't an issue.  But I had no idea how to dress or act in public or at work.  I am 50 this year and it took all these years to just learn not to be a biotch to everyone I didn't like.

I know how to dress and do make up now.  But I had a lot of help over the years by people that did it out of pity.....

Well, thinking about that made me think of another idea..... what if we helped each other?  I mean, anyone who wants to know how to cook, or sew or stuff like that, I can help.  But I know nothing about a lot of the girly stuff - my nails look like a guys.  What if I helped someone learn how to cook and they helped me understand how to keep my hands pretty?

We can help each other.  After all, who else won't laugh when we ask why we have to floss our teeth or if that dress really looks slutty or how to put on mascara (at age 20)?

Just a thought.....

Is This a Post?

I wanted to start a group blog to give us (foster Care alumni) all a place that we can go and bring things to the group for support.  There is a tab so that anyone can submit a post, to be posted so feel free.

I can’t say I am struggling with much right now, just the same old dealing with a 12 year old thing.  She doesn’t like me much these days but I don’t think she is really supposed to.  She will be graduating in a short 4 years and while I can’t see us letting her go way to school until she is at least 18, all kids need to separate in order to become self-sufficient.   I just wish they could be a little nicer about it.  Does anybody remember being 12/13 and what did you wish the adults around you knew?  What would have made your life better?

A Note To My Fellow Foster Care Alumni

Bad stuff happens to good people, it is not fair but it is true. You deserved better than you got. From your original parents, from your workers and from the system, they let you down. That is not your fault. You did not make this mess you are currently sitting in, nope you didn’t. Where you are at is not the wrong place. It is exactly where they dropped you off and left you to your own devices. I would say you are exactly where you would be expected to be. But the truth is if you are not currently incarcerated, homeless, and pregnant by 20, or have lost custody of your own kids, you have already beaten the statistics. Got a job? You are a raging frigging success! I commend you, that is no small feat for folks like us.

Some of us have had it worse than others. Some of us go on to be academically successful; some have great success in their careers. Some of us beat all reasonable expectations by still being alive at 25. What I am saying baby, is that you are ok. I know you don’t believe me now but it is true.

Growing up I was lucky that I had staff and social workers who had come through the system, and they would tell me that I had the power over my own life, that things would get better and that I could do anything I put my mind to. *cough* *choke* *gag* oh yeah, *eye roll* they just didn’t understand what it was like to live in my head. They must not have been as damaged as I was in the first place. They must not have lost as much as I lost. They must not have had to resort to the kind of stuff I did to survive. They just didn’t get what it was like to be me. I just knew they were all wrong about me. I was not like them.

I cut, I drank (I blacked out), I fought, I slept around, I couch surfed for years and I did a lot of really stupid things. I hitch-hiked a crossed this country several time trying to find someplace – any place I belonged. I loved people, hurt people and I made many mistakes. It wasn’t pretty for a while, but I survived, I thrived.
…And so will you my sweet, sensitive, wounded little sister (or brother). I can see those eyes rolling now. I know you think I am wrong. I don’t know what it was like to live in your head. I don’t know what it was like to live your life or feel your pain. And I don’t know exactly. But what I do know is that our lives, our pasts, and the amount of pain we have been able to withstand have left us uniquely qualified for survival. You won’t catch me shedding a single tear because the garage door open broke.

There is a lot left here for you to do. You are the voice for our younger foster kin, our little brothers and sisters who are stuck in a broken system, most of whom will find themselves out in the cold and on their own the day they turn 18, just like you and just like me. Your voice can help advocate for them. Your voice can help change that. You have a book to write, a song to sing, a meal to serve, a hand to hold or a billboard to paint. You are crazy strong and foster care gave you a crazy powerful will.

No, you didn’t make that mess, it’s not fair but I know you are capable of cleaning it up. I know you are fully capable of doing anything that you put your mind to. And I know that you have a lot of good left to do in this life. Keep on keeping on, I have high expectations for you.