We Have to Let Go of Our Child
By Andi Rivarola
It happened, the worst thing that could happen to a parent. We will have to let go of our child. Our dear son, Matthew, will be returning to his biological family.
As first-time foster parents, our minds drifted from the idea that Matthew could ever be away from us, even for a day. Fostering a child was a solution to becoming a parent, which we took in stride. We wanted to become parents to children who needed us, and we did not want to bring more children into the world. With only these ideas at heart, we started our journey into the children's social services limbo. This foster care/adoption system was supposed to have helped us adopt a child within a year.
Matthew was in our home for almost five months by the time we were told that he might have to go back to his family of birth.
My partner Ruben and I agonized over the judge's decision.
"What is she thinking?" we asked each other. "Doesn't she know that he's in danger in that family?" You read this kind of story in the paper, but never think it could happen to you.
We bonded with Matthew so quickly, even on that first day. We were ready for him, and he was ready and waiting for us. By the time we got him, he had spent five months in the foster care system, but for some reason, he lived in four different foster homes. "What are they doing to this little baby?" we pondered.
His eyes were so sad the first day he came into our home. Those beautiful brown eyes, surrounded by barely present eyebrows and eyelids, were the windows to his life's experience.
"He's a tender, loving baby, waiting to connect with some adult interested enough," said the social worker who dropped him off that day.
Well, we always felt that we were those souls marching to his rescue. We never had any doubt of our love for him.
It was Wednesday evening when we received the investigator's phone call. We knew this hearing was occurring, but since it was postponed four times, we were not nervous about it.
"I want you to brace for the worst," she said. "Our whole team - the lawyer, the social worker, county counsel and all of their supervisors - went to court thinking that it would be crazy for the judge not to grant our petition to quit the family reunification process [a step that precedes termination of his biological parents' rights]. But after these past couple of days, we all feel that it will not happen. The judge is not hearing us, and we feel that she's going to rule for the biological family's favor. Please do not be shocked. Tomorrow should be the end of the hearing and the judge should make a decision. I will call you to let you know the outcome."
We were stunned, our ears unplugged, our hearts broken and ripped apart.
"How could this happen?" we repeatedly asked each other. We were in silence for a while. Then I said, "We have done everything we could."
Ruben's eyes were filled with tears. "We gave him our love and now what?" he said. "There's nothing else we can do. I'm just worried about him. Will he be in danger?"
For all we knew of the case, he could be in danger, in a home with a history of physical abuse and violence. Yet the judge was exposed to this information and still decided to send the child back.
Our thoughts that night were all about Matthew. Would tomorrow be his last day with us? Should we forget about the arduous job of teaching him discipline, respect and good habits? It's work and we barely have enough time to enjoy each other's company. How many hours do we have left with him? How many minutes?
Thursday morning came and I was in a daze. I couldn't think. I couldn't work. All I had was a feeling of emptiness and sorrow. At noon, the investigator called Ruben at work and he called me.
"The child's attorney is sick," he said "The hearing was postponed. It will continue in the next few days."
For a few more precious days, Matthew was still our beloved son. Then followed the unknown.
Our weekend was filled with joy. "Should we make it a special 'last weekend?'" I asked Ruben, instantly realizing that all our days were special. Our days were just filled with activities. We played in the park. At the beach, we built highways for his cars and trucks. We took walks where we all skipped together. Or we simply went to the store. Going out together was a special trip. Matthew liked doing all of this, and we enjoyed every minute of it because we knew it made him happy.
On Saturday morning, we went to the dog park near our home and took Lilly, our 5-year-old Shiba Inu.. Matthew ran after every dog in the park. The Dalmatians, tiny Pomeranians and even smaller Chihuahuas - he touched and kissed each one of them until he got so tired he only wanted to be held. He fell asleep on the way to the tennis court. We tried keeping him awake, but he kept falling asleep. Ruben and I played tennis for a while, and he collected tennis balls. We left the court after a couple hours and went home for a well-deserved nap.
Sunday was visit day. He went off with his mother, and we didn't mind not knowing what they did.
On Monday, we waited all day and night for a phone call, which never materialized. The waiting was excruciating and painful. On Tuesday, the investigator called. She went on and on, recounting every detail about the case.
"The official word is that Matthew needs to go back to his family. Not today though, in six months. The judge wants the whole family to go to counseling together. After a six-month period, there will be another hearing to determine whether the kids should really go back to their family for good."
This time we were calm, and we were light with our response. "We love this child, and we will take care of him as long as is necessary, six months or the rest of our lives."
Even though the judge's decision made no sense to us, we came to several realizations, perhaps because we wanted to feel at peace or because we knew this to be an opportunity for self-growth -- to become better individuals, better parents.
The biggest realization is that we now feel deeply that whatever happens, whether he stays or goes, we will always be Matthews' parents. We are his Daddy and Papi. We don't need to experience a conventional family to confirm the love we feel for each other. Nowadays, families are normally unconventional. Kids from different marriages live together as siblings; grandparents raise their grandchildren as their own; uncles and aunts also play the same part.
We also realized that we are, and always will be, an unconventional family. That's no news to us. That is who we are. We are two men married to each other, in a legally unrecognized relationship. Matthew's case is only a confirmation of our unconventional status and, as such, our family configuration does not have to match anybody else's. We will have other children. We will pursue our dream of becoming parents. Who in the world could dispute it? Who could say, "You can't love each other that way"?
If we had to do it all over again, we'll do it the same way -- only because it was this way that we had a chance to meet our son. Having a loving child in our lives has enriched us in ways unimaginable and has changed our lives forever.
March 26, 2002