FAREWELL FELLER

So sad, this.

A lad came to us some years ago, I've talked about him on previous occasions but just to reprise;

He was aged 17, due to leave care any time. He was a charming young person, considerate round the house, articulate and emotionally intelligent.

He had plans. He wanted to create music and had bought some sort of keyboard/computer to kickstart. He had trouble sleeping and often stayed awake downstairs until 4.00am.

He used to skip college sometimes and hang around a park. Some evenings he'd take the train to a nearby town and I'd pick him up from the last train, him smelling a bit of smoke.

I had my suspicions the smoke was more than plain baccy, and talked to our Blue Sky Social Worker often about it. We agreed that his local authority SW should be informed informally of his possible activity, and the response was something like "Let us know if his behaviour becomes a concern." They promised to raise it with him, but meetings between children in care and their local authority Social Worker are often behind closed doors, because one of the things the SW is ensuring is that the child is happy in the home and their fostering is up to scratch. So they need to be able to speak freely.

This lad was due to recieve some sort of trust fund at age 18, and he was looking forward to independent life. We were told his dad, who was a bad apple to put it  mildly, put some money aside for him before he was sent to prison - for quite a long sentence as far as we could tell.

Independence is huge for almost all children, including and perhaps especially foster children.

The sad thing is I've just learned his independent life didn't last very long.

A fellow fosterer who I know well attended a training session and got talking to another fosterer she'd never met before who told her about he lad, who had stayed with her for a period, but they'd found him difficult and he moved on. Funny, I never found him anything but charming.

One thing I remember vividly is him sitting down to dinner with us on the first night and saying with a look of wonder;

"I've never sat down for a family meal before."

I believed him too, although it might have needed a pinch of salt to stand up in court.

To the point.

The fosterer told my friend the lad is dead.

Drugs.

Poor lad.

Thing is, I believed he had a chance.

I'll go on believing they all have a chance, but sometimes the way things turn out for them is a bitter pill for them to swallow, and likewise those that cared for them, and loved them.