MOMENTS THAT MAKE YOUR HEART GO ZING

 Fostering can be a delight, it can also be a slog. I doubt I'm telling anyone anything they don't already know.

It's human nature to dwell on the things that could be better rather than the things that are going great, and that's good because there's always something that wants improving. If we fostering folk went around with our heads in the clouds there'd be little or no progress.

Once a month (in my case) I get a visit from my Blue Sky Social Worker. It's her job to help me keep at the top of my game. It's also her job to help me see where I'm getting things right.

On the whole, fostering's rewards easily outweigh the uphill stuff. I've been fostering for a lot longer than I care to remember, and honestly love it so much I aim to go on 'til I drop.

I've enjoyed having countless experiences of helping other people's children steady their boat. Then they go - they almost always go - and you're left wondering how much good you were for them.

A couple of days ago a letter arrived addressed to me. A brown envelope, handwritten in a spidery scrawl, and a huge first class stamp. It was among the usual pizza deals and garden clearance flyers, so it instantly seemed special.

I opened it straight away. The letter had been put in the envelope upside down, a clue it was from someone who was not used to sending letters. It was two sides of typed A4. No address from the sender, it started like this;

"I hope this letter finds you. I've spent a long time (literally years) meaning to write to you. Please don't be worried that I'm stalking you or anything like that, I'm simply desperate to thank you."

I'm reading this and hooked obviously. I sit down at our kitchen table, no-one else in the house. I sit and read the letter and couldn't help weeping. The letter is at my side at this moment, I'm filling up now, writing these words.

It was from a girl who came to me briefly for foster care. I remembered her, but at first not with any great clarity. It was a long time ago - give you an idea, her letter said she now has two adult children.

She was, as I remember, my third ever placement. She was one of two sisters who had been removed from their parents because the mother had become unstable through some sort of mushroom drugs, which she acquired through some sort of religious cult that had got their hooks into her. The father wasn't on the scene, but when he had been, he'd been violent, maybe guilty of even worse physical abuse than that.

The girl was 16, her sister 14. 

We had a pretty full household at the time, and it was agreed the sisters could share a bedroom on separate beds, as they had done at home, but that Blue Sky and the sisters' local authority would look for somewhere else to take them on a semi-permanent basis. 

The younger one was a ball of energy, loved our home and our dog, she loved the freedom of not sharing a dwelling with a person likely to go weird at any moment. Mind, like almost all foster children, she loved her mum and cared about her.

They got on pretty good, as did the sisters and myself.

The older sister, who sent me this cherished letter, was quieter. Remote even.

A few days after they arrived, late one evening as I remember, she opened up to me. The house was quiet and we were alone in the kitchen, sat at the table.

She told me that she was pregnant.

Not only that, she told me that she hadn't told a single soul up to that moment. She chose me, she said, because I was the first, and up to that point the only, person she'd ever met that she felt she could trust.

I decided to let her talk, and, slowly at first, she did. Then the floodgates opened and I got most of the story.

Not all of it mind; she kept one or two big details to herself.

Reading her letter a couple of decades later I managed to remember much about that evening. It was a huge responsibilty she'd put my way, but I'd learned more than enough in my short time as a foster parent to know the key things. 

Number One; The child is paramount. I had to do eveything I could to help the child deal with where she was at that moment in time, which I remember trying to do. And help her for every moment of every day she remained with me.

Number Two; I knew I wasn't alone in dealing with this. I knew that first thing the following morning I would call Blue Sky and get advice, help and support. 

Number Three; The child was anxious that no-one else should know, but obviously I had to to begin helping her understand her options, help her begin to trust people who are trained and experienced. She was resistant at first but I made inroads.

We have a loud clock in the kitchen and it ticked away, I seem to remember that she and I talked well into the night. She hinted we both knew who the father of her child was, and that the conception was far from consensual.

That was a major issue, but I was a foster parent and resolving issues like this one would have to go upstairs - if you know what I mean. Thank goodness there are structures and experts.

We chatted about her plans, she said abortion was an option as the preganancy was still early, but out of the question as her family were all deeply 'religious' and although she found them extremely difficult they frightened her. I told her I would act as her sounding board until we could arrange professional counsel. I'd said that for me, she was the most important person in all this; that she mattered.

We talked about adoption as another option. I also told her that to the best of my understanding if she chose to raise the child herself there would be incredible support from the state, the NHS, the local authority, and even if necessary the law.

Back to the letter, which is still sitting at my elbow. 

She wrote I'd told her she had a responsibilty to herself, that she was young and the world was her oyster. She wrote that I'd told her that she deserved to walk along a beach in Thailand at midnight with someone she truly loved. I told her she was important too.

She wrote that those inspirational words meant a lot.

As the kitchen clock ticked she grew more and more at peace knowing she wasn't alone, and probably never would be again. She'd plugged into a wonderful network; namely the amazing world of care.

Her letter ended with the bit that makes me most emotional. She wrote;

"I never told you this but I decided that if I had the baby but couldn't keep it I'd ask you to adopt it".

Pause at that point for me to dab at the eyes, we don't want moisture on a keyboard...

The girl is now a woman. She assured me she's free of the people who made her life miserable as a child. She has two adult children, the eldest of which (the one I might have been asked to adopt, but of course it doesn't work like that) is about to qualify as a sports coach.

She finished by saying that she'd like to know if I recieved her letter - she put an email address at the bottom.

I emailed her immediately saying how much her letter meant to me, and promised to write her a proper letter back if she was happy to send me an address, if not, I'd email.

Children who pass through our foster care are often touched and uplifted by what we try to do for them. It's rare - but not unique - to get such a heartfelt gesture, so when it happens you absolutley have to cherish it, and return to it. Her letter will always have a place in my heart, my next job is to find a safe place in the house to store it away so I can re-read it when the going gets tough.

Wish I had more letters like that and less flyers from the latest Indian restaurant...