WHEN THEY GO HOME

 Middle foster child is getting ready to be returned home.

It ought to be a red-letter day for foster parents, because the job of fostering is, in a nutshell, helping the child's family come together again, with safety for all ensured.

It's always tinged though.

When the child is driven away from your home, posessions neatly packed in proper luggage, a few mementoes should be included. This one's going to get to keep a daft baseball cap formerly belonging to somebody who left it here after a gathering. The child likes to wear it backwards so the slogan faces forward; "I'm not arguing, just explaining why I'm right".

There'll also be a card from everyone in the house at the bottom of one of the bags so the child won't get it until they're unpacking. It'll consist of a few words from each of us, a few memories of happy days here, and best wishes for the future.

I'm going to write a paragraph about the time he got separated from us in a giant Tesco. He'd wandered off, or maybe we'd wandered off. We hooked up again after no more than a minute, and always knew where he was because his mobile phone had a wee app that allowed us to track his location. When we found each other again we all laughed. We said "We were getting a bit worried about you!" to which he replied "I was getting a bit worried about YOU!"

Brilliant moment. I'll also write a line about how much we'll miss him, but hope things work out better than ever for his future.

I'll probably mist up when waving goodbye, always happy about the emotions in fostering. Part of my sadness at slight loss are triggered by an experience outside fostering; and I can't remember if I've ever mentioned this on the Secret Foster Carer blog. Our next-door neighbours lost a child who died. They were - and still are, many years on - distraught and in limbo about the loss. They are wonderful people and utterly heroic. In the months afterwards I spent as much time as I could sitting at their kitchen table drinking tea and listening. They were hugely grateful, especially the dad, who struggled with the loss more than his partner and their other children, or so it seemed. From time to time he asked how come I could be so helpful about their loss, and I said I could only guess that it came in part from getting in touch with the sensibilities of loving care you need in fostering, plus the experience of exposure to family difficulties.

Here's one big thing about it; their child had his own bedroom, and the bedroom is still exactly as it was when the child left home to go to the party from which he never returned. Discarded socks are still on the floor, the bed's unmade, the door kept half ajar, just as it was when a police officer knocked on their front door to bring them the worst imaginable news.

When a foster child leaves to go home, it's nowhere near the loss our neighbours are still suffering, but you still miss them, and have to deal with an element of loss. I find it helps to return their bedroom to neutral as soon as possible, get it ready for a new arrival. 

The departed child is high in your mind until the phone rings and Blue Sky's placement team say;

"Would you consider taking a child who…"

Heady stuff.

My partner and I had a rough day the other Sunday; eldest foster child was feeling low, our eldest real child is not in the best place, the elderly dog we're looking after to help out a family member is going downhill fast. My partner has two close family members both needing profound medical treatment. It's harrowing how sometimes in life things bundle up.

We sat in the living room early last Sunday morning drinking tea, and found ourselves going through all the foster children we've had placed with us.

We went through the full list, remembering each of them easily enough, only struggling about the order they arrived here. We managed all their names, and swapped reminiscences of each of them; funny moments, poignant ones. We really enjoyed remembering them - memories are always a bit rose-tinted - and found ourselves laughing and privately reminding ourselves that fostering is the best thing we've done. We shared our fears that one or two of them might be struggling now, just as so many ordinary young people are.

By the time we were ready to flip from tea to coffee, we were feeling 1000% better.

I've got a painful shoulder at the moment, it spasms now and then, probably caused by picking up and carrying our sturdiest grandchild for the last year or so. My GP says it'll mend itself but in the meantime offered to prescribe Diazepam to relax the muscles. 

I declined. Fostering relaxes me - not all the time - but when I really need it, it's there for me.