I have a hero. I have never met her, but I heard her speak at a Foster Love conference. I sat there and listened to this other mother, a woman who is probably younger than me, talk about the love and the prayers that God grants us for the strength needed to foster. That wasn’t new to me; I knew that. I have felt it.
What she said that got to me was that they prayed with their kids every night and they always included the kids’ mother. Not the foster mommy, but the woman who gave them the gift of life: the woman who felt her body change and grow to nurture her developing baby; the mommy who felt her baby move and stretch, who maybe even felt this little person experience hiccups for the first time; the woman who taught them their first life lessons.
This little person into whom we are pouring our time and love was possibly exposed to drugs for the first time by her; was left wet and hungry by her. She may have cursed in front of them, or more likely, at them. She was the first person to introduce them to violence, to misery, to want. She is the person who taught them that they were responsible for their younger siblings, sometimes for their food, frequently for their safety. She taught them that grown-ups cannot be counted on, that men don’t stay, and that what Mommy wants is more important than what they need. And here I sat, listening to someone tell me to pray for this woman.
I sat at my table, surrounded by other foster parents and staring at the wealth of mini chocolate bars that decorated the table (I think women arranged this conference). I thought about how jealous I sometimes am, that another woman shares the title of Mommy with me, in my daughter’s heart. I thought about all the times when I could have brought her up, or said something nice about her that I let pass, unmarked. The woman, who gave my daughter life, made mistakes, I am sure. Then she did her best by giving me, another imperfect mom, her blessing to raise her child. Her only request was that I love her as my own. I am giving my best by doing just that. What I am not doing is being the perfect mommy. So, I was thinking, if I cannot be the perfect mom, if I am going to make mistakes, then I hope I can teach my child about forgiveness, and grace, and loving people who make mistakes. So, prayers for my child’s mommy – her biological one – will commence. One day, when she makes me and her other mommy Grandmas, I hope she will do the same with her babies.