Non-fiction / Busted Sunsets (part 3)

         After my foster dad had asked me if I wanted to be officially a part of their family, I was ecstatic. As a ten year-old, I had spent the better part of two years belonging to no one. I was finally going to be a part of something greater than myself. I was finally going to be home. That was what I thought, anyway. As it turned out, home was going to be another three years in coming.
          The issue was very simple. My birth mother had discovered where I was living. This made things difficult for my foster family. Going outside to play was now an issue. Safety was an issue. My foster family was faced with a decision: move to another location or send me away. To my dismay, they decided to send me away. If you’ve never been rejected, then this will be hard to comprehend. I still wonder what made them choose their house over me. Was I not smart enough? I would promise to do better in math. Was I not nice enough? I would try harder. Was I not pretty enough? I couldn’t fix ugly, but I would try anyway.
          The pain of that move was only dimmed because of the family that took me in after that. They attended my previous foster family’s church and two of their little girls happened to be my best friends. Laura and Sarah were excited to share their room with me. And I was excited to be at what I thought was going to be like a permanent sleep over.
          The problem with that arrangement was fairly obvious, looking back. The trauma of going to live with another family is hard. Attachments are broken, homesickness begins to sink in. But to go to the same church every Sunday and see what used to be your family doing things that you used to be a part of. A ten year old can’t deal with that. A ten year old can’t cope with that kind of pain. After six months of living in this situation, it became apparent that I couldn’t live with this particular family anymore.
          The day before Thanksgiving, I was sent away once more. I spent  my first full day with a family I didn’t know celebrating the things I had been given. Thankful was not an emotion I was prepared to feel. I was still trying to learn the names of the people who I would be living with for an undisclosed amount of time. If anything, I was angry. That emotion would be my constant companion for the next several years.
          It was at this point that my father decided that he wanted to get to know me. After all this time, it was only after I had turned 11 years old that he decided I was worth trying to love. Now that I could feed and clothe myself, I was worth a shot. This is how I felt when I met him. Resentment had taken up residence in my heart and I was tired of letting people hurt me. It is possible that my dad truly wanted to make amends. Looking back, I see that this was certainly true, but I had shut down emotionally. I didn’t want to love anymore people. More people meant more pain. In my limited experience, people I loved tend to leave me alone. I didn’t want to love anymore people that were going to disappear from my life. So I shut down. I turned away from my father and my grandparents. I told them I didn’t want them to be a part of my life. And very quickly, they did just as I asked them to. I mourn that loss now, though I felt nothing at the time.
          My foster family adopted me the year I turned thirteen. My foster parents had fallen in love with me as the time had worn on (I had spent two and a half years with them), but I had not yet reciprocated those feelings. On my adoption day, my new mother was excited as we entered the courthouse. She asked me if I was excited, too. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to be excited, but I felt nothing. I knew this was painful for my new mother. She had come to love me. I had nothing left in me to love.

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Reviews

July 19, 2007

radar

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
337	86.5% (104 votes)	26.2%

personal info reviewer stats

Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
53	F	Clarion, IA	September 14

radar reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

What a heart-wrenching story. You certainly went through a lot as a child. This was well told but it was also a bit confusing the way the dad came into the picture without prior mention of him, unless I missed it. I haven’t read 1 or 2 yet. I was so glad to hear that you were adopted and I hope it worked out. I’ll have to read part 4 et al to know. Take care and keep writing!

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178	92.9% (42 votes)	57.1%

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22	F	Dahlonega, GA	October 15

July 16, 2007

dark_angel_826

No. of Reviews	Overall Quality	Comment Followup
336	80.5% (87 votes)	100.0%

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Age	Gender	Location	Last Login
24	F	Indianapolis, IN	April 26

dark_angel_826 reviewed Version 1 - Read 100%% of the Item

I really liked this piece. It is rare for people to be so honest. I grew up with 20 or so foster children. I have heard the stories of pain and heartache, and seen the difficulties in areas of trust and love. Luckily my aunt and uncle are great foster parents and though they didn’t adopt their foster children 90% of them stayed in the home until they were adults (my aunt and uncle take in teens instead of younger children).

I hope to read more of your life. The trials and tribulations that foster children go through are unlike any other. You never fully recover from them, but with the right people in your life you can overcome them. I wish you luck and look forward to reading more from you.