One afternoon when I was in high school, I was rushing out the door for an evening event. One of my foster sisters, who had recently left our home, was visiting us for the day. She was preparing to move to another home and when the caseworker heard she was visiting us, she decided to drop by and personally explain to my foster sister what she was about to happen in her little world.
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I listened from the other room as this caseworker handed my 4-year-old foster sister a scrapbook that her new family had prepared for her. She broke the news to her much like a mother tells her child she’s going to a birthday party: “You’re going to live with this family now and they are so nice. You will love it!” The idea was that this caseworker would spend 5 minutes with my foster sister explaining to her that she was, yet again, moving to a new family, and then life would continue on as normal.
As I headed out the door, I peeked into our office to give my foster sister a hug. She was sitting at the round glass table coloring on a piece of paper. Lying beside her was a book of pictures that only minutes previously had been given to her by her caseworker. As I walked into the room and sat down next to her at the table, I began flipping through the pictures; one after the other I turned through all of the pages. I looked at pictures of children with their parents, read words her new parents had written of affirmation, scanned over a letter expressing excitement, and silently read about each member of this new family. As my eyes studied the faces I saw on the page, I suddenly heard gut-wrenching words come out of my sweet foster sister’s mouth, words that took me from my shallow, high school world, and brought me to the deep, raw, pain that exists in this world.
Without looking at me, my beautiful girl pointed to the photograph in her new scrapbook and told me, “I am going to live at their house, but I am scared.” Those words caught me off guard. I could not bring myself to look into her big blue eyes, but in that short sentence, as she verbalized her pain, I felt a small part of her heart shattering. She wanted me to protect her.
I saw sitting before me a four-year old girl who had already been through too much pain. In that moment, the big sister instinct in me wanted to stop everything in her life; I wanted to put her life on pause and allow her to fully live the carefree, childhood that every little girl should experience. I wanted to keep her safe and I felt that it was my responsibility to protect her. I wanted to live up to the expectations she had of me, and give her reason to trust me. In that moment, however, I was completely powerless.
Instead, I wrapped my arms around her slender waist, and used every bit of strength in me to bite back the tears. I whispered into her ear that she would be safe. My mom told her that it was okay to be scared. We validated her feelings and then let her cry.
Foster care is full of hurt, and as a foster sister, I have always had a prominent instinct to protect my foster siblings. It is hard to be powerless while experiencing a love that is so deep.
In those moments when we are without control, we are still given an opportunity to love relentlessly and leave a print embedded on a child’s heart.
Sometimes love is what binds up all wounds. The love I have for my foster siblings is one of the greatest loves I have ever had the privilege of experiencing.
Kylee is a 19-year-old college student who is passionately pursuing a degree in Social Work while simultaneously learning what it means to be a big sister to kids from “hard places”. Her parents jumped into the crazy world of foster care just days before her 8th birthday and cared for numerous infants and toddlers over a ten-year time span; four of those children became permanent family members through adoption. Kylee loves sharing about foster care and adoption and is passionate about advocating on behalf of vulnerable children.
