A couple months ago my neighbors brought home their premature twins after a lengthy hospital stay. It was a joyous occasion as our cul-de-sac hung streamers from trees and balloons on their porch. We lined the street and applauded as they pulled into the driveway. Those babies were so very celebrated, as all babies should be.
I felt a little twinge of sadness in that moment as I reflected on the ways my foster babies had been welcomed into our home. The awkward hospital hand-off as one stranger hands another stranger a stranger’s baby– a baby who is a stranger to all of us. The caseworker car that pulls up and drops off a terrified infant and a small mountain of paperwork and reminders about regulations and appointments. There were no balloons, no baby showers, no “it’s a girl” sign in the yard.
I understand why it doesn’t always feel like a moment of celebration. The addition of this child may be a joy to us, but it is a deep grief for the family she’s leaving. It’s a wordless trauma for the baby who has lost all that’s familiar. And even when we feel happy on some level about adding a child to our family, we also feel terrified of the process or the needs or the unknown. I have wrestled with these mixed feelings, but I’m starting to feel like whatever the heavy emotions may be, these babies should be celebrated. Their lives should be treated as precious and they should be welcomed. To celebrate them isn’t to celebrate their losses, but a way to acknowledge that they are more than just the saddest parts of their history. They are loved and worth loving.
As we welcomed home our most recent foster daughter, I was so humbled and honored to see our community rally around us and do just that. After over a decade of advocating for these kids and bringing our friends and family along with us, I can see how fully they understand what we’re doing and the soul of why we do it. There was nothing celebratory about the losses, no hopes expressed about a potential outcome, but it was all beautifully child-focused. Meals for our family, a fully outfitted nursery of beloved hand-me-downs in less than 48 hours, cards that spoke of how loved this child is, hair and skin products sent to our home to meet her specific needs and SO MANY DIAPERS.
She entered a very different world than our previous foster kids because we are surrounded by people who get it. People who value this precious child and the work our family is doing. We’ve brought them alongside as we’ve learned and grown and we’ve seen our community grow too.
Every baby is a gift. Every baby is precious. A foster child’s story may be private, but that doesn’t make it shameful. These children are not shameful. They are worth celebrating. Extravagantly.
If someone in your world is bringing in a foster child, you can be part of that celebration of their life. We can’t all be foster parents, but we can all do something. Can you be the one to bring a meal, or drop off baby supplies, or send a card, or take baby photos, or bring a little gift? Can you be the one to ask the foster family what would be most helpful and celebratory and handle communicating that to the rest of their community?
If for some reason my child couldn’t be with me tonight, would I want her in a home where she was tolerated, or one where she was celebrated? We have to hold all the mixed feelings in tension. We can celebrate these children because they are children worth loving. They are innately valuable, even when we have no claims of ownership on them or their story. When we love these kids well, with a heart that loves their families, then we can celebrate in ways that honor their whole story.