Miss You Tomorrow

Today I am where
I have not been
In quite a
Long, long time
Sitting here
Talking with you-
Nervousness fades as
Repeated questions
Are patiently met with
Repeated answers
Happiness grows
With each smile
With each laugh
Making new memories
For future questions
For future answers
Worth repeating-
Ready to go home now
I will miss you tomorrow-

I will miss you, too

We had a fun visit with our friend, Marie, this past weekend. She was nervous at first but settled in quickly. Pizza, movies, shopping-some things never change.

However, there were some noticeable changes. Most importantly, happiness and security thanks to love and consistency from her foster family.

Though she was ready to go home Sunday, she told me several times-I will miss you tomorrow. ❤

Fading Away

A Letter to Foster Parents

Dear Foster Parent,

There are some things I want to share with you. Things I noticed while spending time with my young friend who is in foster care. Although my perceptions originate from one specific child, I hope they resonate with you and provide encouragement.

The following list represents what I want my friends foster mom to know:

  • She talks about you often.
  • Asks when you will be back to pick her up.
  • Easily refers to you as “Mom.”
  • Happily shares that you call her “daughter.”
  • Confidently includes herself when describing your children.
  • Refers to your parents as Memaw and Pawpaw.
  • Talks about how hard you work.
  • Likes helping you.
  • Proudly says that you help children.
  • Wants to help children when she grows up.
  • Is happy and secure, thanks to you.

So, in case you have not heard these things with your own ears, I thought you should know. What you are doing matters. Your sacrifices do not go unnoticed. There are difficult days, trauma-induced behaviors, and unanswered questions. Yet, in the midst of all this, you love. And love is the only thing which has the power to bring healing.

My Sincerest Thanks,


Right Where We Left Off

I love the way certain friendships seem to transcend time and space. Life’s circumstances may take us far away from each other. Yet when our paths cross again, we pick up right where we left off. When reunited, it feels like nothing has changed and no time has passed.

Today I realized how much I take this phenomenon for granted. I always thought of it as a natural occurrence. Something you simply experience over time, not something you are taught. Maybe that comes from growing up in a loving home, having friends from an early age.

But what happens when a child grows up in the opposite?

Rachel and I took a little road trip to visit our sweet friend, Marie. Our short visit was well worth the almost three-hour drive. We had Christmas presents to deliver and it had been several months since we’d seen her. The year prior to her foster home placement, Rachel and I saw her almost weekly, so we were very excited about this visit! (See earlier post for more of Marie’s story.) https://pianogirlthoughts.wordpress.com/2018/08/13/face-to-face-with-child-abuse-personal-reflections-of-a-teacher/

Marie had requested Braum’s for our meeting place. You can’t go wrong with ice cream! We arrived, all smiles and ready for hugs. Her initial reaction was interesting. Lots of eye rolls and shoulder shrugs in response to our questions and attempts at conversation.

Her foster mom reassured us she had been really excited to see us. We trusted this was true, she was just not quite ready to show it. With patience and persistence (about 10-15 minutes worth) Marie was smiling, holding Rachel’s hand and laying her head on my shoulder. Finally, we were right where we left off.

On the drive home I was thinking about our visit, trying not to cry. Those goodbye hugs do it every time. Not to mention my daughter saying things like, “You’re doing really good, Mom.” 😉

As Rachel and I talked about the day, it suddenly hit me. Of course Marie would have reacted that way. This child has never had a secure home, was abused for years, tossed from one facility to another. And on top of all that, she has developmental disabilities. Before she was finally placed in this amazing foster home, the uncertainty of her future was difficult for her to understand.

We often had the following conversation:

Marie: What if I go someplace else?
Me: What are we?
Marie: My friends.
Me: Yes. And wherever you go, we will see you.
Marie: Ok.

Then she would smile. And that explanation would suffice for maybe a week…or a day. Now that she is in a loving home, our conversations have changed. She laughs as she tells me about her mom, dad, siblings, and extended family when we talk on the phone. She enjoys going to school and is making new friends. She is happy.

Marie knows we love her, but we cannot expect her to understand this idea of “picking up where you left off” just yet. She will need to experience it many times. Hopefully, time will continue to heal. And maybe one day she will be able to trust that we are true friends. Friends who pick up right where they left off, no matter the miles apart or the time gone by.

A Single Snapshot

I continue to be amazed how one photo has the power to bring such a flood of emotions.  Just when I think my heart is ok, one picture of my sweet friend Marie-and I’m crying.  See earlier blog post:   Face to Face with Child Abuse: Personal Reflections of a Teacher

A sweet teacher friend recognized Marie in an online adoption video and shared the link.  I had to watch it, of course.  Hearing how the social worker described her-listening as Marie answered questions about her favorite things-all I could think was, “I know the answer!”  Like an impatient student raising their hand, shouting, “Pick me! Pick me! Oh, and here’s some additional info you didn’t even ask for.”

I was struck by the social workers comment, “She deserves a family.”  I completely agree.  She’s not the only one.  While looking at this link, I saw pages and pages of other children-all with a story-all without a family.  And then my questions started all over again.  How does this happen?  Why does this happen so often?  What do we do to help?

My initial reaction was to shout inside my head, “I don’t have any answers!”  But when I took a step back and calmed my emotions, the following things came into focus:

  • Amazing people who have chosen to be foster parents.
  • Others who have adopted or are considering adoption.
  • People like myself-looking for ways to be an advocate and friend.

No, these positives won’t wipe away all the heartache.  They are however, small steps in the right direction.  When a child who has been neglected, abused, and deserted is able to experience love, acceptance, and security-the healing process begins.  I continue to witness this in my sweet friend.

There is still so much to do.  I don’t want to become complacent in searching for ways to advocate for my friend.  It’s also important for me to recognize the children right in front of me everyday who are facing the same kind of sadness and heartache.  Yes, it feels like an impossible, daunting task.  Today I was reminded of my role and responsibility-and for that reminder I’m thankful.

I was also reminded of the impact this one child has had on my heart.  No amount of my tears can cover the suffering she has endured, but seeing her smile gives me hope.

“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.”  Galatians 6:9


The Space Between Happy and Sad

Have you ever experienced happiness and sadness simultaneously? All mixed together, each emotion fighting for control.  I’m not sure I can adequately explain this dilemma.  Writing the words down on paper provides little clarity, as I continue to inch back and forth between these two emotions.

We finally had contact with our friend Marie!  Her new home is not close to us, and her foster mom graciously offered to meet us for lunch.  Rachel and I were so happy to see her!  After seeing her regularly over the past year, this would be our first visit in two months.  There had only been one phone conversation.  I understood.   Adjusting to a new home, especially after all the trauma she has suffered, is difficult, and I wanted her to have the time she needed.

As soon as Marie saw us she hugged us and asked, “Did you miss me?”  Oh, sweet girl!  Seeing her smiling and joking with her foster mom brought great relief.  They have obviously bonded, and she is being well cared for.  When it was time to order drinks her mom asked if she wanted lemonade.  I smiled…lemonade is her favorite.

We enjoyed chatting and laughing over lunch.  Looking through the photo album Rachel and I made for her brought smiles and happy memories from this past year.  So why did feelings of sadness start creeping in when it was time to say goodbye?  I fought back my tears, not wanting Marie to think something was wrong.  And trust me, she would notice.

Where did our visit leave me?  Somewhere between happy and sad, inching my way back to happy.  This sweet child has been through so much, but now she is living in a home with a family.  For that I am thankful.  My role in her life will continue to change, and that is ok.  Yesterday I was teacher and advocate.  Today I am a friend.  And that is something we all need…always.

Marie called this evening.  We talked about the week, her new school, friends, and family.  The conversation was a happy one.  But oh her questions…”Do you miss me?  Will you see me tomorrow?” As our phone call ended, once again I found myself in that space between happy and sad.  Somehow I kept my tears at bay, realizing it would be selfish of me to allow the sadness to win.  At this moment, the reasons for happiness where Marie is concerned far outweigh the sad.

Face to Face with Child Abuse: Personal Reflections of a Teacher

My first experiences with child abuse stem from my years as a special education teacher.  I served students who had difficulty communicating.  The following reflections relate to one particular student who holds a special place in my heart.  Due to the need for privacy,  I will refer to her as Marie.  Not a day passes without thoughts of Marie. Feelings of sadness for her past, uncertainty for her present, but also hope for her future.  Her story has both broken and challenged my heart.


Words are powerful.  Even more so the images that accompany them.  Consider the word shelter.  For many of us, this word reminds us of safety and home.  Adding emergency brings much different imagery.  One final word moves us even further from protective pictures of safe and home… children.

Before my first visit to the shelter, my imagination created images in preparation for the experience of a clean building, professional staff, play areas, a visiting room.  The scene played out as follows.  A greeting from a smiling worker.  An onsite visit in a comfortable seating area.  After all, this facility provided care for children who had experienced trauma.

When map quest directed me to turn down a gravel road blocked by an iron gate, my previous notions of what the day would bring faded.  A quick phone call put me back on track, giving two guiding landmarks.  Passing the second landmark, I noticed an older, run-down, unassuming house.  This could not be the right place.  Private Property and Video Surveillance signs posted in the driveway prompted feelings of nervousness and uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, I walked to the door, spoke to the cat on the porch, and rang the bell.  A calm, quiet proprietor answered.  Precious Marie stood nervously at the back of the house.  Initially, she was unsure and did not seem to recognize me.  After seeing photos from when she was in my class, one a selfie of us on the playground, she smiled. You were my teacher!  Yes!  She did remember.  Uncertainties quickly turned to smiles, hugs, and laughter.

My visions of a visit to the home vanished as I spotted her backpack on the table.  My young friend was ready to go!  Now there were completely different reasons to be nervous.  Where would we go?   The area was unfamiliar to me, but we could find shopping and food!  A trip to Walmart produced a doll, nail polish, and a new outfit.  We had lunch and painted nails while sitting at a local fast-food restaurant.  Looking at old pictures and taking silly selfies helped us to get reacquainted.  Returning to the shelter, I reassured her that I would visit again soon.

As I drove home, my earlier thoughts of shelter shifted from place to person.  Safety and security in my life came from the people placed along my path.  Now I had the opportunity to provide this for Marie.  I know she is not my child, but this new focus gives me courage for future visits. 


My daughter Rachel attends college, studying to become a special education teacher. She accompanied me on my second visit. Her presence provided calm and confidence. 

Our day was well planned.  After checking in at the shelter and signing out our young friend, we were ready to go.  First stop the zoo, then lunch, and finally shopping. I am not sure who was more excited about this outing!

I have witnessed Rachel interact with friends who happen to have disabilities on many occasions.  She treats them as peers, spends time with them socially, and has typical conversations.  She is also a passionate advocate for these special friends, always looking for ways to help them realize their potential. 

This particular day proved no different.  She embraced this precious girl with love and patience, looking for ways to give her independence and choices.  In instances where I would have made suggestions for Marie, Rachel recognized the importance of Marie having control over as many things as she could handle.  Following the zoo map, choosing what animal to see next, ordering pizza, and picking out sunglasses might seem insignificant. 

Although it was easier for me to visit the shelter this time, it was much harder for me to leave…

Rachel and I chatted on the drive home, recounting all the experiences of the day.  What a beautiful day!  We talked about the future,  what it will hold for Marie and what role we might play.  When I began to feel overwhelmed with questions about what lies ahead, Rachel calmly reviewed the events of these pasts few months. She reminded me of the circumstance that brought us to this day; receiving a subpoena to testify at a child neglect reliability hearing.

One step at a time, words of wisdom from my daughter as we headed home.  And a reminder when friends and family say Rachel takes after me,  the truth is I want to be more like her when I grow up…


Do you enjoy being alone?  I must admit I do not.  Although necessary at times, it is not a state I would often choose.  Others in my family seem to relish alone times, focusing on their particular interests.  Now consider the word isolation-it provokes a sense of being forced to be alone, having no control over our circumstances-an unpleasant solitude.

What if you were intentionally left alone without the warmth of human companionship?  Feelings of abandonment seeping in slowly.  Dwelling on these thoughts makes me sad and angry. 

A social worker visited our home for an assessment to determine if she would be allowed to visit…proceeding with caution.  Her love and care for this sweet girl were evident.  Although she knows terrible things from the past, she chooses to hope for the future. Most of our conversation stayed in that realm, thankful for current shelter, safety, and happiness.  Until she mentioned a fear of being alone in a room with the door closed.

My knowledge of the abuse suffered involved physical harm, and those incidences were over four years ago.  I had not allowed myself to think about what happened in the years following.  But now I heard this word-isolation-bringing a completely different understanding of what she had endured.  Imagine having the scars from being physically harmed, but also from intentional separation. Withholding the most basic human needs. We are talking about a child with intellectual disabilities, helpless to escape the cruelty imposed upon her.

I am not sure how to process this information.  If that is my reaction, imagine the difficulty for Marie.  There is no comparison, and at this moment, no sufficient answers.


When I consider my own children, the thought of them suffering or experiencing any kind of trauma is unbearable.  I want to be the best parent I can be.  Parenting is hard, bringing many responsibilities and challenges.  But it also produces rewards.  For example, hearing them call me mom is music to my ears.

One of the most thoughtful gifts I received from my husband was a sound wave print of my children saying, Mom. Hanging on the wall in our home makes me smile.  Am I a perfect mother?  Of course not!  But my children know they are loved.  My heart aches when they’re hurting and soars when they’re content.  The job of a mother is to love and protect.  That need is present from the moment a baby enters this world.  What happens when love and protection are replaced by isolation and abuse?  The results are devastating, creating lasting memories and trauma hard to overcome.

My mom is mean is not a phrase you hear every day.  Yes, I know kids sometimes exaggerate and say things that are not true.  Is it possible my own children thought I was mean at some point?  Oh yes.  I have even used the words mean-mama voice when talking about discipline.  I will think twice about using those words again.

Tonight I was talking on the phone with Marie.  She has temporarily moved from the shelter she called home to a behavioral assistance facility.  Rachel and I have been visiting her twice a week, and she calls us almost every night.  Our visits consist of coloring, games, reading her stories, looking at pictures, and laughter.  Phone calls are difficult. It is often hard to understand her. And the whole process is made more difficult by her disability.

Some moments, however, are crystal clear-tonight was one of those times.

Marie told me her counselor came today. She said they talked about her mom.  I was caught off guard at first, not sure what she would say.  And then the words came, my mom is mean.  She went on to recall how her mom would hit her at their house.  Hearing a child say their parent hurt them…I know she said more, but her words started to blur.  The truth is, I already knew her words were not an exaggeration.  I saw the bruises when she was younger, asked her what happened. I heard her say, my mama. I filed the abuse reports.  Then the family moved, and the abuse continued.  The abuse continued for four more years.

How was I supposed to respond?  The only thing I could say was, I am so sorry-moms are not supposed to act that way.  My heart hurts.  Words are not enough.  We will continue to visit, encourage her to talk about the hard things, and hopefully show her what it means to love.
Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. I Corinthians 13:7


Where does this story begin?  Each time I think about the answer, I find myself unable to choose just one point in time.  The decision to become a special education teacher, the first time I met Marie, filing the first DHS report.  These events culminate with this one story which has changed my life forever.

Many of my memories associated with Marie are sad, the kind of memories I would rather bury.  Before receiving the subpoena to testify at the reliability hearing, I had blocked specific events.  Four years had passed since she was my student.  And though I would never forget her, some things were just too hard to remember.  Until the day it became necessary to remember.

My heart sank at first sight of the word subpoena in my school mailbox.  There was no question who the notice concerned.  I followed the instructions on the letter and soon received an email filled with documents. Uncontrollable tears came as I read my own words from the reports I had filed.  And with them, the images I had worked so hard to bury.

I read, re-read, reviewed, made notes, whatever was needed to prepare for this hearing.  My testimony, if accepted by the judge, would provide a voice for Marie.  I was naïve in my hope for a settlement after the initial hearing.  That was not the case.  A trial date was set, and I would need to testify once again.

And so my reviewing continued, this time for the trial.  Sleepless nights, floods of unpleasant memories, and tears filled the space leading up to that day.  We have all watched courtroom scenes, real and fictional on television.  None of those could prepare me for the reality of testifying.  Being sworn in, sitting next to a judge, the jury on one side and the mother on the other.  A surreal experience.

My testimony provided details of events that happened years earlier.  Speaking with clarity and emotion, I remained strong in the face of a cross-examination which attempted to discredit everything I said.  Some images will never be erased from my memory. I made sure everyone in the courtroom understood that truth as I testified through my tears.  A tremendous weight accompanied this responsibility to speak for this one who could not speak for herself.

Relief, after the trial ended, was short-lived and replaced by concern for Marie.  Where was she?  Was she ok?  I knew I had to see her if at all possible.  Would she remember me?

My first visit to that shelter was just the beginning. My family spent the following year investing in this precious girl.  Phone calls, visits, birthdays, and holidays helped make sure she knew someone loved her.  Circumstances have recently changed with a foster home placement, and now I must let go.  I miss her.


Why is letting go so hard?  I remember the day we dropped off our son Robert at college.  I cried the entire drive there and back.  Two years later, it was Rachel’s turn.  It was still difficult to leave her in that tiny dorm room alone.  One more year until Ryan graduates, my baby.  Trying not to think about that just yet.

Today brings a different kind of letting go.  I had to let go of someone who was never my child but had found a lasting place in my heart.  Part of me wanted to be her mom.

Accepting that our family is not the final answer for Marie has been difficult.  Recently someone said to me, do you think your family could provide something another family could not. That stung, but it was what I needed to hear.  Suddenly the words letting go began invading my thoughts.  And then it hit me-maybe our purpose had simply been to provide love and friendship during a year of confusion, fear, and uncertainty.  And that was ok.

How appropriate that one year after that first visit, I receive word of foster home placement. Today some of my tears are selfish because I will miss her, but most are grateful-grateful for caring foster parents and a fresh start for our precious friend. 


The ending of this story is not clear.  As I patiently wait to hear how my sweet friend is doing in her new home, there is much reflection.  Our time spent with her this past year challenged us and brought us closer together as a family.  We love her, and I believe she loves us, even if we were not meant to be her family.

Marie made us laugh with her questions. Why are you so bossy? Directed toward my husband.  You almost married? Multiple times to my oldest children.  Why you so big? to my six-foot-three youngest son.  She brought tears to our eyes when she thanked us for singing happy birthday to her, telling each of us how pretty we sang.  And left us forever humbled by the way she trusted us…

In our last conversation, Marie mentioned the idea of moving to a foster home.  Her social worker had been preparing her for this possibility.  I asked her if she felt ok about that.  She smiled nervously and said yes.  There was a long pause and then her precious words, but I miss you.

Honey, I will miss you, too.  Always remember, what are we?

My friends.

Yes, sweet girl…always.

Letting Go

Why is letting go so hard?  I remember the day we dropped off our son Robert at college.  I cried the entire drive there and back.  Two years later it was Rachel’s turn.  She was staying a little closer to home, but it was still difficult to leave her in that tiny dorm room alone.  One more year and it will be Ryan’s turn, my 6’3 baby.  I’m trying not to think about that just yet.

Today brings a different kind of letting go.  Letting go of someone who was never mine, but who found a lasting place in my heart.  Today marks one year since my first visit to an Emergency Children’s Shelter.  I went to see a former student who had been removed from her home.  That visit quickly turned into one of many.  There were phone calls, we celebrated holidays, a birthday, enjoyed movies and shopping.  And even though I knew deep down our family was not the final answer for this child, the thought was always in the back of my mind.

Recently someone said to me, “What do you think your family could provide for this child that another  family could not?”  That stung, but it was exactly what I needed to hear.  Suddenly the words “letting go” began invading my thoughts.  And then it hit me-maybe our purpose had simply been to provide love and friendship during a year of uncertainty and confusion, and that was ok.

How appropriate that on this day, one year later, I receive word of a foster home placement.  Today some of my tears are selfish because I will miss her, but most are grateful-grateful for caring foster parents and a fresh start for our precious friend.  I hope to share more about this past year’s experiences in the future, but today tears must fall as I once again learn how to let go.

“There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens…”

Ecclesiastes 3:1