Five days later they were gone.
Two brothers stepped into their first foster home on Friday, and out of it on Wednesday. Into and out of our home.
And while we feel their absence. Miss their energy and spunk. They are home. With their mom, their beds, their world.
We never met mom. Never saw their beds. Never knew their world. We didn’t know their names when we opened our doors to meet these boys that first night.
But we came to know them. To play with them, laugh with them, snuggle with them.
Marvel at the kindness they showed each other. Consistently sacrificing or rooting each other on.
Applaud their helpful attitudes. Eagerly making their own beds or helping cook dinner.
Watch their faces light up with joy. Leaping on the trampoline or running through water fountains.
Rub their backs when tears and sadness came too. Mourning the loss of all they had known and fearing all that wasn’t yet known.
Through it all, without words, these boys taught us about themselves. About their strength. About their family.
Grinning ear to ear, they wave goodbye. And we smile. This is the best of foster care. A family reunited. A family made whole again.
Part of us hopes the boys take some good memories of our long weekend together, but mostly we pray that they don’t take much. That being taken from their family doesn’t create trauma and stress that train these dear boys toward fear and distrust.
That this foster care event isn’t a life-altering one. Or better yet, not much of an event at all.