Forever

**This story remarks on the struggles of foster families and effects of trauma**

Forever

By Dana Wagner

For my husband, it was her spunk, her laugh, her high energy. She was everything he never thought he wanted. She was just feminine enough, but not so much that she was afraid to get dirty. She brought out a sparkle in his blue eyes that I hadn’t known they’d been missing. 

I watched him with her. He chased her and her giggles mingled with his laughter. She grabbed a garden hose and soaked him with it. His shirt clung to a muscled body that I knew had softened a bit since his youth. It didn’t matter to me. He still made my heart race. 

She ran away, fearing his retaliation, blonde hair streaming behind her. She was fast. She didn’t turn to see if he was following as she rounded the corner of the house. He wasn’t. He had grabbed a bucket and was filling it with water. He tucked himself behind a hedge, bucket in hand. 

When she came back to the place where she had dropped the hose she looked for him. She spun around, clearly wondering if he had been following her. She didn’t find him there either, but soon learned of his location when he overturned the bucket on her head. She squealed and searched for her next weapon.

For me, it was his eyes. The pain and sadness in their depths was haunting. Isolation and loneliness were apparent in the way he kept his distance from everyone else, quietly entertaining himself.

 I approached him slowly, speaking gently. He dared a shy glance in my direction, but quickly went back to his task. I couldn’t help but be drawn to him and his brokenness. I wanted to hold him close and make the shattered pieces whole again. 

He was shirtless, painfully thin. No matter what I said, I could coax no words from him. Once he offered a smile. Dimples. I’m a sucker for dimples. Despite them, the smile never reached his eyes. Instead of lighting up, they remained dull and void of emotion. I wondered if the smile was for show, or if he’d truly been happy in the moment.

He had scars. The deepest ones weren’t visible to the eye, but felt in the soul. My heart ached for him and all he must have endured. I had to be careful not to overwhelm him and frighten him away.

We talked to their caseworker. “Unadoptable” was the word she had used. They would likely be bounced from home to home until they aged out of the system. “Unacceptable,” my heart had replied. No child should be given up on. 

My husband and I, we didn’t give up. We made plans. Spent late nights building a bedroom. We talked to our biological children about how lucky they were to have a safe home. They agreed that their new friends deserved a safe home also. 

It wasn’t easy and it took some time, but we added them to our household. To our family. We built a life to include them. We did our best to understand their trauma and needs. Our lives were suddenly public, laid bare to the counselors, caseworkers, advocates and licensing reps that made themselves comfortable in our home at their convenience. 

There were tears, and conflict. Everyone was at fault, and no one was at fault. We were all learning. Years and years of difficult conversations. Years of behaviors and consequences to correct and guide. Mistakes were made by all. We had long talks and long arguments. Some screaming matches were had. There were wrestling matches between the kids.

So much heartbreak. So many teachable moments. So many secrets uncovered leaving our hearts vulnerable and making old wounds fresh and raw.

Professionals who knew best told us what to do and how to do it. Choices about raising our children were no longer our own. Rules and guidelines had to be followed. Everyone meant well. No one understood. We did what we had to. We pressed on.

There was rebellion, pushback. Unwillingness and inability to accept love. There was rivalry, biological or not. The anger and violence from the past bubbled to the surface. Lies, vindication. The hate.

There were quiet moments. Bedtime stories read, games played together. There was acceptance and understanding. Growth, healing. The love.

So much time was spent wondering if we were doing the right thing for everyone. For our biological children, for our foster children. For our marriage. We had known the journey would be a difficult one when we took our first step. Even so, this was proving far more difficult than we had expected. Our whole life had been turned upside down. In fairness, so had theirs.

 We continued following our hearts even when our minds screamed to stop. Family and caseworkers advised us to let go, to step away. There were other people who could take a turn. We had done our best, they advised. When it felt like the trauma would tear our family apart, stubbornness set in. We held on tighter, loved harder, and became more determined. We would not give up. Everyone else had given up. I refused to fail them.

More people with opinions. Whispers at family gatherings we pretended not to hear. Judgement came from a place of misinformation. Yet, no one thought to ask the truth. Our hearts broke, our trust in loved ones was bruised. We held our heads high in public, I cried in private. 

In time, we stood in a courtroom as a family. Ready to make things official. To add another son, and a first daughter. Funny how my husband had never wanted a daughter until he met her. We were here to change names; to change the entire course of our lives. A commitment. Together. Forever.

But sometimes forever isn’t what it seems. Forever doesn’t mean happily ever after. Forever doesn't take away the pain of the past. Forever can’t heal trauma. Forever doesn’t know how to forget. It can’t even define the parameters of itself. How long is forever, anyway? 

For one forever feels like a prison. Forever is only as long as it’s convenient. Only as long as it's needed. That forever ends at eighteen. The whole wide world seems to have more to offer and the demons of the past have disguised themselves as salvation for the future. Enticing one to move ahead and never look back with those eyes I’ll never forget.

For another forever is gratitude. Realization and understanding. Forgiving and forgiveness. Family and Friendship. Trust and support. It’s the siblings and parents who chose her standing nearby in anticipation. Watching that blonde hair blowing in the breeze as someone else drops to a knee and offers a different kind of forever.

Family is never perfect, never without pain and secrets beneath the surface. Family can be blood, or chosen. Family is whatever brand of forever that we wish it to be, but never quite what we expected.