Humans of Foster Care - Post #3

I just got the call.  A six month old boy is being released from the hospital tomorrow, bruises on both sides of his face and a cast on his leg from an “old fracture.”  A six month old.  A six month old. I hang up the phone and start thinking about this little boy.  My best friend has a six month old boy, and he’s all I can picture.  Six month old boys aren’t provoking.  They don’t destroy or hit or talk back or steal.  Six month old boys sit and smile and fall asleep on your shoulder and pat their little hands on your face.  How could this happen?  How could someone hurt a six month old?  

The reality of the “old fracture” sets in.  These bruises aren’t a one time thing.  This boy has been hurt before.  He’s lived in the physical pain of an untreated, unhealed broken leg.  He’s lived in the emotional pain of his father being the person who did it to him, of continuing to live with this man.

The combination of all this is just too much for me.  My hands start shaking, my throat starts to close, and my vision goes black.  The information is so disgusting that my heart, my body rejects it.  There’s no place for my mind to put something like this, so my body simply refuses to accept it.  Tears fill my eyes, and I lay on the couch while the fainting spell passes.

But then it’s time to get up, because now this damaged little boy needs a mom.  I’ve never cared for a child with a broken bone, never seen a child with abuse-induced bruises, never met this little boy.  But tomorrow I will become his mom.  Maybe for a few days, maybe a few weeks, maybe a few months.  Maybe just enough time for his little face, his little leg, and his little heart to heal.