Day 60 Why It Matters

Michael and his frog blanket

I was on my way to Pierre, having been invited by DSS to give my input on how to improve foster parent training in my state. I sat in the back seat listening to the workers talk about the heart break they deal with everyday. "I wish we had some welcome bags" One said. "I had to drop those girls off in dirty clothes and underwear in the middle of the night. With nothing at all. I felt so bad." My mind wandered back thru some of the kids I'd cared for and how important welcome bags are. The spinning wheel of kids in my head stopped on a little boy, maybe three years old. He came with his infant sister in the middle of the night. She slept soundly while I tried to comfort him. Wide eyed and hyper-vigilant, it was clear we would not be sleeping tonight. So I sat with him. Earlier I had taken off his urine soaked shorts, no diaper or underwear, and his dirty tee shirt and dressed him in clean Pjs. He had lice but I wouldn't discover this until tomorrow. We just sat he and I. A little refugee from the war torn country of his family. When he arrived I took the things out of his welcome bag and put them in a clear container with his name on it. "Your things" I said as I showed him. I put his bucket on the shelf next to the other kids buckets. I spread his welcome blanket over his bed, although it would be weeks before he felt comfortable enough to sleep in it instead of collapsing on the floor in a heap when he became exhausted. "Your bed" I said as I motioned.  In the coming weeks he blossomed. He talked more. We conquered  the lice. He learned to sleep in his own bed at bed time and not wander the house if he awoke in the middle of the night. Several times everyday he went to his bucket and looked inside. "Mine stuff" he would say to himself. He put the winter hat on his head. He took out the little cars and looked at each one. Rolling them on the floor and then carefully placing them back in the bucket. He put the socks on his feet and took them off again. All the while muttering "mine stuff." After a few more weeks the call came. A relative placement had been found. He would be moving tomorrow. That is the way it goes sometimes. We said our good byes. My heart was sad as I wrote a little note to put with his new clothes and his welcome blanket and toys and a few books I would send with him. Just a little information about his likes and dislikes and his routine. A month later I got the call. He was back in foster care. Just the boy this time. Not the baby.  Could I take him? Of course I would. He arrived with nothing again. Clutching the lone thing he had left in the world, one of the cars from his welcome bag. Where did his other stuff go? I don't know. What happened to him while he was away? I have no idea. Where was baby sister? She was with a different family member. As soon as he arrived he went and sat on his bed. I spread out his new welcome blanket. He went to the shelf and looked in his bucket. I filled it with his welcome bag toys and items. "mine stuff" He said, this time with out the wild hyper-vigilant look in his eyes. He didn't stay with us long. I don't know what became of him. Many years later I got a call saying his sister, now 7, was back in foster care and could I take her? I could not. My house was bursting at the seams and I was now a single work outside the home foster mom. Where was the boy I asked. The worker did not know there was a brother and did not have any information about him. They had different fathers. Perhaps He had been placed with his fathers relatives. My heart was broken. But I never forgot how much that welcome bag meant for that little boy. When you have lost everything even the simplest things mean something. This is why I knew I wanted to help when I heard there were no welcome bags. I called the people I know at the department and asked if I could help. There is a beautiful soul in the foster parent association who has been fostering kids for 45 years. She is amazing and she has been lovingly assembling welcome bags for kids for years. The problem is storage. The foster parent association used to have a storage unit that was donated. The property was sold and the unit was lost. Right now the supplies are stacked high in a garage and they are difficult to get to. A new storage area will hopefully be available soon. So my kids and I spent a few hours on a Saturday helping Susan, from the Black Hills Foster Parent Association, moving some things around and talking about foster care and welcome bags. I decided, as my contribution, I will collect and assemble 50 welcome bags. I have 645 Facebook friends. If each person donated one or two items this would be more than possible. I would need to clean out my own garage to store the items. My minions and I could do that. So I made some lists. And I put it out there. So far two generous ladies have donated some items for infants, toddler and teens. And one beautiful lady included the information in her agency newsletter to spread the word. I am hoping that after the holidays people will pitch in and we can do this. These kids belong to all of us. Not everyone can foster. But everyone can do something.