When Emerald and Hope [1] moved in, they were swimming in an ocean of sharks and uncertainty. Removed from their mother and step-father; without appropriate family who could take them; in their second foster home in three months; and with no end in sight. The emotional toll was immense. Nightmares, anxiety, meltdowns, full blown rages, hospitalizations in the pediatric psych ward – those with foster parenting experience can likely relate.
From the first day Emerald moved in, she spoke of her father – a man who she had only good memories, even though her mom took her and her newborn sister away from when she was just 3 years old. A man who did not attempt to contact them further. The fantasy Emerald had of her father seemed just that, a fantasy. She told us that every year on her birthday she imagined him showing up at her doorstep with a bouquet of flowers, to sweep her away from her real-life nightmare. We could only imagine a man who was completely disinterested in his daughters, either deported back to Guatemala or with ‘new’ children, struggling to provide for them.
Because of the desperate state of Emerald, I tried to honor her wish and spent hours searching the internet for any name she could think of and city where she was born, and sent an endless amount of Facebook messages to strangers.
After 7 months of living with us, we were cleaning her room and she brought out a bag that belonged to her mother. She took this bag as her and her siblings were being removed from their home by the police and the social worker. Her mom and step-dad were already in jail. In this bag, there were multiple documents, including immunization records, a bible, parole documents, handwritten phone numbers and addresses. Among this pile of forgotten scraps was a piece of gold. It was a copy of Emerald’s father’s North Carolina Driver’s License, with an address. It was about 15 years old and accompanied an application for residency in Oregon, so I tried to keep expectations low. I sent a photo of it to the girls’ case worker and Deputy Juvenile Officer (DJO) and we waited.
A few weeks later, during a Family Support Team meeting, the DJO announced that they had in fact located Emerald and Hope’s father in North Carolina. He was living in the same county where Hope was born. He was married, with no children, had a stable job, and wanted to be reunited with his daughters. I was a puddle on the floor – it was too good to be true, but with all the trauma that was these girls’ lives, they deserved this saving grace.
We decided not to tell the girls anything until we knew things were moving forward with reunification, and that him and his wife were properly vetted. My husband and I flew to North Carolina to meet him and his wife, so we could talk to them in person about the struggles their daughters have had over the past 9 years and how resilient and wonderful and challenging they are. We brought a stack of photos of the girls and he broke down sobbing as he looked through them.
It took 4 months for all the paperwork to go through. We told the girls halfway through the process and they kept saying that it felt like a dream. During the first WhatsApp video call everyone was in tears. And the first visit, when him and his wife came to St Louis, was magic. He walked up to the house with two bouquets of flowers in his hand. Seeing the girls and their father sitting on the couch, all with the same dimple in their chin just felt so right.
The girls now live in North Carolina with their father and step-mother, who they call ‘mom.’ We talk to them often and have seen them twice in the year since they left. Emerald is off all her psychiatric mediations, rarely has nightmares, and is on the honor roll. Hope helps her mom make food on Fridays, sings in her church’s choir, and is a happy, easy going 11-year old.
This kind of story, in foster care, is rare, but it is true (with small details changed[1]) and we will hold it near to our heart with a hope for all the children who walk through our front door.
[1] Giving our foster kiddos nicknames helps maintain their confidentiality.
