ENDURANCE

Hospice is not usually a linear journey. You don't get the diagnosis and it's a straight shot,
with level, predictable markers until death. Charlie is up and down, good and bad, and
sometimes horrible. He hovers close to dying and we tell him "good-bye" and are readied to
let go as painful as it would be, but then he'll rally again and here we go another moment,
another day.

Today has been a rollercoaster. Oxygen sats dropping to the 50's, nothing I was doing to
suction or reposition seemed to be working so I asked him, "Are you done? are we done,
buddy? It's okay, honest...."

I gave him morphine and realized the container was, for all practical purposes, empty.
It's Saturday, (enter four letter word which is synonymous with poop).
The pharmacy typically has to have a written script handed to them in person
to refill the med. The doctors were not in today. Chasing this down and
quickly was a priority and a hassle I didn't want and fought to find energy to do.
Our palliative care doctor was marvelous and made arrangements with the pharmacy
to fill the order without much of a hiccup.

At one point, I snapped at the others in the room and asked them to leave.
The triplets were wailing, girls were banging on the piano, Mark was talking with
another friend who'd stopped and I was unable to focus. I'm not always pleasant
when I'm watching Charlie struggling and my best efforts are seemingly ineffective.
It doesn't help at all when Mark snaps back at me and repays my sharpness in kind.
Both of us can be afraid. Fear leaves us feeling helpless and a little powerless.
We have found ourselves reacting in anger because it uses the adrenalin we have coursing
through our veins and makes us feel focused and powerful in the moment. It's a stupid
way to cope and we apologize to one another afterwards but no one should have
the impression we're handling each of these crises with sweetness and light.
It's a battle, and we're not always gracious, or even nice, fighting it.

I have to switch gears emotionally and mentally with little notice. From working
over Charlie with death hanging in the balance, to breaking up fights between 11 month
old boys who are fussing over a toy. The phone can ring with some sales call, and the
teakettle can be going off in the background. We are a very busy household, lots of stuff
happening all the time, and for the most part, Charlie is here, living in the family room,
in the middle of the mix and whacking at his toys and not needing much more than some
oral suctioning. Other times, it's more chaotic and he's gray and he's seizing,
and his face is contorted, tears are dripping out of his eyes and it's
heartbreaking to look at him.

It's never a matter of quitting, but I do question how someone is supposed to keep on
keeping on when life is so awfully unpredictable? I was mulling that over as I sat on the
floor in my closet regrouping, weeping and praying.

I was reminded, "His mercies are new every morning."
That's cool, 'cause I need a new batch every stinking day!

"They that wait upon the Lord will renew their strength"
I'm not always sure what waiting on Him looks like in the nasty now and now? I don't
really much care for *hallway* situations. I like my life to be cooking with gas or let's get
it over already. I don't have much patience for the *in between, hanging on by a thread,
we haven't a clue how long this is gonna be* kind of deal.

I am not naturally patient and prefer times when I know I've only got to roll, for let’s say,
4 more hours and 32 minutes. That's definable. I can set my inner being to endure for that
long. Life in general, and caring for hospice babies specifically, has been a work of grace in
my life. God knows I'm a flawed human and He's doing a good thing in providing
opportunities galore to develop my character.
I'm not what I should be, but I'm not what I was even a few weeks ago. A refiner's fire
is hot for a reason, and I'll be the first to acknowledge I have a lot of dross to burn off.
One friend who's known me for years, paid me the highest
compliment a couple of years ago. She told me I was not the same person I had been,
who'd been frustrating to know given my propensity to get consumed with my
to-do list, running around like a chicken with my head cut off, which is a bloody mess if
you've ever seen that happen live!
She told me, "The difference in you now, that you've come out of the physical suffering
you've been enduring, is that you trust God. It's evident."
Well amen, and hallelujah!
I can feel badly I acted like such a dork for so long trying to do things in my own strength
for God, or I can be thankful He took me to an awful place where I was absolutely humanly
useless and I had to trust He still valued me, or I wouldn't be breathing yet.
My worth isn't based on my ability to contribute. THANK GOD!

There is nothing definable about Charlie's life span. We are not prolonging his life and
we're not hastening his death. My prayer, from my gut with tears, is that God will make it
abundantly clear when Charlie is actually going to die, for sure. That we'll be prepared on
every front. I can't fathom today how this will be possible. Charlie is on life support.
How can he die and it not be traumatic? Our family cannot walk away from
his death feeling as though we contributed towards hastening it by withdrawing his
ability to breathe, period. His death needs to be clean with no guilt on our part to carry. It's
hard enough already without that too.
At this point in time, the possible ways he'd die would be by drowning
in his own secretions, suffocation because of a mucus plug, a possible pseudo bowel
obstruction related to dis-motility issues, or like he's done in the past, he'll drop his oxygen
sats in the tank even while on the ventilator, for no definable reason whatsoever. This
not knowing what we'll face at the end is one of the toughest pills to swallow in the deal.

But, we were in a similar spot with Emmalynn too. Having no idea how long she would live.
We were forced to do one day at a time. My friend told me when I said I wasn't sure how to
keep enduring, "You promised to love her through this."

Yes, we sure did!

And we did endure, and carried on valiantly.

We will do the same for Charlie though Emmalynn lived for 50 days and Charlie is 22 months.
God knows the number of his days and will call him Home at the appointed time. He knows,
and that has to be enough for me. I don't have to do this tomorrow yet, because it's still today.
And that's a good thing to remember when I don't have to strength to take on tomorrow's
cares and concerns.

I look at the video I posted a little earlier of him on the safehaven4babies Facebook site and
marvel at how my little buddy can be on morphine and look so bright and aware.
I probably should do drugs because I look like heck!!
HA!

His skin is gorgeous and except for the fact the vent was going off every couple of
minutes because of his shenanigans, no one looking at him would know how much
of a struggle living can be.

Thanks for reading if you made it this far. I'm singing along with Lauren,
"I Will Trust In You". https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qv-SXz_exKE

Unexpected Insight

We are medical treatment foster care parents. This means, both Mark and I have to complete continuing education hours yearly in order to maintain our license. This can be, because we make it so, a royal pain in the butt.
This past year, I personally had wanted life to  slow down a little bit and put off doing our classes until crunch time came and then there was nothing to do but dig in and try not to panic over whether we'd be able to meet the requirements.
I, for one, hate to miss deadlines. I try not to be anal about it, but when I  know people have asked certain things of me, which are reasonable and necessary, and I feel unable to satisfy the request, it can drive me batty.
My husband probably doesn't like to disappoint anybody either but he's much more quick to say, "Who cares?!" and walk off and not stew about it anymore. In the past, I've felt the need to impress upon him the importance of doing something and it's backfired. The more I press, the more he retreats into sullen silence and we. get. nowhere. but. mad.

The other morning, I laid on the floor in my bedroom, while the Chi machine worked its magic, and bawled. The fact that there were 30 hours total of education between the two of us to accomplish yet, was nigh unto impossible. I prayed. I felt a little resentful, angry, helpless, irritated and generally not in a mood to get up and get going. The verse, "With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible" popped into my gloomy thoughts. "Okay, God, have at it. I don't know how You're going to get this done, but You know it must be, so feel free to make it happen."
A little while later, I realized that in addition to carrying over the effects of the flu from the day before, I  also had a bladder infection. Marvelous.
Once upon a time, (and perhaps again in the future), I would be offended and flounder when I got sick. Because God already knows what I'm thinking, I can be quite frank with Him.
"Uhm, you know I don't have time for this. Could you heal me quickly, please?!"
This go-round, I took a different tactic.
"Thank You for indoor plumbing. For a daughter willing to run to the pharmacy for Pyridium and cranberry juice. Leftover Cipro to swallow along with breakfast."
I felt too dizzy to work downstairs and must've looked as badly as I felt because I was admonished by my family to go back to bed.
With Mark, Silvia and my teenagers holding down the fort, I did just that.
Not necessarily sleepy, I pulled out my laptop and began listening to webinars related to Attachment Issues in Infants.
The day's tasks, which at the beginning appeared completely overwhelming, were completed one by one in the subsequent 12 hours; without a lot of crazy hassle and anxiety.

The following day, Mark had taken a vacation day from work and so we sat and listened to a 2.5 hour session together. We took the quiz at the end of it and got a 70% so didn't pass. Mark would tell you he got the right answers, I got the wrong ones, and so it's my fault we didn't pass. We're a team. He's right and I'm not. Whatever.
Instead of 2.5 hours, we then needed to spend 5 hours listening to the webinar. Again, I had a choice to resent the time spent, not passing the first time, or have an attitude of gratitude.
I consciously chose gratitude.
The webinar http://centervideo.forest.usf.edu/confvids/attachbiobehave/attachbiobehave01/FS.html
proved to be an insightful, educational, over the top blessing to my husband and myself. Here's why.

Mary Dozier has proven that being nurturing and taking delight in infants when they are crying can overcome their attachment disorders. It's marvelously simple and yet incredibly complex. She presses the concept that infants need to find a safe place to go with their emotions  and have them validated.
Foster parents must overcome their natural response to downplay, ignore or redirect the child's crying.
If a child climbs up on a chair, falls and bangs their head, and comes to you crying, what's your response?
"I told you not to climb on that chair!"
"You're not hurt that badly, stop bawling."
"Hey look outside, see the bird?"

None of those responses help in the long run. Instead, try saying, "You've hurt yourself, I'm sorry. Let me hold you a minute 'til you're ready to get down." Crazy enough, the child does not have to cry harder to make you understand he's hurt. He knows you care. He's been nurtured, validated, and is more likely to settle because you're holding him and your ability to be calm is transferred to him and he's able to regulate his emotions to match your own.

This concept proceeded to initiate a discussion between Mark and myself. Our family's response to getting hurt or sick was not necessarily nurturing. We weren't in the least finding fault with our parents or siblings, or each other, but simply discussing whether we consciously decide to nurture or not.
I have felt in the past that my emotions were invalid. Setting Mark up for success in our interactions means I tell him, "I want you to say, 'that's gotta be tough' and then stop. Don't fix it, don't talk me out of it, etc. Just say those magic words and you'll win."
I then proceed to tell him whatever is on my heart, bizarre or otherwise, and he follows my cue and says, "That must be tough"  usually with a wink and a barely concealed grin. I glow with appreciation over his sympathy for my plight, lean in and kiss him and say, "You nailed it!" We both walk away from the interaction not having argued. I don't feel helpless to communicate how sad, disappointed, and upset I might be with increasing angst because he's just not getting it. He might not get it, and would rather not hear about my issues because he can't fix it, but he doesn't make me angry.
A hilarious video is linked here if you care to watch how men and women often relate.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-4EDhdAHrOg

Both my husband and I want to be a safe place for the other to air our concerns, fears, hurts and dreams. We've hung out together now for 32 years. A webinar on attachment issues in infants, helped us find ways to better communicate with one another than we'd ever thought of before or heard about or read.

I didn't blow it this past week in facing the challenge of getting continuing education hours in along with all the other demands. No, I didn't wade into this education stuff with the right attitude to begin with, I'm not that amazing or wonderful at all, naturally. I resented the heck out of the inconvenience, but what I did do well, was pray. And take God at His word that He indeed is able to do the impossible. As Beth Moore would say, "You get to decide how you're going to do the *WHAT*. You can do it mad, or you can do it glad." He blessed our socks off with the sweet insight we gained in relating to one another, our biological children, our foster kiddos, and just about everyone else in our path.

I shared with Mark that I have regularly found myself apologizing and asking forgiveness of God for being so stupid, slow, unable to do the right thing, the right way, at the right time, every time, usually with bitter tears being shed. I had assumed God was unhappy and frustrated with me and not wanting to hear my cries if they weren't cleaned up and holy. Projecting on Him the impatience in the way I've had others respond to me, or I've had with others, is the devil's trick.
Satan's biggest ploy is to get me to doubt. "Did God say?" has been his M.O. since the beginning of time. I'm not making that up. Check out Genesis!  If I feel God is basically unhappy with my humanness and frailty, then I can be sucked of motivation to even try.
The enemy of my soul is not going to be able to take me to Hell with him but he will attempt to make me as ineffective as possible this side of eternity.

Hearing the way the child psychologist  encourages foster parents to react to the children placed in their homes, gave me a renewed perspective on the way my Heavenly Father draws me close, validates my pain, and as He says so often in His word, He delights in me.
I'm BELIEVING it!

I like to picture God holding my hand in ways similar to the way I hold Charlie's, with gentleness and compassion. He knows my frame and He remembers I'm made of dust. Psalm 103:14 but just like I do with Charlie,
Zephaniah 3:17
"The Lord your God in your midst,
The Mighty One, will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness,
He will quiet you with His love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”

My gift ~

Several years ago, I was standing in the kitchen singing at the top of my lungs. I had an iPod plugged into my ears and for me, I was doing a beautiful job. For those who couldn't hear the music, it was terrible. My husband came walking through the house and asked me to remove the ear buds.
"Honey, you're blessing my heart with your enthusiasm but you're hurting my ears."
I snapped back, "You know?! If I put on some weight and didn't color my hair, I could look just like Susan Boyle."
"Yes," he said, "But you can't sing. And that's kind of like being Rainman and no good at math."

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RxPZh4AnWyk


I love football, but my 130 pound physique would be a grease spot on the field should somebody like BJ Raji decide to mow me down. Shoot, a guy half his size could permanently mangle my body with one tackle. While I have to be as tenacious as Eddie Lacy in trying to get through the *game* I face everyday here at home, I've not been given the talent or body to play football.

I found out at my 50th birthday party, I'm not the athlete I thought I was. One of my dearest friends told everyone present that only reason I was any good at volleyball was because I played on a clergy league at the YMCA. The mean age was 65 and most of the players have bad hips, backs, knees, etc. The reason I was any good at all was the arthritis factor in most of the other players.  Somehow I'd never taken stock of my talent by looking at the guys with whom I was playing the game!

I've come to the realization that I don't have a bucket of talents. I don't sing, dance, or play sports well. I'm not a great cook. Martha Stewart isn't my middle name. I bake food on a cookie sheet and toss it on the table on the same pan mostly because my children prefer not to have to wash any extra dishes, though it might help with the presentation to put the food on a clean platter. Bah! On a regular day to day basis, that's too much work.

I'm not a beauty queen.
I was told, honestly, "You're alright, but it's not like you're going to win a beauty contest." My mother in law was sitting with me and looking at pictures. She mentioned I looked pretty good in one of them. I said, "Yeah, I know." (which by the way, would be a standard husband comeback)
Mama looked at me and said, "Well, you're not that good looking."
I know that too  =)

Reality check........I am not going to be able to be anything I want to be simply because you've got to have some kind of raw material to work with and I come up quite short or totally void of giftedness in the areas where I would love to excel.

One thing I'm dang good at, however, is caring for little people, babies who are healthy or otherwise. I'm 50 and still haven't mastered the art of changing a diaper as just yesterday, one of my little men whizzed all over my shirt and pants because I wasn't quite quick enough.
But, for the most part, I am  *A baby whisperer*.
This talent will not earn me a paycheck. But, my hope is that the investment of my love and energy and time and steadiness and predictability for them, will help them learn to love and trust well as they move on into their futures.

I am a hick. I wear blue jeans, old t-shirts which are stained and I don't care because at some point in my day they'll have spit up, or drool, or possibly poop schmeared on them and not be unstained for long. I wear little to no make-up. I've stolen my husband's old tube socks and they have holes in the part which should rest on my calves but are continually falling down in a pile at my ankles, so I hike them back up where they stay for a nano-second before descending again. I have 2 pairs of tennis shoes which are broken in to create *slip-ons* so I don't have to bother with lacing them each time.

I am not all that sweet. I am not amazing. I'm doing the best I can day to day to provide a home for my family. And we've been privileged to have a few other kiddos who needed us for a time to make sure they had the basic stuff in life. A place to sleep, food to eat, a safe place to play, and arms to hold them and plenty of love.

Being able to give an answer for the hope that lies within me has happened once again in our local paper today.
http://www.sheboyganpress.com/story/news/local/2016/03/13/sheboygan-mom-hospice-babies-opens-up/81703808/

I am able to love people with my whole heart who are not biologically my own.
That's my talent. That's my gift.

Mount up with wings like eagles ~

One way I have found not to go crazy when life doesn't fit into a nice neat package is to remember times it was exactly like this in the past. Did things work out? Did I lose my mind? (Not entirely or I wouldn't be able to type this. I will not say there wasn't some brain damage that occurred in the process, however). My greatest ability to calm myself is to remember how God has provided for me in the past.

I received a request Thursday night at 11 p.m. for me to answer a number of questions detailing our journey through my illness, bringing Emmalynn home, and now how we're caring for Charlie. The deadline to have the questions answered in full was noon on Friday.
I laughed. Then wanted to cry.
I have 8 children at home right now.
All of them need me in one fashion or another.
Weekends we typically do not have an LPN to assist us with Charlie's cares. He has to be attended to 24/7 as his status can change very quickly from being just dandy to disastrous.
The triplets are 9 months old and everything must be done for them.

Yesterday, I thought perhaps I had a block of time but then Charlie was dropping his oxygen sats. His secretions were filling up his lungs. He had to be suctioned to attempt to clear his airway. I was holding the buddy and singing to him and he pooped in my arms and it went all up his back......yup, an outfit change and a bedding change and his heart rate was so fast he could have possibly gone into cardiac arrest. Hmmmm.
I'm not lighthearted about how fragile he is.
He needed me present last evening, not up in the office madly typing away on my laptop.
When I lie down next to him, or hold him on my lap, it's as if this sense of peace comes over me. Charlie isn't anxious about much of anything. He's doing his thing day by day and we're looking forward to Heaven for him.
He's not sweating the small stuff.
When I'm with him and telling him about Heaven and blessing his heart/hurting his ears with my singing, it's a reality check.
Deadlines are deadlines but are really not all that deadly. If it doesn't get done, hello, it doesn't get done.
I'm called at this point in time to loving care for my child and that means I give him the gift of presence. He, like Emmalynn, does not need me busy. He needs me close by.

Today........

As of Sunday night at 8 p.m. not a dang thing had been accomplished on the writing front.
I went to bed last night and prayed, "God, if this is what You want, then you're going to have to make it happen. I do not want to make my family miserable because I'm chafing at their ever  present needs when I personally am torn between caring for them and all the rest of this. If the enemy of my soul is not wanting me to be able to answer these media requests to give the reason for the HOPE that lies within me, then knock him out of the way. If this is simply my own personal agenda, then please, make that clear too, because there's not enough time for me to pursue selfish desires."

I woke up this morning and had a full day ahead with a journey to Milwaukee to Children's planned in it. But, the child who needed to go to the doctor wasn't feeling okay for other reasons and the appt. was cancelled and made for another day and time.
This suddenly free'd up my entire morning to hole up and answer the multitude of questions being asked and demanded by today.

I recently finished reading the book Through the Eyes of a Lion by Levi Lusko borrowed to me by one of my best friends, Mary.
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/through-the-eyes-of-a-lion-levi-lusko/1120808711

It's a valuable book for anyone and everyone!
One chapter which has resonated is his encouragement to call on the Holy Spirit to come rescue us like the Eagles did in the Lord of the Rings. The hobbits or Gandalph couldn't have been in more impossible situations but the Eagle came at just the right moment and they were carried off to safety and help and comfort. Levi draws a parallel between the Holy Spirit enabling us to mount up with wings like eagles, to run and not grow weary and walk and not faint, with calling on God to help us in the same way as depicted in LOTR.

I did that last evening. With men this deadline to get everything done I needed to do was impossible, but with God all things are possible. There was no immediate human solution to my time dilemma. Over and over again in my life however, I've been given opportunity to Trust God for the biggest things and the littlest aggravations.

My daughter is going to be fine, the not feeling well this morning will soon pass. And I would never have planned for her to be unable to attend her doctor's appt in Milwaukee. But that's the way God provided the extra block of time I needed. He answered my prayers that He's in this. He is for me. He loves me. It's hard, it's difficult and it doesn't come easily, but He wants our story of faith in living out our HOPE in Him to redeem the messiest situations to be told.

People is still moving forward with our story to be on newsstands on Wed. Nancy Reagan's life coming to pass here on earth almost bumped it but not quite. With potentially 90 million people reading about our journey with Emmalynn and Charlie, that many more people will have the opportunity to hear about our God and faith in Christ. He is our Rock and Shield and a very present help in time of trouble!

We're hanging onto our hats! Life as we know it is going to get even more wild ~

It's Happening ~

I've been having moments lately when I wonder what all the fuss is about regarding our family and our mission in life. Receiving an article in the mail about a family in PA who've adopted a number of children with special needs, is encouraging. They were responsible for shutting down an *orphan asylum* in Bulgaria from where they rescued from death 2 of their children. It helps keep me fully aware our family is doing a good thing but by no means are we all that special.
No baby need ever be abandoned in a dumpster.
No baby should ever have to die alone and unloved.

The ability to get the word out about HTTP://SAFEHAVEN.TV
And provide a real, tangible next step to a woman in a crisis situation where her life and her child's life is concerned is a gift. A prayer answered.

I've spoken with People magazine this afternoon and while the article about our family will not be on the newsstands tomorrow as planned, it is in the works for next Wed. The delay in being published has been a blessing. Getting the website functional (that's still being tweaked), a designated phone, mailbox and email, Twitter account, etc. has required time and energy and help from more people than just myself to do it. We're being tracked down anyway, so we're providing the contact info in order for our children not to be bombarded with folks trying to speak to me.

I wondered why I should go to all this trouble. I mean, seriously?! Is anyone even going to remember my name in a couple of weeks?? The powers that be, seem to think so and that the prudent thing is to prepare the fields for rain and if it doesn't come, then so be it, but the seeds have been planted, let's expect they're going to produce a bountiful crop.
Go Big or Go Home......only my comfort zone would say, can't we keep this nice and neat and good gravy, not be inviting criticism?
For some, the fact that Charlie had to be resuscitated, breathing wise, never chest compressions (THANK YOU, JESUS), over and over this past year, caused them to call me a "Cruel and Heartless Bitch." Well then.
They don't know or don't care that my hands were tied with Charlie being in the foster care system until the adoption was final in December.
One of the best ways we have advocated for Charlie was to adopt him to allow us the legal authority to make end of life decisions. He needed us not for our name or for a sense of well being on his part about where he would live and who would love him, but so we could let him die and go to Heaven without his last moments being a painful mess.

Part of the load rolled off my shoulders when the judge declared him Charles Stephen Salchert. He's ours for better or for worse and there's no giving him back, as if that were ever really an option. NOT. We promised to love him and keep him and stay by him no matter how hard things would get and will yet.

I have media requests galore queuing up to be answered once the People article is published. Thankfully, the PR people at People are willing to help us navigate the labyrinth once it does. I'd much rather speak to CBS, ABC, NBC on a national level rather than 85 smaller news outlets.
Dishes, laundry and diaper changes fill  my days.

I read these verses again today in Ephesians Chapter 3.
My prayer, from my gut, is that God will be glorified in all of this hullabaloo. I know He's pleased with the fact orphans are being cared for and embraced fully. He's also being sought after and thanked and trusted again with broken hearts which need to be mended and knowing He's done that for me, for our family, is giving others hope for themselves too.

The Love of Christ

14 So I bow in prayer before the Father 15 from whom every family in heaven and on earth gets its true name. 16 I ask the Father in his great glory to give you the power to be strong inwardly through his Spirit. 17 I pray that Christ will live in your hearts by faith and that your life will be strong in love and be built on love. 18 And I pray that you and all God’s holy people will have the power to understand the greatness of Christ’s love—how wide and how long and how high and how deep that love is. 19 Christ’s love is greater than anyone can ever know, but I pray that you will be able to know that love. Then you can be filled with the fullness of God.

20 With God’s power working in us, God can do much, much more than anything we can ask or imagine. 21 To him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus for all time, forever and ever. Amen.

Particular Niche

I was thinking this afternoon about those who would fit the bill for the kind of foster care/adoption we do.
My husband is 61 years old and I'm 50. We've almost finishing rearing our first 8 biological children. Emily is 14 years old and the way time has hurtled past with the 7 siblings before her, she'll be graduating and going to college before we know it.
We came into the foster care business late. In designing our personal profile we purposely chose to do medical issues rather than behavioral. Teenagers scare me to death. I can feel at a loss and off kilter when staring into the face of a child who is the same size if not bigger than I am, who's posture says they think I'm *so last century*. Who doesn't feel inclined to do what I've asked them sweetly, then demanded they do. Getting the eye roll and sighs of disgust have been known to make me feel helpless. God knows, I've spent hours and hours praying because of having children who don't think I'm the brightest bulb in the bunch and have reasoned their opinion trumps my own.
But, I digress.
We, as parents, and given my heart for hospice, specifically asked to be a foster home for kiddos with a life limiting prognosis or terminal diagnosis. I am addicted to babies. Love them to pieces. Older kids who look at me and would like to be entertained by me, nah, they're scary too.
We have only had babies so far but are willing to take in a 14 year old who might be in a residential facility but has been diagnosed with terminal cancer. This child might be a teenager but most likely by the time they'd come live with us, they wouldn't be sneaking out the basement windows and looking for, or causing trouble which could cause what's left of Mark's fringe of hair to turn loose or mine to finally go completely gray.

You may be in a season of your life where signing up to raise a child for a natural lifetime isn't feasible. You just don't have the energy or time left in your own life to do that. But! You might be perfect to invest deeply in a child's life which is anticipated to be brief. Investing deeply but holding loosely. Making all the difference between the child having a life which was lived and one which might have only been survived.

The kinds of kiddos we've asked to be considered for by our social workers, may be exactly what you're looking for too!