-July 30, 2008-

Dear Tasha,

Tomorrow Sydney will be one year and one week old. That's how old Lillian was when you stayed with us for the first time- for the first time for the next 15 months. A few days prior, we had gone to a church BBQ at a friend's house. I knew you were going to be there and I knew that you were staying at a church leader's house because of some problems at home. But I had no idea how the chain of events following our first encounter would change my life forever.

I remember being outside with you during the BBQ while kids jumped around in the inflatable jumper. It was a bright, sunny day. I deliberately sat next to you so I could try to get to know you better. I had no idea who you were until a few days before that, when Bobby briefly mentioned the situation you were in- I know you don't like people knowing your business, but with Bobby being in the Bishopric it was his responsibility. I wanted to help. I felt awkward trying to break the ice. I didn't know what to say or how to say it. You were very quiet and soft spoken, and you didn't open up much or elaborate on any of the answers to my questions. But you smiled a lot and you seemed happy. We invited you over for dinner that Wednesday night. After dinner we would bring you to the church activity, then bring you back to the friends' house where you were staying.

Or so we thought.

You were a chatterbox on Wednesday. You asked me a million questions about a million different things. You seemed particularly interested in cars and driving- how to buy a car, how to pay for a car, what it was like to drive a car. You were curious about everything. I was curious about school and your likes and dislikes. I talked so much that my throat was sore at the end of day. I was thrilled that you had opened up.

Then, during dinner we got a frantic phone call from the friends you were staying with. They had just received a call from DHS saying that your mother didn't know where you were. She was threatening to press charges for kidnapping if you weren't returned home right away. After a bit of chaos, Bobby and I got ourselves together and started driving you to your mom's house. A million thoughts were going through my mind. You started to cry when you told us that you were afraid to go home. Bobby and I couldn't justify dropping you off on your doorstep in tears and driving away from the situation. We called your DHS caseworker and told her what was going on. We refused to bring you home without a DHS escort into the house to assess the situation. She finally agreed to meet us on the side of the road where we had pulled over, just around the corner from your mom's house.

The caseworker didn't seem very sympathetic at first. She tried to convince you to go back home because your mom was worried about you and she missed you. This seemed a little ridiculous to say about a woman who had a history of alcoholism, drug addiction, and neglect, a woman who allowed other family members to physically abuse you, and who hadn't raised you for ten out of your fifteen years of life. You were stubborn and you kept saying no. We offered to go in with you and talk to your mom to let her know that you were safe and that you had a lot of friends who were willing to help out. The caseworker seemed all out of ideas, so she agreed to it.

As we pulled up to your house, I felt like I was taking in the deepest breath of my life- preparing for something unexpected and frightening. We followed you and the caseworker to the door, and as I was about to go in, she told us to wait on the porch- she didn't know what the emotional climate was going to be inside, and she didn't want to upset anyone by bringing us in right away. I felt like I was hiding out and eavesdropping as we stood outside on the porch, out of sight between the window and the door. I felt very out of place. As soon as you walked in the door, it was like a bomb went off. You were verbally attacked by three or four people, who seemed to have been waiting for you to show up- your mother, and at least one sister and one brother. The yelling, the accusations, the cursing, the name calling- all of it was horrible. It was horrible to hear. It was horrible to imagine how it made you feel. It was horrible to imagine you living with it every day. It was horrible to imagine leaving you there to fend for yourself while I went on to my loving and peaceful home.

Bobby was standing behind me and he wrapped his arms around my shoulders when I started to cry quietly- while standing there on the porch listening to everything that was going on inside. I wanted to burst in and haul you out and away to safety. I wanted to yell everyone who was yelling at you. I wanted to scream at the caseworker for bringing you back here. I wanted to overturn all of the injustices that had brought you to this moment in your young life.

I was surprised at how quickly- and how loudly- you responded to your attackers. You yelled right back at them- not with the same language- but with just as much vengeance and force. Your survival instincts emerged when you were in a hostile environment. How else could you have survived in it for so long?

I don't know how long we stood there- silent on the outside- while hatred roared on the inside. I think things had calmed down a little bit by the time we decided we were never going to be invited to go in. I think the caseworker even stepped out for a moment to tell us to go home. I'm sure we lingered a bit longer. Then, feeling completely useless, we slowly walked down the steps, away from the house, and toward the car. We felt uneasy driving away. Bobby did a u-turn at the end of the street to circle back around and pass by the house to see if you and the caseworker were out yet. Nothing. We did it again. This time, we noticed you sitting in the backseat of the caseworker's DHS van.

She flagged us down and told us that you had threatened to run away if she left you there. (Good for you! I thought). She was trying to figure out who you could stay with that night. We immediately offered our house. She needed DHS authorization and your mother's authorization since you were still under her legal care. She said she would go back and talk to your mom to try to convince her that this would be the best situation- for you to stay with us for the night. You told the caseworker to get your mom outside and away from your siblings. Your mom was usually more rational when she didn't have other people interjecting their own opinions.

We waited around the corner, in the car, while you sat in the DHS van and the caseworker talked to your mom. Never in my life have I ever prayed so intently and so earnestly as I did that night. I prayed for the caseworker to say the right things to your mom to convince her to let you stay with us; I prayed for your mom to realize what was best for you; I prayed for angels from heaven to surround her to comfort her and help her agree with the caseworker. In the end, your mom agreed. DHS gave us an oral authorization to let you stay with us. You got back in our car and we took you home.

And so began the fifteen most challenging, most rewarding, and most character building months of my life.

I'm sure you remember the evening much differently. But I wanted you to hear it from my perspective, since I don't think I ever really told you. I'm grateful for the seemingly unimportant events- a BBQ and a Wednesday night dinner invitation- that lead us to a life-long influential event. I'm thankful for the quiet inspirations of the Spirit that guided us through the experience. I'm thankful for you.

I love you and I miss you.

Heavenly Messenger

This was Lillian's lunch time prayer today:

Dear Heavly Fodder, thank you eating wunch, thank you Charlotte, thank you getting pwesent for her, thank you watching Ratatouille, thank you Daddy at school, thank you I miss him. Name of Jesus Kweist, Amen.

Bless her little heart.

The Castle on the Hill

Dear Tasha,

I drove past Overbrook High School today. It was this month two years ago that we drove all over Philadelphia together, trying to get you enrolled in school. I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that I wanted you in the best school possible. I have to admit that I got very frustrated. I felt like I was on a wild goose chase, not knowing which way to go or even where I was.

I didn't understand a lot of things.

I didn't understand why you said you were supposed to be in 10th grade, but all of your records said you were in 9th grade. I didn't understand why you denied going to a particular middle school that was listed on all of your transcripts. I didn't understand why you had to go to the neighborhood school that had dismally low test scores, horrible attendance rates, and frequent suspensions.

I didn't understand why you were enrolled in kindergarten a year late, then held back to repeat kindergarten a second year- making you two whole academic years behind your peers. I didn't understand how you managed to make decent, passing grades throughout elementary and middle school, while going in and out of the foster system, dealing with abuse, and changing schools every few years. I didn't understand how anyone could give up on you or not want the best for you.

I still wonder about all of those things. I will probably never know the real answer to most of them, which I tried to come to terms with when you were living with us. Instead of dwelling on your past and everything I had no control over, I tried to focus on your future and how I could help.

Eventually, we managed to get you into a different school. Mostly because of Bobby's adamant determination to change things and my endless worrying about your education. The school was new. The teachers were educated. It made us feel better. You didn't like the uniform or the mascot. But you did like the laptop they gave you (except for the bright orange bubble case it came with), and some of your teachers. It still wasn't the best education, but it was by far the best option under those circumstances.

I could go on forever about this. Instead of rambling, though, I'll just get to the point of why I feel like I need to get all of this out- I still worry about you and the quality of education that you're getting. A few nights ago I had a dream about you. (I dream about you a lot, but I'll save that for another time). In the dream, we were talking. It felt like I hadn't seen you in a long time and I was very happy to be with you (and for some reason your hair was in a weird short style- nothing like the long braids you usually had- but that's not relevant). Anyway, you were telling me that, since you moved, you hadn't been able to get back into Arise Academy where you went last year. You were having trouble getting into a new school. You were getting frustrated by it and were about ready to give up on it and not graduate. I tried to convince you how important it was to go to school and graduate and how it would be impossible to do anything with your life if you dropped out. I hugged you tight, and while I cried on your shoulder, I begged you not to give up.

By now you would be telling me not to get all mushy, mushy on you. :) I'm sorry that I care so much. :) In the last note you gave us, you said that you were advanced to the 12th grade and that you wanted to go to medical school like Bobby. You are capable. Don't let anyone deter you from your path. Bobby and I will always be here- encouraging you, pushing you, and expecting you to do your best.

love,
Amanda

Little Steps

The record stands at three. That's how many steps Sydney has taken unassisted before losing her balance and falling over or deciding that was far enough and plopping down on her diaper-padded bottom. She took those first little steps tonight when Bobby and I were bribing her with a little toy doctor kit to go back and forth between us (she had been carrying the bag around with her all night long- it's currently one of her favorites). I think she'll have the walking thing down before her first birthday in three weeks. Between this new mode of transportation and her tooth coming in, I'd say it's been a big week for the little girl!

(She has also been climbing on EVERYTHING. Over the couch, up the back of the yellow Fisher Price chairs, up the box onto the kitchen set, on the rocking chair, on the toy lion, up the side of Lillian's bed to get into it.....everything. She either wants to peek out the window, or she wants a better view of what's going on below. Her acrobatics are going to give her mom a heart attack.)

Toothless No More!

Bobby made a monumental discovery tonight- Sydney is FINALLY getting her FIRST TOOTH!! After 11 1/2 months she decided it's about time she be able to bite into something instead of gum it into a mushy mess. The baby pearly white is the top front right tooth (sorry to all the dentists, I don't know the official position name), and it looks like there might be more coming, too.

So she'll have at least one tooth before her first birthday after all. You go girl.