CPS to the rescue…but what happened?

When I was 7, I was taken into foster care.  It wasn’t traumatic, because in fact, I don’t remember it.  You see,  I had been hurt so badly from the night before,  that CPS and the police came to my    bio-parents apartment and rescued me.  Literally, rescued me.  What I do remember is a sweet women touching the side of my face with her gentle hand and telling me it would be ok now.   And I remember the feeling of a warm liquid around my lower body, which was shivering cold (Later I found out the warm liquid was a mix of  blood and urine).

I do remember seeing a glimpse of the police shove my bio-father against the wall..I wish I could remember more of that.

So much for my initial memories of CPS…The next thing I knew, I was in the hospital scared and ready for this, asking for my mom.  Of course, she wasn’t there.  In fact, she was mostly never there.  A therapist once told me she was probably a prostitute or a drug addict.  I don’t know.  But I know that I was in the hospital alone.  My little skinny body was beaten to a pulp, stabbed right below my belly button, and well….you know, alot worse.   ….I stayed in the hospital for a couple weeks and guess how many times I saw my mom?

I remember asking for extra food which I proceeded to hide under my bed for my mom or my brother.  You see, my brother, the hero,  was the one who told the teacher who told the principal who called the police who contacted CPS who rescued me.  I couldn’t let him go hungry when I was getting all this great hospital food.  Finally after a couple of days,  a worker explained to me that it was ok, he was not hungry now, either.  I did not believe her and continued to hoard and hide all kinds of food.

When I was released from the hospital, I went to a temporary foster home before my first placement with Sara and Bill.  The temporary home had a nurse as a foster mom (Miss Liz).  I needed some healing time and alot of TLC.  Miss Liz was so kind to me, even when I was not kind to her.  She bought me the first toy I ever had and lots of others too.  She bought me a stuffed bear to keep me safe at night.  It was big and soft and had a black little bow-tie.  She tried to explain many things to me, but I didn’t understand.  She would take care of my injuries so softly, I never had that before…I took care of myself, right?   I would ask her when I would see my mom.  She would say “soon LT, soon.”  Guess how many times I saw my mom?

Foster care was ok at first.  Honestly, I think because of “my situation” and what happened to me, that the system worked harder for me AT FIRST.  I had a good temp placement and my first placement was safe and good.  CPS was doing a great job trying to take care of me.  My bio-father was in jail and would eventually be convicted for his crimes and serve over a decade in prison.  And my mother…my mother….”soon LT, soon.”… I never saw her again.  The workers tried, I know they did.  Once they even arranged for a visit, but she never showed.  She did not care, I guess.  Maybe the workers just “arranged the visit” for me, knowing that she would never show, but doing it for me.  I don’t know.

So with that…began the rest of my life in foster care.

While the beginning in the system was not traumatic, the middle and ending definitely were.  Over the next 11 years, I would have a total of 12 placements, some ok, some horrible, and some dangerous.  I lived in foster homes and group homes.  I lived in places that were as bad as my bio-parents.   I was separated from the only family I had left…my brother.  Never saw him again.   And the system seemed to forget about me as I grew older.  I didn’t matter anymore.  Why?  Was I that difficult?  Was I too old?  Did I remind you of a failing system?  What?  I was a KID!  You gave up and so did I.

Workers supposed to come monthly, showed up “whenever.”  Foster parents supposed to at least provide the “necessities” couldn’t afford them (I had shoes that were so small at times that my feet would bleed or I would go barefoot).  Teachers who were suppose to be teaching me, ignored that I had learning difficulties and pushed me aside and did not care if I learned.  Neighborhood kids called me the “home kid” and ran away; or worse, their parents told them to “stay away from the foster kid, because they are trouble”  CPS — STOP THIS!

I went from being a really hurt kid….to “the foster kid.”    And after awhile, people don’t care about “the foster kid.”  I know people will say “workers don’t stop caring, foster parent’s don’t stop caring, judges don’t stop caring, etc”….yes they do.  They have to or they burn out from all the pain and problems.  I’ve seen plenty of people who don’t care anymore.    What you don’t  realize is that we know it and we feel it.  When you don’t come and see us or check on us; we feel like you don’t care.  When you don’t listen to our wishes regarding placements, permanency, or the future of our lives; we feel like you don’t care.  When you don’t put our needs first at times; we feel like you don’t care.  When you let us live in dangerous or subpar homes; we feel like you don’t care.  When you kick us out at 18 with NOTHING; we feel like you don’t care.  When you  lie to us; we feel like you don’t care.  When you don’t provide mental health treatment, dental care, medical care; we feel like you don’t care.  When you use us for your own pleasure or gain; we feel like you don’t care.   ——- CPS –STOP THIS!

I, as a child of 7 , should not have grown up in foster care.  It was clear I was never going back to my bio-parents from the day of the rescue.  I, like thousands of other kids in foster care,  should have been given a shot at a family, a shot at a permanent, stable home, a shot at someone who cares about me..  What happened CPS? —- STOP THIS!