Beyond Blood (eBook)

CHAPTER ONE

IT HAD OFFICIALLY been authorized. The place I called home was now a licensed foster care residence thanks to my parents, who ignored all advice imploring them not to do it. Relatives and friends alike did not want us biological kids to become collateral damage in my parents’ crazy do-gooder experiment—or at least that’s more or less what my sister and I gathered from the muttered conversations we overheard.

On the one hand, I felt proud of my parents’ courage, but on the other, I did not want to share my home with strangers. Mom said I had a choice, but even back then, at five years old, I felt sure there was a correct answer. So, I gave them an enthusiastic, “Yes, I want to be a foster brother!” complete with a thumbs-up and toothy smile.

My sister Annabelle, three years younger than me and tough as nails since day one, looked on while she played with a pile of blocks. She copied my confident smile and nodded her head. I knew she understood even less about what was going on than I did, but she seemed to take everything with a grain of salt. The smile was the same one Annabelle had when Mom handed her a fruit popsicle after dinner or when she showed off her bloody knee after an epic Power Wheels crash. I was glad she was there though and silently hoped that if kids really did come stay with us, they would be more interested in her toys than mine.

Later, my parents sat me down for a serious conversation. My mother paused, her voice wavering as she spoke. “Son, this will hurt; it won’t be easy. Despite that, we must try to love our neighbors as ourselves. We will give them a family, and once we bring them in, you will be their brother always—no matter what.”

I stared at Mom’s watery eyes and nodded. She seemed aware of realities I would not understand until much later. My parents were choosing to allow suffering into my life—suffering that I wouldn’t have to go through if I weren’t a biological child in a foster family. Yes, I faced many hardships in this role I found myself filling. As it turned out, I would never be the same again—nor would I want to.

Not long after our talk, my parents carefully placed a newly typed list titled “Boundaries” on top of the stack of forms the Department of Children and Families (DCF) had provided. It was a painstakingly detailed document of restrictions: no infants, no teenagers, no youth with a history of violence or acting out sexually, no medically needy kids, only one child at a time. The list outlining our needs and expectations for fostering went on for pages. I could not help but feel anxious as my parents handed it all over to the social worker for processing.

But I barely had time to worry before our phone started ringing; on the other end of the line, frightened children sat next to workers waiting for a “yes.” The boundaries document, which had been meticulously thought out to protect our family, ultimately proved to be a clear waste of ink. DCF contacted us about any child—or children—in need of immediate support, regardless of whether they fit the boundaries we tried to establish. The list turned out to look more like a blueprint for the children who would become brothers and sisters to me. We quickly, and unexpectedly, fell in love with them all.

The first call that came in was abrupt, and the sound of screaming pierced through the speakerphone when Mom answered. It hurt my ears, and I wished she would turn it down. Instead, Mom stood pale-faced, staring at her phone like she had not just signed up for this. As the person on the other end of the line spoke, the hum of car engines and tires rolling over asphalt could be heard in the background. The worker explained that she was sitting on the side of the highway. Baby Ray’s parents had been arrested after a drug-infused brawl, and the newborn was dirty and hungry. She stated that although he was two months old, baby Ray had just been discharged from the hospital the day before due to hospital standards requiring him to weigh at least four pounds before he could go home.

My mind swirled; I did not understand how a baby who had just entered this world and who had been home with his parents for only one day could be in this bad of shape. My mom hesitantly reminded the worker that we had not signed up to take in infants, and the worker’s voice faltered when she replied. “I know—I just thought I’d try.”

There was stillness as Mom stared at the phone, listening to highway racket and baby wails on the other end of the line. “I’ll call you back,” Mom finally mumbled before hanging up.

She walked past me into Annabelle’s bedroom, where Dad was rocking her to sleep. He glanced up at Mom, and they locked eyes. They had been married for a long time, so when he furrowed his brow and tilted his head slightly, Mom understood he was asking her a question. “DCF just called, honey. There’s a baby.”

Now Annabelle’s eyes were open. She was no longer drifting off but still oblivious to the fact that our lives were about to transform.

“Okay,” Dad said, but it was a question.

“The baby is two months old—four pounds.” Mom continued.

My dad looked perplexed and sharpened his tone slightly, provoking Annabelle, still relaxing in his lap in the rocking chair, to jump a bit. “I thought we agreed to no infants,” he said.

“Yes,” Mom replied quietly, “and I will tell them no. I just wanted to let you know this baby and employee are on the highway with nowhere to go. The baby is in bad shape. The boy’s parents just got arrested, and the other foster homes are full.”

My dad sat mute, his gaze turned down to the carpet, his face red. After what seemed like a long while, the side of his fist came down hard onto the arm of the rocking chair, startling Annabelle and causing her pacifier to slip from her mouth into his lap. Dad handed it back to her as he quietly but firmly said, “Tell her we will take the baby.”

Mom nodded and pivoted slowly to leave. It was then that she noticed me for the first time. “Oh, honey, I need you to be a big boy and put yourself down to bed tonight. Mommy is a little busy.” I took it as a suggestion to stay out of her way.

Mom called the worker back, and when she discovered the baby would be coming with nothing, she dashed to Walmart to buy baby formula, bottles, diapers, wipes, a tiny blanket, a car seat and stroller, and some clothes. The articles of clothing were so small they looked like they could only be for a tiny doll.

An hour later, Annabelle had fallen asleep, and my mom had dumped all her purchases in the entryway with Dad looking on nervously. I watched through the railing as a giant chocolate woman huffed slowly into the house carrying a car seat. A tiny creature lay inside wearing only a diaper. He was no longer moving or making noise. I was scared but, at the same time, felt a strong pull toward him. The worker casually mentioned to my parents that this baby would end up going up for adoption, so we should be ready. Adoption? My parents looked at each other with wide eyes but said nothing.

After she left, and my dad was feeding Ray while Mom stood by, ready to assist, I headed down to them. My parents were surprised to see me, as if I had not lived here for five years and come down every night after bedtime. Nonetheless, through a heavy smile, Mom asked if I wanted to help. With gentle movements, I held Ray, fed him, and touched his baby skin, feeling his soft head, fingers, and toes. He was so tiny and fragile, and his eyes were full of innocence even though he had been through so much already. The fears my parents and I had melted away as we bathed him and held him.

A little while later, I went to bed and fell asleep quickly this time, although I did sneak into baby Ray’s room once to check on him when I woke up to use the bathroom. He was as tired as I was and did not stir as I left.

I was exhausted at school the following day and a little jealous of Ray, who had been sleeping peacefully when I left. I felt excited though. A new baby brother, and I had heard the worker say we would adopt him! I told my teachers and friends, and although they were excited with me, I could not help but get in trouble several times for talking out of turn and interrupting. I did not care—this was too important to stay quiet about!

I raced home after school and then burst into the house. Mom greeted me with a big hug, picking me right up off my feet, but there was only one thing on my mind. “I want to feed Ray again!” I said excitedly, and Mom paused tentatively, giving me a long squeeze as she held me.

My sister was eating a snack at the kitchen island nearby and did not turn around immediately. I wondered if she had gotten to play with Ray while I was gone; I wanted a turn too. Annabelle finally looked over at me and stretched her hand out, offering me one of her strawberries, but she didn’t say anything either.

“Oh, sweetie,” Mom replied in a gentle tone as she set me back down to stand on the floor. “Ray’s gone. He was returned to his parents by a judge.”

Tears sprang to my eyes, and I ran to the bedroom and looked in at the empty Pack ‘n Play. Mom came up behind me and sat down in the rocking chair. I could tell she wanted to be a comforting presence as I processed this unexpected news.

Apparently, Ray’s dad had gotten out of jail in the morning, and since he was friends with a local judge, he had received small-town justice—drug possession and battery charges dropped and baby...