Just before I headed to Cambodia on my second international exploration of what’s really going on in the human trafficking world, I received the official confirmation that I was an approved foster carer. I was over the moon.
As a three and four year old, my favourite game had been to put a doll in a bassinette, open the front door and put it outside, close the door, knock on the wall and call out ‘who is it?’ open the door and feign shock and suprise and delight to discover a baby I would promise to take care of as if it were my own. In fact, I hadn’t even wanted my own biological children and once I had purchased my first home at twenty years of age, I worked six days a week and had an ‘adoption’ savings account. My partner at the time was uninterested in fostering or adopting so I let that dream slide as we do for our partners (silly). When I eventually leave him in 2014, I’m sitting in my new second hand car at the local community centre each morning while my kids play on the basketball courts, I’m filling out forms for single parenting for centrelink and a woman approaches me dishevelled me. My parents had just lent me $5k for a car as I had left him with only the clothes on my back, my phone and a laptop. I had none of our belongings and was sleeping on a mattress on the floor at a girlfriend’s house, but went to sleep each night with a smile on my face.
‘Can I help you?’ she asks, concerned.
‘I don’t think so. I’ve just left my partner.’ How could she help me? When you go through hard things, your self esteem can be really low and it’s hard to receive help at all. Ever felt like that?
‘Actually, can I please use your bathroom?’ She unlocks the door and off I go. As I left the building, I saw a flyer on a wall that said ‘Wanting to foster?’ with a dear wee boy with Down Syndrome on the cover. I’ll take that! I’m going to do that and no man is going to stop me! Eventually I got my own rental and I blue tacked it to the fridge. Manifest, manifest, manifest.
Four years later in 2018, I’m in Cambodia and the last leg of my journey is heading rurally to a foster home to see how foster care works in this country. The kitchen has no walls, nothing is what we in Australia would deem sanitary, but the foster parents, their children and their foster kids are very content.
My heart warms knowing these kids are safe, unlike the ones I’ve spent the last few days crying my heart out over. I know the standards are very high in Australia to become a foster carer, I had just completed the 6 month process and handed over everything (to the point where the assessors said ‘people aren’t usually THIS honest’ to which I retorted ‘Well it’s important you know WHY I am doing this, what I have been through and how I have recovered.’
My first placement is a delightful four year old little girl. I had decided to wean onto fostering after my twelve attempts at securing a primary placement had ended in heartbreak, more about that another post. This time I was going to offer respite care to give another carer a break once a fortnight. Our weekend together falls on my childfree weekend so she can have me all to herself. I’m relieved to have a fantastic excuse not to date anymore, after learning all the lessons I needed to stop attracting time wasters I was finally attracting men ready to truly love and cherish me so I was terrified! Terrified of intimacy. So this venture was perfect for me while I integrated the learning and didn’t give up my dreams to foster again for men.
She had beautiful auburn ringlets, green eyes, a brain injury, no vision out of one eye and some teeth missing. You wouldn’t know she’s had a rough trot because she is confident and hilarious. She hops into my car with no hesitation and we chat like old friends instantly.
‘What’s your favourite food to eat for dinner?’ I ask her. ‘Honey chicken. I love it, I love it, I LOVE IT!’ She declares. ‘I’ve never even heard of it!’ so I google it and we confirm it’s chinese. ‘Let’s go out for honey chicken for dinner!’ She’s delighted. I find the fanciest Chinese restaurant and book us a table to really break the ice and connect before we head home together.
As we sit there at the table with white table cloths and fancy silver ware and face eachother across the table, we are animated and making eye contact and I’m beyond happy. I realise that it’s so easy to assume we need to fill our longing for connection with a member of the opposite sex when in fact, everyone of all ages is looking for it. I watch her throw her head back in laughter, her eyes twinkling, her hands clapping in delight and her eyes widening as her dinner is placed in front of her. I just eat a bowl of white rice because ouch this place is expensive. I realise that this moment right here, I am richer than I have ever been.
That night as I tuck her into her new part time bedroom with purple walls and an aqua bed, read her a story and reassure her she can wake me any time of the night if she needs me as I’m there for her.
‘Goodnight Mummy!’ she calls. I hesitate to respond in shock. ‘You are kinda my mummy now,’ she continues, ‘so can I call you that?’
‘Absolutely, darling. I am TOTALLY one of your mummies. You’re safe here and I love you,’ I decide to say, unsure if it’s the right thing. She smiles and snuggles in and falls asleep quickly.
It was the best dinner date I’d had in a long time, much more satisfying, hilarious and meaningful. I patted myself on the back for discovering this purposeful life hack where everybody wins!
In the morning, she pushes me a few kilometres in the pram and gives me a calculator to play with (as she sees mum’s give their babies iphones in their prams). She’s a very good little mummy, offering me to play on the playground, snacks and drinks.
One time at the beach she ran down to the water, threw her arms up in the air and cried ‘Mummy! I can’t believe this is where we live!’ I let the tears fall down my cheeks.
I tell her she’s the second Freya* I know and she looks confused, telling me ‘there’s only enough room in this town for one of us!’. After a year together it’s realised she’s no longer enjoying sharing me with the two babies I’ve since fostered and it’s time for her to spend time with another respite carer instead.
If I had a dollar for every time someone said to me ‘I’d LOVE to be a foster carer but I could never say goodbye’ I’d be a very rich woman. I like to put it to them, that if you’re someone who is loving and doesn’t want to say goodbye, you’re EXACTLY who we need on the team. I may have only been able to have Freya* stay with me for a year, but just like an Aunty who comes and lives near by for a while and moves away again we got to make some real beautiful memories. I like to put it to people that every relationship they have (whether it’s romantic or otherwise) is also eventually going to end one way or another. We leave things up to the Universe and it will decide whether we are meant to be together forever or not.
I still keep up to date on her and send her my love often, her photos and drawings are still on my walls. She’ll always have a place as my first (of 12 and counting) foster children.
If you too have it in your heart niggling at you that you’d like to become a carer, we are 45,000 carers short in Australia. Search for a Fostering Agency nearby and give them a call to find out more.
With love, Karleigh.
Swings & Roundabouts 