Happy Birthday, Sweet Jake

Hello all! Today I am 15 weeks pregnant, and what a joy. But I want to take today to post about something else, if you don't mind. 

Yesterday was my sweet baby brother Jake's 5th birthday. Jake came to us as a three-month old infant through the foster care system, and we cared for him from three months old until just a week before his first birthday. From the moment he entered our home, he became a permanent part of our family. In fact, we were months from finalizing adoption when Jake was cruelly and unfairly taken from our home and our family. July 19 marked 4 long years since we had to say good-bye. I miss him more and more every day. He will always be my little brother, and I will always love him.

Foster care is such a gift to children. However, although it is a very special calling, it can also be a very difficult calling to follow. These children need strong homes and loving families, and I would never discourage someone who truly felt called to pursue foster care. It can, however, be heart-breaking to both the foster families and the children involved. Because of a flawed system, these children do not always receive the care they deserve, and often there is no fairy tale ending.

For those of you currently involved in foster care, God bless you. For those of you discerning possible involved in foster care, I am praying for you. I ask that you also pray for our sweet Jacob, and for my family, who still mourns his loss every single day.

Below is a short description of his time with us that I wrote just after he was taken. I hope it provides some insight into the loss my family suffered, but also the great blessing we received during our time with Jake. I will get back to happy posts shortly, but today I remember Jake with a smile and a tear.

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My family has been involved in foster care since I was a young girl, and through these experiences my brothers and sisters and I have had the pleasure of watching our family grow. Even though most of our foster children were only with us for short amounts of time, with each new addition to our household, we have truly felt that we were also adding to our family. Not only have we acquired several new brothers and sisters over the years, bonds which left permanent effects on our hearts and identities as individuals and as a family, we  have also been able to acquire a strong appreciation and understanding of service—both as a spiritual fruit, and as a moral obligation. My parents have set innumerable examples of selfless love for us over the years, but I have never been prouder than my mother or father than I am as I begin this story. I remember clearly the day that my mom called me at college to tell me that we would be receiving a baby boy the next day, and that he would be with us for a week. It had been almost a year since our last foster child, but still, the news was not surprising. Jacob, the incoming foster child, would be our 13^th foster child over the years. I remembered feeling jealous that I would never be able to meet him—after all, I was at school in Michigan, and Jake would be with us for only 7 days. I asked my mom if she would send me pictures of him, so that I could feel connected in some way. So the next day, I woke up to an email full of pictures of a beautiful baby boy, with big hazel eyes and a smile that stole my heart immediately. I did not know it at the time, but I was looking into the eyes of my baby brother, although it would be weeks before I would meet him in person.

Jake was first placed in our home because his parents, sadly both products of unfortunate circumstances and broken homes, had both been convicted of crimes and sent to jail. His mother had stolen from a retail store, and his father had committed a similar offense. In addition to his conviction, however, Jake’s father had also been seen beating Jake’s mother…while she was holding Jake in her arms. His story was undeniably tragic, but my family, as we have done so many times before, had no trouble opening our arms and hearts to Jake. However, a change was taking place that was unique to our previous foster care situations, and it was a change that could not be ignored. Through many phone calls and emails, I learned that my mom, dad, brothers, and sisters were quickly becoming attached to Jake. In their own individual ways, they each told me stories and described to me different things about him; his smile, the funny way he used to laugh when you tickled him, how excited he got whenever he saw his favorite light-up toy, and other equally precious memories. After two weeks had passed without a return date from the agency in sight, I begged my mom to bring Jake up to my school so that I could meet him. She agreed, and a week later I was standing in the parking lot of my dorm building, holding a sleeping baby Jake in my arms. I was overwhelmed by love, and the transformation in my own heart was instantaneous. I looked into my mom’s eyes, and I knew, she felt the same way that I did. She nodded—he had captured our hearts.

Weeks turned into months, and still there was no word from the agency about Jake's return. Thanksgiving and Christmas brought with them extra turkey on the table, extra presents under the tree, and most importantly, an extra bundle of joy in all of the family photos. Jake had slipped seamlessly into our family, and by the middle of the winter, there was no question that we were having trouble picturing life without him. However, we still assumed that his time with us would be terminated at some point—we just chose not to think about it. The seasons continued to change, and with each new month Jake continued to grow into an even more beautiful and happy baby boy than when he had first arrived. He now recognized my mother as his own, and would cry in the morning until she came to his room with open arms to comfort him and ease him into the day. Jake had also developed a particularly special bond with my dad. Like clockwork, every day around 6 or 7 o'clock Jake would begin to squirm in my mother's arms until my dad returned home from work. As soon as Jake saw my dad walk through the back door, it would often be hours before he would calmly sit in anyone else's lap. Of course, we each formed our own special bond with Jake--whether it was playing on the dining room floor, taking Jake for strolls around the block to watch the neighboorhood dogs out for their walks, or simply rocking him to sleep at the end of the day, each and every moment we spent with Jake was precious. 

Then, one early spring morning, my mom called me and delivered some startling news. Jake’s mom, a young girl of only 19-years old with 3 children conceived by 3 different fathers, a victim of abuse herself, had died of a drug overdose. It was a horrible tragedy, and my family was stunned. And the agency was looking to us with a question—what did we want to do next?

So we talked about it. My parents had several very serious discussions, and the kids talked amongst themselves as well. But when we finally came together as a family, the decision was clear—Jake was part of our family, and had been since the day he entered our home. We wanted to make it official and adopt him. The agency agreed to move forward with our intent to adopt, and began drawing up the paperwork.

And so, the next Monday morning, my mom called to tell me that I was going to have a new little brother. I exclaimed with tears in my eyes how excited I was, and quickly told all of my friends the great news. My brothers and sisters and I were buzzing with joy…how incredible! I had always been the oldest of five, and now I could proudly call myself the oldest of six. It was a blessing I had never expected, and I felt a joy that I had never felt before. People all over my college campus were congratulating me, as I proudly boasted that the decision had been finalized. I remember thinking to myself, how can I ever be sad again? I have a new baby brother. And nothing, not a thing in the world, could put a shade over that happiness.

But the joy was short-lived. Less than a week later, as my mom approached the court room to officially declare her intention of adoption, she was met with the news that Jake’s abusive father planned to fight for his rights. Not only that, but family members, third cousins from Tennessee, had suddenly and unexpectedly come forward with the intention to adopt Jake if his father was unable to. The shock resonated throughout our entire family, and we suddenly realized that keeping Jake would not be as easy as we had initially thought. In some cases, the news of a family's intention to adopt one of their own is a wonderful gift. However, in this case, the family had remained silent for months as my family cared for Jake. We had not had so much as a single word of contact from these distant relatives, or from Jake's criminal father, until legal adoption (and the government payments that came along with it) were up for discussion. The timing seemed off, as did the motives of the relatives, and with Jake's father's history of violence, drugs, and mental illness, we knew that we had to protect what we believed to be Jake's best interest. We resolved to defend Jake and his place in our family—we were the only home that he had known for most of his short life. We knew in our hearts that he would happiest, safest, and overall better off if he remained in our care. So we prepared for a fight.

Problems started to emerge almost immediately. The foster care agency, full of careless and incompetent employees who cared little about their job, and virtually nothing about the children under their care, began to flex the control that they had over us by favoring the father and paternal family under many questionable circumstances. Jake disappeared for hours on loosely supervised visits with his abusive father, and was an unwilling participant in several  outbursts between his hostile family members. My family waited patiently, wanting to do everything we could to follow the rules and increase our chances of keeping Jake. However, it seemed that the more we tried to follow the rules, the more we were punished.

And this all culminated on July 19. At around 7:00 PM, I was getting ready to meet a friend in the city. I had my curling iron on, on the floor, and forgot that it was sitting there. My mom asked if I would hold Jake for a moment, and I agreed. I set him down on the floor of my room to play, and I sat down with him. I turned my head for a moment, and as I did, Jake lunged forward and grabbed my curling iron. As soon as I heard his cry, I knew exactly what had happened. I felt like someone had run me over with their car—a near-paralyzing fear and enormous wave of guilt shot through my body like a current, and I snatched Jake off of the floor as quickly as I could. I ran to the kitchen to grab a cold rag, and then straight to the front yard where my mom was. By the time I reached my mom, I was crying and nauseous. I had never felt so awful in my entire life, and I immediately wished aloud that it had been me who had been burned. But my mom, the clear-headed and well-seasoned problem solver that she is, immediately snapped into emergency mode and rushed Jake to a nearby doctor. My mom thought that instead of waiting for what could have been hours in an emergency room, it would be better to bring him to our neighbor instead, who is an ER doctor. Our neighbor was able to see him right away, and ease our worries. Although he had a minor burn on his arm, she told us that he would be just fine. My mom assured me that these accidents happen all the time with crawling toddlers—that if it had not been this, it would have been something else. A bump on the head, a bruise from a crawling-to-standing tumble, anything. But I knew. I knew that things would not be fine—we had court in three days, and I knew that once the agency got wind of the accident, they would take it and run.

A day passed by. My family did everything they could to care for Jake by reporting the incident to the agency, and following every sort of procedure we knew of. I remember eerily feeling as if it were the calm before the storm, which proved quickly to be true. Monday afternoon I came home from work to find a mysterious car in our driveway. My mom approached me, told me that we were going to the hospital to have the burn looked at again, and from there Jake would be transferred to a new foster home. We had violated a policy that was never explained to us by taking Jake to a "biased" doctor, instead of to a public clinic. Because of this violation, we were under question. The claim was “suspected abuse/neglect.” I thought I was going to throw up on my shoes as we began the drive to the hospital.

The doctor saw Jake promptly, and diagnosed the wound in the same way that it had been diagnosed initially. The doctor informed the aloof social worker that the burn had clearly been treated and was being cared for properly—absolutely no evidence of neglect or abuse. I also listened to her explain to the social worker that the burn did not, in fact, appear to be a product of my intentionally holding the curling iron to Jake's wrist—a sentence that almost caused me to be sick again, simply at the insinuation that I would ever do such a thing. In fact, she continued by praising our quick action and instincts to avoid the crowded E.R.  But none of this mattered to the social worker. After the visit with the doctor, there was a flurry of activity. Social workers and other members of DCFS were called in and out of the hospital, and my mom spoke to them in a private room while I entertained my brother in the hallway. I will always remember my last precious moments with him. We walked up and down the cold, bare hallways of the hospital, stopping at every shiny doorknob so that Jake could touch it, look at himself in the reflection, and giggle. I truly did not know that there, in that hallway, would be the last time I ever held my baby brother.

An hour or so later, I watched my sweet brother as he was taken from my mom’s arms and placed into the cluttered backseat of a social worker. We said good-bye to Jake through the dirty glass of the social worker's backseat window, as a plastic rosary clacked against her rear-view mirror, and I said a prayer for them both as they pulled away. There, in the middle of the hospital parking lot, my mom and I cried as we watched the car disappear down the street.

In the face of such blatant injustice, I feel compelled to speak. For an institution and system that boasts their desire to protect the best interest of underprivileged children everywhere, I have never seen such blatant disregard for compassion or reason in my life. Although my family has been cleared of these erroneous charges, the emotional damage remains. In fact, as this case has unraveled in court, incriminating emails between the agency and DCFS regarding my family have surfaced...one of which read: "This is our opportunity. Let's say this was abuse/neglect. What else can we charge them with? Try to dig up whatever you can." However, in front of a judge who was appointed by DCFS, these emails had little to no effect on our pleas. There are so many other unlawful and incriminating acts I could write about, but I will spare you the terrible details. None of them mattered in the end. My father, a lawyer of over two decades, had never seen the law so callously disregarded. It was clear that we were the victims of prejudice and slander; but worse than that, so was our sweet Jake.

As the suspected “abuser,” I can say with all honesty and sincerity that I would never in my life lay a hand on another person, let alone a defenseless child. To inflict the kind of pain and devastation of another human in the way that the foster care agency/DCFS has done to my family requires true malice and a complete disregard for human kindness, and we have been forever altered. Friends have been in and out of our home the last few days, bringing with them cookies, cards, and warm wishes. All I can hope to accomplish is that others see the injustice that has been done to my family, but more importantly, to poor baby Jake. If you would, please pray for us as we wait to see the end result of this devastating case. If you are not religious, please keep us in your thoughts. With acknowledgment and understanding, we hope to prevent these cases from ever evolving into the nightmare that we have lived through. God is good, but we miss Jake more and more with each passing day. Remember him, if nothing else.

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Unfortunately, the end result of this case was the legal adoption of Jacob by his unmarried third cousin and elderly great aunt over two years later. My family and I had the opportunity to meet these women through our court proceedings, and we feel confident that Jake would have been happier if he had remained in our home. Still, we pray for him every day. That he is adored, cared for, and knows of God's all-consuming love. 

I carried a lot of guilt over this incident for many years. But my mom, ever-wise and so loving, assures me to this day that this wasn't my fault. They were going to take him from us, no matter what...they were simply waiting for an "opportunity." Four years later, we are still wrapped up in a lawsuit against DCFS for their illegal actions and the lack of due process afforded to my family. In fact, we have since won our appeal against DCFS, but Jake will never be returned to us. We miss him so much.

We are no longer filled with hate. Rather, we pray that God have mercy on the souls of those involved. We may never see Jake again in this life, but we know we will be reunited with him in Paradise. 

Thanks for reading, folks. Happy birthday, sweet boy. We miss you, and we love you, and we always, always, always will.