Religious Educator's Memo by Sierra-Marie Gerfao

[Memos from Rev. Barbara Merritt and Rev. Tom Schade]

R E L I G I O U S   E D U C A T O R’ S   M E M O

We began grieving the loss of our baby girl, Kayla, the day she came to live
with us.

I imagine that most-- if not all-- of us have experienced this kind of
grief. It’s the type of grief that comes with terminal illness of a loved
one, for example. It is the pre-loss grief of a loss that is possible, or
probable, or inevitable. It is both grief for the loss, and also grief for
the grief; it is grief for the loss of so much joy that we might experience
in the time we have with our loved one if only we weren’t already grieving.

My wife, Gina, and I have been foster parents for a number of years. We
adopted our son, Marcus, after foster parenting him for thirteen uncertain
months. By the time Kayla arrived, we knew well that in the course of a
foster-adoption, anything could happen. Kayla moved to our home from another
foster home because she needed a potential adoptive placement. Yet, while
Marcus' adoption had been considered a straight forward one, even in his
case I had walked into the Children's Services office one day when he was
about a month old-- totally unsuspecting-- and received news from his social
worker that she had found a suitable birth relative to care for Marcus.
Birth-relative placements give children a chance to maintain ties with their
extended birth family, and thus are often considered ideal. But whether or
not this move was ideal for Marcus, it meant we’d be saying goodbye. "He
will be moving to her house in two weeks" the social worker told me that
day. And though the relative changed her mind the day of Marcus’ move, it
was forever etched in our hearts that everything was bound to change in an
instant.

When facing such uncertainty, emotional survival mechanisms kick in. One job
of the human brain is to protect our fragile emotional state. A
disequilibrium of the emotional system can be tolerated for a short period
of time, but then the brain must do its job to regulate, otherwise the other
systems of the body-- and ultimately, human survival-- are threatened. The
human mind is capable of great trickery to achieve this end. When Marcus was
six months old, Halloween came ’round. Gina and I waited until the day
before Halloween to make his costume. In our minds, Halloween came into
existence on that day when it was no longer “the future.” Somehow, we had to
cope with the uncertainty, and limited vision did the trick. Marcus’
adoption was finalized seven months later. We did not celebrate Marcus'
adoption until 31 days after it was finalized in court. The 30th day was the
last day of the appeal period.

Over time, the difficulties and pain of the foster-adoption roller coaster
faded from our memories. When Gina and I learned of Kayla, we were able to
joyfully say “yes” to her placement with us. But the day she was placed in
our arms, we went home emotionally exhausted and took a family nap. I awoke
with tears in my eyes, my heart heavy and throbbing at the thought that this
moment- ANY moment - could be our last together. In this way, I felt a deep
kinship with her birthmother who was also grieving a loss.

It has been one year as of this week. Kayla is a beautiful, stubborn,
rough-and-tumble, curious one-and-a half year old. Her foster care case was
scheduled to be closed in May. Likely, this would have opened the door to
our adoption over the summer. Unfortunately, a variety of court delays have
prevented resolution. Kayla can't cross state lines, except on a temporary
basis when the court will allow a short-term travel order. So Gina and our
children live in Washington state indefinitely, though news of any type may
arrive at any time. Right now, Gina and the kids are visiting Massachusetts
on a short-term travel order. They will return to Olympia October 1st.

As for Kayla, I love her so much it hurts. When I watch her laugh, when I
see her playing with Marcus, when she runs at me with wide-open arms, I
choose joy. But it is painful too. There is a place inside me prepared to be
her forever mother, and another place inside me prepared to never see her
again. In a way, this is the immediate reflection of the struggle of all of
us, as immortal beings: to love when it means losing, to love even though it
means losing. Look around at any human being near you. They too are
afflicted by this universal condition. We all are. We love, we lose, and
somehow, we love again. We are in this together.

                  Sierra-Marie

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