When I was younger I lived with my mom, my big sister, and big brother. I was the youngest. I had never met my birth father, so he wasn’t a part of the picture.
When I was four, I was put into foster care for the first time. My sister came with me to my first foster home, but then moved out shortly after. That was the last time we were in a foster home together. I have lived in five foster homes since then.
The first four times I went into care because my mom was using drugs, along with her boyfriend at the time.
I remember that in two foster homes I lived in they made me stay in my room. I was only allowed in the washroom and the kitchen if I was eating, but that was all.
Then, when I was nine, I moved back in with my mom and her boyfriend and their dog. But then my mom got a job and went to work (her first job since I was born). My mom’s boyfriend would pick me up after school and molest me in his truck, his office/computer room, my room, and even the bathtub once. I knew that my mom loved him, so I didn’t tell for a couple of months. I had a feeling that she wouldn’t believe me, or that it would somehow be my fault.
I finally told right before Valentine’s (after what felt like years). I found out not too long ago that I was right about my mom not believing me. When I told her, she left the room and came back crying; she didn’t even say anything, she just held me in my lap and we cried together. I was so confused.
That night I packed a bag with a pair of clothes and was taken to a former foster home. I was only allowed to stay there one night because her house was full. Then I was taken to an emergency placement home. I visited my mom while I was there, but I only stayed there for two weeks; so, I only saw her once or twice.
Then I moved away from Maple Ridge to Abbotsford, where I lived with a woman I hated. It was terrible. I was never able to speak up for myself, so I never said that I didn’t like it there. She was mentally abusive. She wouldn’t let me phone my mom and often told me how much my mom DIDN’T love me.
I drove out to Maple Ridge every week (because I was going to visit a counsellor anyway) and had visits with my mom after, but often she failed to show up. My foster mom got mad that my mom wouldn’t show up, so she asked the social worker to phone mom and set up regular visits. The social worker did as asked and phoned her, but my mom never cared enough to phone back.
The last time I saw my birthmom was Christmas 2006. That was five years ago. Then I started talking to her on the phone once a week. But after awhile she stopped phoning me, or she would phone very rarely and promise me things like toys and visits. All broken promises. Then on my my 11th birthday she didn’t phone. I was so upset. It was like that for my 12th, 13th, and 14th birthdays. Nothing seemed to change; the thing that did change, though, was that I was less upset and learned to expect it.
One day, right after my thirteenth birthday, I was told about a prospective adoptive family. I was extremely happy. I had told my foster mother that the dad kind of looked like my mom’s boyfriend, the one that had hurt me. I had told her before meeting them, and she had told them and the social workers before I met them. I met them and a month later I was told that they had stopped the process because the social workers thought it wouldn’t be a good idea to continue. I was devastated. I cried every night for months. I still cry every once in awhile, thinking about what could have been. I convinced myself that they were perfect for me. Apparently they weren’t.
Then this past summer I was introduced to yet another prospective adoptive family. This family, unlike the other, had children, two little boys: one was seven and the other nine. I met them on Friday the 13th, which I thought would be very unlucky, but it wasn’t. They were the lucky ones and so was I.
After a couple of day visits, I was ready to spend the night. Soon I was spending the night every weekend. I hated going home every Sunday night. I would cry myself to sleep every Sunday night at my foster home.
Then, in November, I moved there during the week and I had to go to my foster home every second weekend. I also had to change schools. It was fun starting over as someone new. I was happy when I got to stay there longer – it was different there during the week. On January 9th I was legally placed there, but I couldn’t wait for it to become official. Even so I was extremely happy.
It has been a short while since then, and now I am adjusting to everyday life and younger brothers. I remember the first time I slept over: I was too embarrassed to be in my pajamas, and I changed into my normal clothes. Now I come home from school every day and change into my jammys. Or the first time I visited their house they offered me a glass of water, and I said no, when really I meant yes (I thought I was being polite), and I couldn’t bring myself to ask for one later.
Adoption sure has changed my life and, no, not just my name. I have two amazing parents and two pretty cool younger brothers (although I refuse to tell my parents this it is true). Now I am waiting patiently for the time to come for us to sign the papers and make it official. I wouldn’t change my history for the world. Some things happened I sometimes wish didn’t happen but, then, if they didn’t I wouldn’t be me. I feel blessed to be me!!