she's lying on a bed, in some crowded room
she's trying to sleep,
there's not much else to do
the faces change around her
they speak to her sometimes
she's getting used to being left behind

when we find her,
we'll belong to her
we won't see her first smile, we won't hear her first word
but ours will be the first heart she holds in her hands
she can keep them beside her in her very own room

-lucy kaplansky, "this is home"-

every day there are kids legally freed for adoption. hundreds, literally hundreds of them, freed every day, across our country.

you know, i fear that i feel this too deeply. too much. and so i try not to, actively work at it, especially at work, where taking each hurt on my own skin would do no good. which means that each night at home, i feel them a little more. but these kids, man, these kids. they scoop out my heart and guts, and i would lay down a path of stone for them to walk across if i could. i would give them back their parents, the ones they love so dearly, only better and stable. i would give each of them a home that is safe and full of light, the kind that i got, where the lamps shone on the rainy days and the sun came through the skylight on gentle mornings, where people cared about where i was and what i was doing and who i was.

i am tired tonight. tired and a little roller-coastery, riding the days and changes and ideas that come with each new morning. i am tired enough to know that i should call it a night and turn off my light, snuggle my cat and listen for the rain to wash it all away so i can start over tomorrow.

but for as tired as i am, i know that our kids are exhausted. you can see it on their faces, the older ones who are already so far removed from innocence, the younger ones who are just putting one foot in front of the other, the littlest ones who don't know why they struggle. there was a boy in my office today, a big guy, older than most, who sat in his worker's corner and cried. 'probably no placement', my coworker whispered in my ear, and i wanted to go hug him. i wanted to tell him it would be ok. but i can't guarantee that. and the last thing these people need are more promises that don't come to pass.

budget cuts are upon us. 80% of our budget goes to services for our families and kids. how much more can we take from them? when will they get the best of what we can offer, as a state and a country, instead of the worst? and how much longer can we work on a shoestring, pulling through day to day? we will go as far as possible. and then a little farther, and we will do it willingly, with a smile, because if we don't then really who will?

in spite of all this i am choosing to go to sleep with hope tonight. i believe that our budget will turn around. i believe that more and more good people decide to open their homes, or their hearts, or their schedules, for our kids. i do indeed believe that we can continue to do more good than harm.

but all of those are on a grand scale. mostly i hope that the kid i saw today has a bed under him and a roof over him and a quiet corner where he can sit tonight.

so where do we go from here? we go from ignoring these problems, societally speaking, to putting them front and center. how? clothing drives. partnership programs for kids in care with people in the community, especially for high schoolers. play groups for younger kids in care. increased weekend and weeknight respite for foster care providers. alternative schooling options. summer camp vouchers. traveling options to visit colleges. vacation opportunities. health education geared toward kids in care; not health care, that is top notch, but health education--especially nutritional. pet therapy programs. a movement needs to start, a small current of demand and curiosity from the community surrounding our kids without ever seeing them, there has to be an opening of eyes. am i asking for too much? no. am i missing the powerful programs already in place? no. but it is not enough. it will never be enough, not until every kid has a place, a home, and a heart to hold on to.