She chooses love anyway, one text, photo, and proud word at a time, because every person is worth loving. The text popped up on her phone: “I got a job.” She felt a rush of joy she could hardly put into words. It was Baby C’s biological mom, and this one step mattered so much. Getting stable work was a key part of her reunification plan. The past months had been long and uneven. Mom started strong, then slipped backward around the six-month mark. This message felt like the turn they’d all been hoping for.
She replied right away with congratulations and told her how proud she was. She had said those words before, but this time Mom simply wrote back, “Thank you.” In the past, replies came with sadness and surprise that no one had said they were proud of or stood by her. Now something was shifting. Mom was starting to feel what steady care looks like. Many of us grow up expecting love and support. Some people grow up without it, through no fault of their own, with trauma and addiction taking up that space. She wondered if gentle words, offered again and again, could help rewrite that story.
In foster parent classes, the message was clear: support the biological family. She loved that idea. She pictured playdates, shared meals, and a community around the child. But her first case was nothing like that. Every effort ran into walls of defiance, distance, and games she couldn’t win. She thought she had failed. It took time to understand it wasn’t about her, and even more time to keep her heart open for another try.
Then came the call about Baby C. She and her husband weren’t sure they were ready for a new placement, but something in her said yes. Six months later, she believes they were meant to be his foster parents and a safe bridge for his mom. Mom asked for her phone number on day one so we could talk and meet. She rolled her eyes in private, expecting empty promises.
The last foster home said they always spoke with Mom, and she doubted it. But now, six months in, they haven’t missed a single day. Mom texts daily to ask about Baby C. She sends photos and little stories from his day. Sometimes Mom asks about her, too, and about her other child. Mom shares her own updates, appointments, goals, and feelings. A small friendship has formed, awkward and real.
It turns out that supporting a biological parent doesn’t look like a neat slide on a PowerPoint. It’s messier and more complicated. It is also more human and more rewarding than she ever imagined. As she types, Baby C’s mom feeds him nearby, tears running down her face. The sight brings tears to her eyes as well. She deeply cares for this woman’s grief for the pain behind her, respect for the strength it takes to climb out, and real hope for the road ahead.
She knows people worry. Friends, family, caseworkers, even other foster parents whisper warnings: Don’t get too close. Don’t be naive. You’ll get hurt. It won’t matter. She hears all of it and chooses love anyway. She believes Mom deserves to be treated with dignity and without strings. She believes everyone deserves a chance to be loved without judgment, like a mother loves her child.
For now, she keeps it simple. She answers the texts, shares the photos, and encourages small wins. When Mom falters, she doesn’t vanish; when Mom grows, she celebrates. The shape of their connection will change because that’s what growth does, but she plans to hold steady to kindness. One day, one message, “I’m proud of you” at a time.
She returns to that first text: “I got a job.” It was more than employment. It was proof—proof of effort, proof of possibility, proof that love plus accountability can move a mountain one inch at a time. If this is what getting too close looks like, she’s okay with that. Love has risks. So does shutting the door.
