12/17/2025
No one prepares foster parents for the kind of goodbye that comes before the door actually closes.
There’s this stretch of time, days or weeks, where you know a transition is coming, but you still have to show up like everything is normal.
So you pack lunches. You read bedtime stories. You laugh together. & at the same time, a quiet ache starts building underneath it all.
People tell you to “be thankful for the time you had,” or that “this is what foster care is,” as if gratitude cancels out grief. It would be easier if it did. But it doesn’t.
Because saying goodbye to a child you’ve loved in the most ordinary, everyday ways doesn’t feel natural. It feels like trying to hold still while your heart slowly unravels.
You do your best to stay steady so they feel steady. You keep your voice calm, even when your chest feels tight. You tuck them in gently, knowing that soon it won’t be you anymore.
& when the day finally comes, the goodbye hits with a force you couldn’t brace for, no matter how long you saw it coming.
The house feels different.
Your routine feels off.
Your arms feel too empty.
This is the hidden grief of foster care, the mourning that starts before they leave, & the mourning that follows long after they’re gone.
It doesn’t make letting go easier. It only shows how deeply love can root itself in such a short time.
