The Tree House

Some days I am drawn to the fallen down tree that I had all the hopes and plans of making into a fantastic tree house. I climb up and sit among the branches, looking out and remembering all it was supposed to be. It makes me a little sad. Sad because this was a project started with a child in mind. A child that is no longer in our care. And although they tell you to prepare yourself for this as a foster parent and you know it will be hard, it doesn’t make it any less sad.

The tree house was an ongoing project. One we discussed and planned together. At one time it was to have a twirly slide and an underground pool. We entertained all the ideas. Anything was possible.

But projects were extra challenging with this child in tow. Weekends slipped away between trying to meet all the needs, trying to show patience, trying to enforce safety. Many project days ended prematurely to avoid an injury or a meltdown. The unfinished tree house remains a reminder of those tough days.

The longer I sit looking out from the branches, the more the life I had with that child plays like a movie in my mind, from beginning to end. It makes me think about how unfathomable it would be to lose your child to heaven, since the child I am mourning did not leave this earth, they still have a chance to grow up. In my mind they are frozen in their youth, still the same age they were when we were together, planning our future. When we were a family.

They are as much a stranger to me now as I am to them. They no longer light up and run to hug me when they see me. They don’t tell me they love me and miss me. I am someone they used to know. As heavy as that makes my heart I remind myself that this is the job. You wish them the best, you let them go and you hope someday a little bit of that time, that love and that sacrifice makes a difference to that child. Most of the sadness I feel now are over the things we didn’t get to do together, the time that feels stolen away. It feels like our story will always be a cliff hanger with no real ending.

I still want to finish the tree house. I want to finish it for me. Partly because even though I have a lot of projects going I eventually finish them all. And also because of what the tree house represents to me about childhood and my simple and humble upbringing. The magic of those years when you can be entertained for hours on a tire swing.

Growing up in a time before electronics and social media. Growing up in the country with fields to wander and a few animals in a barn to take care of. Growing up without material things, name brand clothes or fancy vacations. I mean, I didn’t even have a tree house growing up- just a tree and an imagination.

But I had something else- I had two parents that loved me and kept me safe. Who gave me a home that had a yard with a tree. Being a foster parent makes you realize that you should never take that for granted.

I will finish the tree house. I will finish it for me. I don’t like leaving a story half written. And even though nothing I can do will alter this premature ending, there is still time for more beginnings. Sitting unfinished the tree house echos the sadness of a difficult summer, finishing it will represent healing.