Losing Faith

By EL George

It wasn’t realistic for me to think that I could change the world. But it didn’t mean I couldn’t get my hands a little dirty and save all the children who came across my desk. That’s why I became a social worker; to make a difference in kids’ lives. I was doing it—one day, one kid at a time—until I met Faith.

Faith changed everything. For a kid too young to even really talk, her smile said everything I needed to hear. The way she reached for me as I shuffled her from visit to visit with her drug-addicted mom spoke louder than any plea she could have shouted. I heard her. Even the guardian ad litem, the guy appointed to protect her, knew. Everyone did, except the law.

The day I handed her back was one of the hardest of my life. It’s this pesky thing called ‘minimum standard of care.’ It’s the law and the law doesn’t listen to one-year-olds who’d probably rather not grow up in shelters with mothers who don’t believe in daily feedings.

They told me I couldn’t save the world. They told me not to try. I took it as a dare and said, “watch me.”

***

Losing Faith is the story of social worker Aster Henderson and her battle to save a little girl known as Faith. Fighting against a broken system and people who’ve simply given up, Aster finds herself with a decision to make – to break the very laws she’s sworn to work within, or, to follow the rules. Sometimes, when a child’s life depends on it, things get murky . . . At least, for the ones who really care.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Crazy Ink
• Release date: May 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781540130051

Book preview

"I didn’t believe them when they told me I couldn’t save them all.

I had (too much) faith."

-Aster Henderson

Dedication

For all the kids I couldn’t save.

I’m sorry the system failed you.

For Ellie and Ebony too.

.

Author Notes

Maybe it was her name that drew me to her. She was a symbol of the daughter I’d lost but had always believed was somehow looking over my shoulder from the clouds. Or maybe it was her big gummy smile and the way she’d reach for me on supervised visits with her mother. Her mother was too busy flirting with men, who were on their own supervised visits, at the public library to notice her baby reaching out for me.

I can’t say what drew me to the girl who stole my heart, caused me to rethink my career, and showed me—for certain—what I’ve known all along: The system is very, very broken. What I do know, is that in losing the girl I’ll call Faith, I also lost my own. I cannot imagine a country or system that allows little children to be taken from the arms of loving foster parents and placed in shelters with drug addicted parents simply because it’s the law. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

To understand Faith and her story, you first have to know that there are a lot of myths about how the foster care and social services systems work. Parents fear—myself included when my children were younger and I didn’t know any better—that the slightest bruise on a child will be misunderstood and could mean losing that child. In fact, quite the opposite is true. In working in the field, I can assure you, that to get your kids taken away from you and to have your parental rights terminated is nearly impossible without your consent. For better or worse, I’ve dedicated my career to trying to help families reunify and make the best of often difficult circumstances. I can assure you, the state doesn’t just come in and take away kids.

The second myth is that social workers don’t care, are burnt out, and don’t enjoy their jobs. While it’s true for many of the people I work with, there are also workers who got into the field for the very right reasons: their love for families and kids. They hope to help families in crisis and provide resources for kids and families in need. With that said, the myth is there for a reason. There are workers who are burnt out and should no longer be working in the field. You’ll read about some of them in Faith’s story here. I look at these workers as the worst villains in stories like Faith’s. They are worse than the mothers who’ve given up and the fathers who never cared in the first place. They know better, but continue to serve the community for their own selfish reasons. For some, it’s power. For others, it’s routine. Either way, it’s disgusting and part of a bigger problem with the system.

The following book is based on a real-life case I was involved with for nearly a year. I’ve altered facts and names of the case to keep it fiction. However, in making those changes, I’ve also kept the overriding plot as authentic as I can to true circumstances for kids like Faith who I work with every day. I believe, that in facing what’s broken about the system, change can begin. It’s the only faith I have left, frankly.

I thank you for having the courage to read about Faith. I know it’s not an easy topic for many, who would rather spend a Sunday afternoon with a steamy romance. I have those days and moments, too, when I need to escape the reality of the daily work I do. I get it. But in reading Faith’s story, you will come away with open eyes and a chance to make a difference.

A is for Abuse

A is for abuse of the system. Abuse of power. Abuse of children that goes unnoticed. All things that played a big part in losing Faith. A is where all things start. A is for anticipation. A is for the absolute and total obliviousness that comes with falling in love with a little kid who wasn’t yours to begin with.

***

I can’t help but take my eyes off the road to read Salina’s text message. I promised her I’d be there for her. I know what it’s like to lose a child.

I can’t stand this. My house feels so empty now, she’s written.

I use my right, non-dominant hand to text back. Ugg.

Even if I could give her my full attention, there’s really not much more I could say to her. I feel utterly useless. I’ve spent the last 72 hours trying to prep her for this. There’s nothing that can ever prepare a woman for losing a child she loves. I know this all too well. I remind myself that I did warn her, when I first saw how much she loved Faith Sanders, her foster daughter. I’d told her that the state had every intention of sending Faith back to her biological mother. I did it without even rolling my eyes. It was my job, after all, and I had to play the game.

***

It was a dreary August day. The sky looked like it wanted to bawl and humidity had turned my curly hair into a rat’s nest before I even got to Salina’s house. The last thing I wanted to be doing was shuffling a kid to a mother I knew, for sure, didn’t really want her anyway. Not for the right reasons. Kids are for more than playing dress up.

We’d take her, you know. She’s such a good girl. We’d adopt, Salina Simpson had said, holding Faith on one hip as she used her teeth to zip a diaper bag. "Make sure she uses the new diapers. The ones Mom—she rolls her eyes—sent her with give her a rash. Too cheap. They irritate her skin. It’s sensitive, and I still can’t get rid of the rash. I’ve tried everything."

It’s going to be okay. I promise. It’s only a few hours. I’ll have her right back to you. Your job is to do something for yourself. Look at this like daycare. It’s only a few hours. Besides, I said, poking Faith in the tummy and making a face at her, matching her gummy smile with my tongue in the shape of an O and making a funny noise, I love this little booger, too.

Oh. I know. I know you do. Thank you for everything you’ve done, Aster, Salina said.

At first, I wasn’t really sure how to respond. You don’t get a lot of thanks doing my job. Instead, social workers like me usually take the brunt of frustrations on both sides of court-ordered visits-–from both the foster and biological parents. My job is to make the transition as smooth as possible, ensuring that there’s as little damage to the kid as possible. It’s not an easy job, but it’s something I usually enjoy. And, I’m lucky enough to meet some pretty cool kids. When I’m super lucky, I even get to change some lives.

Thanks. I appreciate that, I said, reaching for Faith’s overstuffed diaper bag. I don’t mention that it’s not the one her mother sent her with. This one is ten times nicer, and, if I know Faith’s mother, she will be thrilled to have a new one when the little girl goes back. As far as adoption, Faith would be lucky to have you. But you need to remember, this can be a rollercoaster ride and there are no guarantees. I just don’t want you to get hurt. Kyle is a little worried you’re getting too attached.

Salina laughed. Kyle’s worried? Where? From Cancun?

I couldn’t help but laugh, too. It’s true, the DCYF social worker assigned to the case has a reputation—even with new foster parents—of not being in the office much. Actually, this time, it’s Hawaii.

Geesh. How does he afford it?

I shrugged. Your guess is as good as mine. I meant it, too. Kyle Thompson had a reputation for not being the guy you messed with. I’d learned early on not to ask a lot of questions and just be content with his slow responses and frequent absences.

Oh, hey. I know you have to get going, but I meant to ask you, do you know anything about Eric? I can’t remember his last name. He called and said he was guardian ad litem. Does that ring a bell?

I nodded, "Yes. I know Eric well. He’s a great guy. They call it GAL for short. He needs to meet with you to see how Faith’s doing. Nothing to worry about. He’s super