When a placement breaks down-part two

Emotionally Drained After My First Video Call With My Former Foster Child

I knew the call would be hard. I spent the aftettrying to steady my breathing, reminding myself that this was something I wanted—something I’d waited for. Still, when their name popped up on the screen, my heart stumbled over itself. It had been months since we last spoke, months of wondering how they were adjusting, months of carrying a mix of hope, grief, and the peculiar emptiness that comes from loving a child you no longer get to tuck in at night.

The moment their face appeared, I felt everything at once. They looked older, somehow. Softer in some ways, guarded in others. They gave me a shy smile, the same one I used to see when they weren’t sure if they were allowed to be happy.

For a second, I forgot how to speak.

We talked—about school, new routines, small victories, the random things that felt safe to share. I kept my voice steady. I laughed in the right places. I tried not to look like I was memorizing every detail, even though I was. I didn’t want to overwhelm them with what I was feeling, the heaviness pressing under my ribs.

But after the call ended, the wave hit me.

All the emotions I politely held at bay came crashing in: the relief of seeing they’re okay, the ache of missing them, the guilt for wanting more time, the gratitude for having had any time at all. There’s no manual for being a foster parent—no chapter titled What To Do With the Love That Has No Place To Go After They Leave.

Today, it poured out of me. I let it.

I’m drained, yes. But I’m also grateful. Because I got to see them smile again. I got to hear their voice. I got a reminder that love doesn’t disappear when circumstances change; it just reshapes itself, learns to exist in new forms. Even if those forms hurt.

Maybe next time will be easier. Maybe it won’t. But today, we bridged the distance between us, even if only through a screen.

And for now, that is enough.