My foster journey began when I was 28. My best friend from high school had fallen on hard times, and she asked me to care for her two sons, who were 6 and 10 at the time. Let’s call them Shadow and Sidekick. In an instant, my life changed—I went from weekend fun-loving “God Mom” to full-time parent. Our family dynamic shifted completely. After three months, I was terrified they might be sent to foster care, so my partner and I began exploring what it would take for me to become an official foster parent for these two boys I already loved so deeply.
Shadow began calling me MoMa—“more Mama”—and that small nickname melted my heart. My partner and I dove into foster parenting classes, finishing them in just two months. The lessons were intense. I learned that fostering isn’t just about love; it’s about supporting and rebuilding families. Even when a child’s path home isn’t what you imagined, the ultimate goal is always reunification. It was a profound realization, and it solidified my commitment. We created our family profile, knowing race didn’t matter, siblings didn’t matter, and our only limitation was children under 10.
Sidekick embraced his role as the big brother with serious dedication. He was both protector and gentle teddy bear. When my friend felt ready for her boys to return home, Shadow wanted to go back, but Sidekick chose to stay with us, visiting his mom and brother on weekends.
Then, on Friday, January 20, 2017, around 4 p.m., a text came from our foster licensing specialist. “This is it,” I thought. “A child I can love and care for, a child I can help reunite with her family.” She was a 2-year-old girl, living with a family member out of state, but the case was being sent back to Florida. She had been in foster care since she was 10 months old, and her current placement wasn’t working. I remember feeling a mix of exhaustion and excitement that evening. Hours passed as I waited for her arrival, growing increasingly anxious. Finally, at 2 a.m., a soft knock on the door revealed her, bundled up and sleeping. My Sleeping Beauty had arrived.
She cried for an hour, rocked gently by my partner until she finally slept. I was terrified. This baby had just gotten off a plane with a caseworker she didn’t know and was told she was going to see her mommy—who, in her eyes, wasn’t me. I barely slept. When morning came, it was just the two of us. I wondered: Could she talk? Was she potty trained? I made her breakfast—cereal—but she ate nothing. Then, as a movie played, she began to speak, endlessly and sweetly. Her voice, her curiosity, her sweetness won me over completely. She was truly my Sleeping Beauty.
Our first outing was to the grocery store. She immediately asked if we were going to Walmart. When I said no, she insisted she liked it. So, we went. There I was, a Black mom with a white baby in the suburban Tampa store, hoping she’d find something she liked. I whispered, “Do you like applesauce?” and her bright eyes lit up. “Yes!” she said. I grabbed a GoGo squeeZ, and she loved it. That became our little ritual—running back for those applesauces for days, making sure my Sleeping Beauty always had her favorite snack.
As I read her file, I discovered she had two brothers. I requested they be placed with us as well. On Monday, they arrived: a 5-year-old we’ll call The Boss, energetic and impulsive, and a 10-year-old, Big Z, the quiet, protective sibling. She lit up seeing them. Initially, visits with their parents were scheduled, but as the weeks went on, their parents became less involved, and Big Z began showing signs of detachment. Eventually, it was decided he would move out of state to live with his grandmother. Separating the siblings was heartbreaking, but necessary for their well-being.
The Boss struggled too—aggressive outbursts, tantrums, and difficulty calming himself. Counseling and a “toolbox” of coping strategies eventually helped him navigate these emotions, though it was a daily challenge. Meanwhile, Sleeping Beauty formed a deep attachment to me, fearing I wouldn’t come back when I left. Even as I tried not to get too attached, it was impossible; she had become my baby, my little girl, and I hers.
By May, the Boss was about to graduate from pre-kindergarten. I arrived late, 15 minutes into the program, and found him staring at the ground, dejected. The moment he saw me waving excitedly, his face lit up with the brightest smile I had ever seen. I knew then that no matter what, I needed to be in his life forever. Summer brought more foster children, laughter, chaos, and joy—my home overflowed with eight wonderful kids, some staying briefly, some longer. Visits with the Boss and Sleeping Beauty’s parents became rare, maybe once a month, and it was evident that permanency was needed.
By August 2017, the courts determined that parental rights should be terminated. It was hard—for me, for the children, and especially for the Boss, who carried the weight of his memories. Slowly, through reassurance and patience, he began to accept that I would be his forever mom. Sleeping Beauty, meanwhile, was grappling with her identity, often asking why her skin color was different from mine. I explained gently, “This is how God made us.” Over time, she grew comfortable in our family, just as the Boss gradually adjusted.
The adoption paperwork sat on my desk for months. My partner finally asked, “Are we doing this or not?” Without hesitation, I said yes. The adoption date was set for June 26, 2018. That day, they officially became my children, and I became theirs.
I decided to pause fostering afterward, focusing solely on Sleeping Beauty and the Boss. Permanency was everything for them. Sleeping Beauty and I became inseparable—shopping trips, grocery runs, quiet afternoons. The Boss excelled in soccer, swimming, and after-school programs, applying the tools he had learned to manage his emotions. My family felt complete—or so I thought.
Then, on July 24, 2019, a call from the Department of Children and Families changed everything. A newborn, the biological sibling of the Boss and Sleeping Beauty, needed a home. Without hesitation, I said yes. The next day, I held her for the first time, seeing pieces of her siblings in her tiny face. Introducing her to the older kids was magical. Sleeping Beauty had always wanted a baby girl, and The Boss immediately asked, “Momma, can this one stay?” And she did.
My foster journey, which began as a favor to a friend, had become a lifelong calling. Every late-night tear, every joyful laugh, every challenge and triumph led to this: a family bound not by biology alone, but by love, patience, and unwavering commitment.
