Category: Foster Care

Mother’s Day

Published on by Lindsey Claassen1 Comment

Last year, Deacon was discharged from the hospital on Mother’s Day. Because of Covid, I had stayed the entire time with him instead of taking turns with Derek. I was so thankful to be back with all my kids (and my shower and bed), but also so weary and frustrated with another hospital stay. The helplessness of lack of answers, and loneliness of trying to find them was taking a toll.

I didn’t know then what a blessing it was to enter and leave the hospital with him beside me. How much I would long for those annoying and disruptive stays. I’d give anything to sleep on a plastic “couch” and eat from a vending machine again. To have four days of one-on-one time with my albuterol and steroided up little boy.

I asked God how I would survive Mother’s Day without him. His answer came in the form of distraction and sleep-deprivation. Two precious babes needing the love I’m desperate to still be giving Deacon. I think Deacon would approve. He would have been the first to shout “Happy Mother’s Day!” at me and squeezed me as tight as he could. He also would NOT have been able to keep my surprise a secret (my own four-wheeler!) and would have been full-body excited for me to see it.

It wasn’t my first Mother’s Day to not feel complete. To feel like I’m the least person qualified to be celebrated when I’ve so often failed at motherhood. Other years when I’ve birthed babies much to early for this world, or said goodbye to toddlers I’d raised as mine for 18 months. It’s a complicated day. My heart longs for children not in this picture while at the same time being so deeply thankful for my four.

Grief can cast a shadow on life’s most beautiful moments. Like a 6 year old handing you his Mother’s Day drawing. I fought to make it a day of peace, hope, and love, and some moments I was successful. I put on a smile, thank God for them, and ooh and ahh over all the homemade goodness they make me. I think of my incredible mom and mom-in-law and the qualities they embody that I want in my parenting. I thank my lovely, grace-filled friends who are walking this messy, wonderful, mama path with me. And I sigh and take a breath when the day is finally over. Another “first” without him survived.

Legacy Building

Published on by Lindsey ClaassenLeave a comment

We’ve had a lot of reason to cry in the last 5 months, but this week it was tears of awe and gratitude when we opened a little note in the mail. We were reminded once again, people are so very lovely.

Family, friends, strangers…you’ve raised over $12,000 in Deacon’s name!

In the messy, overwhelming, all consuming days immediately following Deacons passing, we knew we needed to pick somewhere meaningful to him to designate for people to direct monetary memorials. It was one of the few quick and easy decisions. The Wichita Children’s Home.

I’m not sure what I expected would come in…I didn’t have the capacity to give it much thought…but maybe a couple thousand dollars. You’ve blown us away with your love and support. It is humbling and encouraging. More than I could express.

Deacon adored being a foster brother. His history in foster care himself, and his outgoing, inclusive personality made him the perfect welcoming ambassador for hurting children. From 2 days to 17 years, he championed each child who entered our home.

On our stair landing is a cork board (that needs to be upgraded!) with a picture of each child who has come through our home. Deacon knew their names, remembered little facts about them, and would sit on the window seat and pray over them with me.

I’d selfishly and happily throw the money back to each donor if I could just have him back, but in the lack of that option, please know that your generosity is felt. Our hearts are warmed knowing that this $12,000+ is building a legacy of Deacon’s life that goes beyond an ornery, outgoing little boy. I have no doubt that it will be used well. I’ve seen first hand the love the staff at the Children’s Home pours out on every child in their care. $12,000 matters. Gosh, he would have loved this.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. ❤️

P.S. if you’re wanting to join in, online donations can be made at: https://wch.org/donate Make sure to include Deacon’s name so we can know!

Here I go again…

Published on by Lindsey Claassen1 Comment

Once upon a time I had a blog. It was started with a toddler at my feet and a newborn in my arms. It was started with anticipation and excitement and a nauseating amount of naivete. I wrote to announce our intent to begin an international adoption. I was quite certain that because it was my will, it was obviously God’s will too. Despite two miscarriages, I still had big illusions of control and power over how my family would grow and form. Three years later, that adoption had crumbled at my feet along with hours of time in paperwork, tens of thousands of dollars, and my hopes and dreams for my family. God, once again, saying, “Calm down, daughter, my plans are not for you to force. I am bringing you love and laughter in ways that you cannot imagine.” Me, once again, saying less than gracious things back, pretending that Jeremiah 29:11 was probably just for other people. #slowlearner

And He did, of course. Because He is faithful and true and knows no other way to be. He brought me two more children through challenging but rewarding foster care adoptions and another through a delightfully surprising private adoption. Five babies in all. Five little hearts to teach me so much about life. Things like: just how big a heart can stretch, just how much joy the tiniest of milestones met can bring, just how little sleep a human can live on, and just how hard applesauce can dry on the floor. (cement hard, ya’ll)

In the midst of raising five young children, trying to catch up on sleep, and chiseling applesauce off the floor, the blog faded. I always wished I had kept it up though. It was a form of journaling our cozy little life and when I go back to it now I’m always surprised to be reminded of some little event we went to or funny thing a kiddo said. It was also a way for me to get some of my “big feelings” (as my daughter’s therapist would say) out. Writing has always been therapeutic to me….as though finally spilling the words rattling around in my brain onto a screen helps to tidy them away in my head. And, through the years, friends and family (hi Jamie!) have mentioned that they wish I still wrote.

And so here I am again. Only this time it’s different. The anticipation is gone, excitement is hard to find, and I look back on my naïve life that decade ago with envy. This time there is a heaviness of grief. A darkness has moved in that clouds the color we once lived in and makes taking in air a conscious effort. My beautiful 7 year old son has passed away. Again, I’m left in the corner of a room wondering at God’s plan for my family. So I’ll write…..because the words swirl loudly now. In the car, sitting outside a sleeping child’s room, in the middle of the night, and in the waking hours. Maybe it’s just for me, and that’s ok. Maybe it will be because my family and friends keep asking how I am, and this will give them a glimpse. Maybe it will be because sometime, years from now, I’ll need to look back at how far God has brought me, and this journal is a way of placing stones upon the alter of healing. And maybe, it’s because someday, another mom will bury her baby, turn around and think, “now what?” And if she stumbles upon this space, maybe she’ll feel the tiniest bit less alone.