The Christmas I got more than I bargained for

The Christmas I got more than I bargained for

Following the loss of her husband, foster carer Sarah* was facing Christmas without him. But with 4 foster children counting on her, she put on a smile and faced the holiday. It was then she realised what this Christmas had given her. Read her story.

The Delicate Balance of Fostering at Christmas

For a foster carer Christmas can be a bit of a delicate balancing act. Sometimes the children in your care may have good memories of Christmas but more often than not their Christmas’ didn’t look much like what we would recognise as a traditional Christmas. It may be a very sad time for them because they are not with their birth family, or it may be simply that it can trigger all sorts of bad memories or anxieties for them. As I say it’s not that straightforward. 

Creating Joyful Traditions

Of course, we spend all year trying to cram in as many good experiences as we can, and Christmas is no exception. Whatever that looks like in your home, in mine, we tell the Christmas story, decorations start appearing the first week of December and the tree is usually up and dressed by the second. We carry out family traditions like stir up Sunday and making a wish, a trip to see Father Christmas and of course the anticipation of presents and the feasting that follows.

My First Christmas After Loss

I remember the first Christmas after I lost my husband. I wasn’t looking forward to it. The love of my life wasn’t going to be there. My world was grey, none of our family would be with us and all I wanted to do was curl up go to sleep and wake up January 2^nd but I was a foster carer with 4 in my care at the time, so I threw myself into it. Christmas pudding and cakes were mixed and charms were put in. Everyone had a stir and made a wish. Christmas lists were pondered over and written in their very best handwriting and sent up the chimney for the Elves to read.

A Magical Christmas

We went to the Christmas market and watched the lights being turned on and I took the little ones to meet Father Christmas. The house was dripping in decorations both bought and made and the tree lit up half the countryside in Christmas lights. Presents were secreted around the house in places I hoped they wouldn’t find and I worried if I had bought the right things for the right kids and that they would love and enjoy them. I had two teenagers, two under ten and was expecting a total of 13 around the table.

Special Requests for Father Christmas

One little one was really worried that Father Christmas was going to come into his bedroom.  So, always ready with plan B, I re-assured him that Father Christmas was a personal friend of mine and I knew he was so busy he would be happy to leave all the presents outside as he wouldn’t have to leave his reindeer and this resolved it for him. We wrote a note for Father Christmas reminding him he was to leave presents outside. The little one was enchanted, he hadn’t done it before, he was 7 and spent all of 5 minutes choosing just the right mince pie and his contemporary aged 9 chose a carrot for the reindeer. Duly sorted they were packed up to bed with a reassurance that Santa never gets it wrong and a story about the snowman to finish off the day. 

The Joy of Christmas Day

Christmas morning came around, presents were brought into the house. The mince pie and carrot were missing – more to the fact of the dogs that went out for a late night pee, but the kids didn’t know that. The myth was preserved. Presents were appreciated and everyone was happy with what they got. 

Christmas lunch went well and everyone was in fine fettle. I had managed to keep a genuine smile on my face delighted with the responses and excitement that ensued.

Halfway through lunch the little one slipped under the dining table and popped up by my side. “What is it love?”  “ I just wanted to say fank you.”  “ fank you for what darling?”  “fank you to telling Santa to stay outside, fank you for the presents and fank you for my dinner.” 

I looked down at this darling little face, full of the joy of Christmas, a sparkle in his eye and a faint reminder of a gravy moustache clearly visible on his upper lip and his fringe was sticky with goodness knows what. I held him in my arms in a comfortable cuddle and kissed him on the top of his head.

The Gift of Family

I looked up and around the table, the kitchen noisy with laughter from bad cracker jokes, and saw my two beautiful but troubled teenage girls enthusiastically planning makeup glow ups and promises to share their Christmas outfits. My other little boy totally focused on spearing his 9th roast potato reaching so far across the table he was oblivious to the fact his jumper was scraping across the cranberry sauce and gravy on his plate. My bonus family, an unofficially fostered young man with his partner and their new baby named for my husband and I choked in an attempt at light heartedness. I replied “Oh your very welcome darling, now go and finish your dinner, we’ve got pudding to come”. He hugged me tightly and kissed me on the cheek and disappeared under the table again.  

My throat closed and my eyes welled up, I swallowed the tears back because I realised that looking around that table, in the chaos of the kitchen I realised that fostering had given me the most precious gift of all, not of my blood and probably only temporary but none the less that Christmas I had family.