Grief & Loss in Foster Care
We currently have two foster children: A (4.5 years old) and M (nearly 3). A came to us at 18 months old, and M joined us at 14 months. They were little, yes, but they had already lived a life before us.
A took a long time to attach. She was fiercely independent from the very beginning. I remember those early days at the playground—I’d try to help her climb, and she would push my hand away. She didn’t have the words yet, but her body language said it loud and clear: “No thank you. I don’t need your help.” That was hard. We struggled to bond at first. She was always more connected to my husband—a daddy’s girl through and through. But when that bond between us finally formed, it was beautiful. She started to snuggle into my arms and reach for me at daycare drop-off. We fought for the bond we now share. These days, we’re inseparable. She loves “mummy cuddles” and yells “I LOVE YOU, MUM!” from the toilet. Still fiercely independent, but now very much my little girl.
M was just a baby when he arrived—a snuggly little boy who only wanted Mama’s hugs. On our quiet days together, just the two of us, we’d go for walks. He’d turn around in the pram just to make sure I was still there, and his face would light up when he saw me. He adored me, and I adored him. Nothing has changed. My favourite moment of the day is when he wakes up, I walk into his room, and he lights up: “MAMA!” arms reaching out, “I missed you.” He’s an incredible little soul.
The past few weeks have been filled with tears. We found out they’ll be leaving us soon. We held on to a little hope that maybe, just maybe, they’d stay. But it’s not to be.
It breaks our hearts to think of the pain this will cause them. They're losing everything they’ve ever known. And we’re losing them.
Grief in foster care isn’t talked about enough. People often say carers leave because the system is too hard—and that’s true. But I believe so many walk away because the grief is too heavy. Carers welcome children into their homes and hearts. They love them deeply. Then, often with little notice or logic, the children are moved—sometimes to placements that aren’t even in their best interest. The carers are left shattered.
And one of the hardest parts? The lack of recognition. Agency workers say things like, “They’re not your kids,” or, “They should be with their family.” Caseworkers often show no empathy for the raw grief carers feel when they lose the children they’ve nurtured and fought for.
If you're a carer, or a former carer who’s walked this road, I see you. I see your pain. I know how unfair and heavy this grief is. And I want you to know: the grief is real. Just because they weren’t “your” children legally doesn’t mean they weren’t yours. Because they were. And in many ways, they always will be.
My heart is breaking right now as I prepare to say goodbye to my children. I know I’ll care for more children in the future, but today, I grieve this loss. And I give myself permission to feel it fully.
Love always,
Dani