I’m Grieving, and I’m Okay: The Complex Goodbye of Foster Care

People often ask me how I do it - how I say goodbye to the children I’ve loved like my own. Sometimes, they don’t ask out loud. They just look at me with concern, as if wondering if I’m repressing my emotions and not grieving the loss.

And here’s the thing: I am okay. But that doesn’t mean I’m not grieving.

I’ve cried in the quiet moments. I’ve laid awake at night thinking about how much I’ll miss their laugh, their sleepy cuddles, their funny little phrases. I’ve stared at the calendar with a heavy heart, counting down the days until the goodbye. I’ve wept in the bathroom, in the car, into my pillow.

And still—I know it’s time. And I’m ready.

It’s not either/or. It’s both/and.

I can be deeply sad that they’re leaving and still feel peace that it’s going to be okay.
I can miss them already and still feel excitement about the next children who will need a safe place to land.
I can carry the weight of grief and still stand tall in confidence.

In the foster care world, we talk a lot about attachment—and rightly so. It’s critical. But there’s an unspoken assumption that if you’re genuinely attached, you’ll fall apart when they leave. And if you don’t fall apart? Maybe you didn’t love them enough. Maybe you’re avoiding the pain. Maybe something’s wrong with you.

But what if that’s not true?

What if allowing the tears, but not being consumed by them, is a sign of health?
What if loving with open hands is the whole point?
What if being “okay” is not denial — but surrender?

I’ve learned that answering the call to care sometimes looks like holding a child through the night, knowing they might not stay. Sometimes it means grieving with them and for them—and still being the adult who says, “You’re safe here. You are loved. And when it’s time to go, you’ll still be loved.”

I’m not made of stone. I’m made of faith. And faith lets me cry without crumbling.

So, to the ones who don’t understand, I offer grace.
To the ones who do—thank you.

And to the foster carers walking this same road:
You’re not broken for being both heartbroken and okay at the same time.
You’re not emotionally shut down—you’re emotionally and spiritually anchored.

We were never promised that loving like this would be easy.
We were promised that it would be worth it.

And it is.

Love always,
Dani :)