Did I Always Know I Was an Author?

Someone recently asked me if I’d always known I was meant to be a writer. The following is my answer to that formidable question. Writing the two Discovering Misty books was my first attempt at writing professionally.

It seems, though, I’ve always written. I was Editor for the California State Foster Parent Association for several years. One year, I was awarded special recognition for my newsletter at the National Foster Parent Association in Chicago. I was also Editor and VP for our FPA association in Sacramento County. That’s where I was a medical foster parent for 14.5 years, taking in more than 200 infants and children who were extremely medically fragile. We adopted 3 of our foster children, and 2 are still with us, never to leave home, and 1 married. The 2 with us are special needs. We had 5 kids at the time, who we homeschooled, then homeschooled them, and now we have 16 grandchildren and 3.5 great-grandchildren!

It has been suggested to me to write of my experiences as a foster parent. If I have time, I may just do that. We definitely had some experiences that would be fascinating to read about, and gratifying to share. Some of my stories are so heavily wrought with emotion from the various perspectives of the parties involved. Some of my babies were not expected to live very long.

One little guy came to me right out of NICU, not expected to live but a few hours. However, his story is in the medical journals of having lived 19 months in my home; his life filled our home with joy and heavenly sweetness from the start to that final day.

Due to confidiality restrictions, which I fully support, I will respectfully refrain from using his real name or circumstances. This sweet boy had the most gentle, yet playful, spirit. Every morning, in exasperation, I would fuss at him for pulling out his G-tube (gastrostomy tube used for feeding him his only source of nutrition), and he would laugh and laugh… Until I had to insert it back in.

Technically speaking, he should not have lived for more than a few hours. He was missing some vital organs, and was doomed at birth with another life-threatening medical condition. Yet, he rarely cried, or even complained. He couldn’t sit up or roll over, but he had so much angelic joy!

He had so little, but he was filled with love and joy. It was such a pleasure to have him in our home and we loved him very much.

I kept a diary for most of my foster children to later give to the parents. Writing in first person, I told the family how much “I”, baby loved them and thanked them for the privilege of being born into that family. There were many times, when I was writing, that I truly felt the spirit of that child communicating with the family they were separated from. Whether due to their own misdeeds, or their inability to care for the child, for whatever reason, I felt I was a bridge or gateway between spiritual realms. When the sacred occasion was to be present during the dying process, I literally felt myself as a conduit, one who aided in transferring that sweet spirit back home to waiting, loving family on the other side.

Those certainly were tender mercies.

Shirley