Sometimes it can be hard to remember that our foster kids come from a different family. Not because we don’t know it, of course we do. But when you’re there with them every day — sitting at the dinner table, helping with homework, watching TV, being silly, arguing about bedtime, laughing about something that really isn’t that funny — they can start to feel like entirely your world.
And then you remember that you are not entirely their world. And actually, that’s okay.
I’m reminded of that this week because I have one of my foster son’s biological siblings staying with us for a couple of nights. They live in different regions, but over time their caregiver and I have fostered (pun absolutely intended) almost daily communication between them. WhatsApp messages, Roblox, the occasional video call — little ways of making sure that even though they don’t live together, they can still be part of each other’s lives.
And now they’re here together.
I’m sitting here watching them build a fort. With blankets. The same blankets that, not particularly long ago, I specifically told them they weren’t allowed to use.
But they’re building their fort anyway.
And honestly? I don’t care about the blankets anymore.
Because I’m looking at two siblings who, through absolutely no fault of their own, are having to grow up in separate households. I’m looking at two kids who are happily playing together, seemingly forgetting that for most of their lives they’ve lived apart. I’m hearing them giggling about completely ridiculous things.
And for a little while, they’re just siblings.
Not foster children. Not children in care. Not kids from different households. Just brothers and sisters building a fort out of blankets they’re not supposed to be using.
It makes me think about my own childhood. I grew up with my brother. Yes, we argued. Yes, we fought. I’m pretty sure we declared eternal hatred for each other on an almost daily basis. But he was there.
He was part of my everyday life. He was someone who shared the boring stuff, the funny stuff, the annoying stuff and the memories that only make sense when you’ve lived them together. My childhood would have been very different if he hadn’t been there.
And that makes me sad for my foster son.
Not because he doesn’t have a family here. He does. But because his siblings are still his siblings. They haven’t stopped being his family just because they don’t live in the same house.
I think sometimes, as foster carers, it’s easy to accidentally think about family in terms of replacement. We’re providing a home. We’re providing stability. We’re doing the school runs, making the lunches, helping with homework, sitting beside them when they’re upset and celebrating the things they’re proud of.
And that’s important.
But we’re not replacing the family they came from.
We’re adding to it.
Their family doesn’t get replaced. It grows.
That doesn’t mean maintaining sibling relationships is always possible. There are situations involving abuse, court orders, safety concerns or other circumstances where contact may not be appropriate or possible.
But when it is possible, I really think it’s worth making the effort.
Don’t always wait for Oranga Tamariki to arrange or facilitate sibling contact. If it’s safe and appropriate, get on the front foot yourself. Talk to the other caregiver. Send the message. Set up the WhatsApp chat. Find a way for them to play Roblox together. Arrange a phone call. Organise a visit. Do the little things that help remind them that their sibling still exists, still cares about them, and is still part of their story.
Because one day, the blankets will get put away. The fort will come down. They’ll go back to their separate homes, and life will carry on.
But they’ll have another memory together. Another story to tell. Another little piece of childhood that they got to share.
And sometimes, that’s what connection looks like.
It looks like two kids sitting in a blanket fort, laughing at something you don’t understand, completely oblivious to the complexity of the circumstances that brought them together.
And you standing in the doorway, looking at the mess, thinking…
Yep.
The blankets were worth it.