The Child I Didn’t Adopt

home insemination Kit

There was something about the way he spoke that struck me. The rhythm of his words, the sharpness of his tone. “Nobody loves me. Not even my mom who brought me into this world.” It’s a peculiar way to express such a deep feeling, isn’t it?

At seven years old, he sat in the backseat of my car, still too small for the front. He had already changed homes more times than he had lived years, and this time, as before, he packed his things in a trash bag. A suitcase would have lent a bit of dignity to this cycle of being “placed” in one foster home after another, yet here he was, with nothing but a flimsy bag. Trash bags tear easily, after all. They can’t possibly carry the weight of a fragile life—especially one like his.

This move hit David harder than most. He thought this place might be home for a while; he had felt some warmth there. When I arrived to pick him up after his foster mother said he had to go, he came with me quietly, head down, putting up no resistance. But once he was in my car, the tears began to flow, a heartbreaking sob that left me breathless. “Nobody loves me. Not even my mom who brought me into this world.”

A few months later, in a similar scene (another foster mom, another departure), he fought back. He ran through the living room, hiding behind furniture, refusing to leave. But that night, he had no fight left.

At nine, David clutched his report card tightly in nervous hands. We were on our way to an adoption event where families interested in older children would be waiting. He wanted to impress them, to show them that he was worth loving, so he brought his good grades as proof. It’s heartbreaking that a child should feel the need to validate their own worth.

When he turned twelve, he told me I was his best friend. I was his social worker, and I knew he deserved a true best friend, but I kept that thought to myself. We were at a taping for a segment called Wednesday’s Child, showcasing kids available for adoption. David was charming on camera, and I hoped someone would choose him this time. He was lovable, no doubt, but the family never came.

Years later, after I had moved on from the agency, I received an email from my former boss. It said, “David is in DYS lockup after running away from his foster home. You should adopt him.” My heart sank—I had thought about it so many times. But I didn’t.

I later learned about his tragic death from a friend who saw it on the news. Shot outside a party over something ridiculous. Dead at 18, right when he was becoming a man. “Not my David,” I prayed. But when I realized it was him, I was overwhelmed with a sorrow that left me breathless.

There was little media coverage about his murder, almost like it was an afterthought. Strangers online called him names, labeling him without understanding. “Just another gangbanger,” they said. They had no idea who he was, the boy who once traced letters on my back in a doctor’s office, spelling out “I ♥ U” before he left.

David was mistaken about one thing: his mother did love him, in her own way. She attended his funeral and greeted me kindly. I think she sensed the bond I had with David. We both failed him in the end, though. Neither of us could provide him with a family.

At the funeral, there were no photos from David’s childhood to remind us of his sweet smile. No pictures with his brothers. I printed snapshots from supervised visits and brought them to share with his family. It was the least I could do.

There were hardly any social workers present, nor any of his many foster mothers. Did they even know he had died? David spent more of his life in the system than outside it. If you claim responsibility for a child, you should show up at their funeral. You owe that to them. And if he didn’t belong to anyone, who did he belong to?

His mother was there, at least. The one who gave him life. I can still hear the echo of his words from so many years ago. “Somebody does love you, David,” I wish I could tell him. But it’s too late.

David was the child for me—the one who highlighted all the failures of a system so broken that healing it would require more than just patches for a few wounds.

These kids, we leave behind, they break eventually.

If you’re interested in learning more about home insemination, check out this helpful resource for more insights. And for those looking for an at-home insemination kit, you can visit this site for comprehensive options. Additionally, Rmany offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.

In summary, this heartfelt piece reflects on the painful journey of a boy named David, who navigated a broken foster care system, seeking love and belonging that ultimately eluded him. His story serves as a haunting reminder of the many children lost within the cracks of a system that often fails them.