An Open Letter to the Psychiatrist That Got it So Wrong
Do better because young lives depend on it
We had already adopted three kids and closed our home. However, as they got older, we decided we wanted one more. We had to start over with a new home study, some refresher classes, and all the paperwork, but we knew what to expect and were soon approved. So the search began for one last little boy who needed a forever home.
But, because the foster care system is filled with children who need adoptive homes and because God has a sense of humor, we were contacted about siblings.
We agreed to consider it and soon received two big boxes of records about two kids that were legally free for adoption, and they thought might be a good fit for our family. We were confident we could provide what they needed as we read through all the notes about their case, as well as medical and school information.
Due to being in separate placements, our first visit was with the youngest. Let’s call him Sam. He was barely four, absolutely adorable, with big brown eyes and dimples that melted my heart. He was considered “nonverbal” with “global developmental delays” and a host of other alphabet-soup labels.
He ran straight into my arms, shouting, “My new mommy.” I knew instantly to the depths of my soul…
