Kathy Harrison, foster mom, had just taken a new placement to the ER, a 10-month old baby boy with bruises on his face and his eye nearly swollen shut. They drew many not-so-pleasant stares in the ER waiting room. In her words, "Not for the last time, I wished for a T-shirt that said, 'Don't blame me. I'm just the foster mom.' Subsequent X-rays showed David had five broken ribs and healed fractures in his arm. "I couldn't erase the last ten months for David. I couldn't make any promises for the future. For now, I could keep him safe and warm. I could rock him and sing him a lullaby, which is what I did until he fell asleep in my arms. At that moment, foster care became not just something I did but part of who I was and who I could be. I could make a difference, a real difference in a child's life. This baby would never know about me. Still, because I had loved him, cared about him, I was a part of him. It made me feel that what I did mattered in a way it hadn't before."
Katherine Harrison, Another Place at the Table
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