My last good cry was a couple of weeks ago when I was considering adopting 2 children who need a home. They’re in the foster care system and are coming up due to go up for adoption with no family members demonstrating a willingness or ability to care for these kids. There are some things on my end with my husband and our own family that made me not proceed forward with the adoption, but it was hard to accept this decision. It is also equally hard to accept what this may mean for those kids, as it will be another home to go to and the siblings may get separated. I was a mess, I couldn’t eat or sleep or function. My heart broke and I felt like I may be contributing towards a potentially poor outcome for these kids’ lives. I’m actually not sure if I ever will forgive myself or be able to move on – and quite honestly, I don’t know if I’m supposed to. Normally after a good cry, I’m good to go, as if the tears washed it all away. But not with this one. This one lingers and I carry it inside of me. It doesn’t sit well, and it’s only prompted the civil activist in me to stay angry and use the rage as fire and motivation to elicit change. I have a history of not standing up for myself, but from a young age I always had the ability to speak up on behalf of others. I know there will be a time in my future when I address open adoptions in our country loudly, where I advocate on behalf of children who have gone through so much already. I think family and child services as well as our government do some things very well when it comes to the care of minors who are in foster care, but I think it could be better – I don’t want good enough, I want those kids to get a real chance at life.