I slowly follow their stares, and emotion immediately strangles me like an albatross, forcing tears to my eyes.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper, sliding back down into my seat.

Christmas Eve, 1997 (14 Years Old)

Campbell

The sparkle of the Christmas lights are almost hypnotic, and the spell they put me under makes the noise of the younger kids disappear. Each of them is scouring through the few presents that are scattered under the tree, feverishly searching for one with their name attached. As each child finds their present, they shake it in hopes of figuring out the mystery inside.

I just sit back and watch. I’ve already looked through the gifts, and there aren’t any with my name on them. I always knew that this was part of the bargain. Being a foster kid, I should just be grateful I have a roof over my head, but I have a hard time pretending it doesn’t bother me that I have nothing to unwrap. When I was younger, there would usually be something for me depending on the home I was at, but in the last few years, there has been nothing. It hurts to know there is no one to think enough of me to give me a gift at Christmas, or my birthday, or any other special time of the year. I keep thinking I’ll get used to that, but I don’t; it gets harder rather than easier.

Presents or not, I lucked out with the home I’m at now. I haven’t been here long, just a few months, but I can tell they are the real deal. The type of foster parents who care more about the kids than the small bit of cash the state hands out to take care of us. I admit that I’m a little surprised that they didn’t put anything under the tree for me, but I’m grateful to be here nonetheless.

I’ve been in good homes and bad, none have stuck. I get shifted around based on the needs of the system. No one has wanted to adopt me, so I bide my time, hoping someone will eventually stick. The older I get, the more impossible that probability becomes. People want the little kids. They see me, my age, and how long I’ve been in the system, and they all think the same thing…damaged. I don’t even get the chance to show them I’m not.

I may never find a permanent home, but I’m glad that for at least awhile, I have landed in a good home, a good family. A decent place where I could stay until I’m eighteen and can create a life for myself. I would trade all the Christmas presents in the world to stay.

The ringing of the phone pulls me back to reality, and I shove down my thoughts and hopes of a family. I direct my attention back to having a nice Christmas Eve with everyone and share in the excitement of what Santa will bring all the little ones tomorrow morning.

“It’s Christmas Eve; surely there is some other home for tonight. How can we do this to her today?” I hear my foster mother say into the phone. Sharon’s voice is strained and defeated. The tone tells me everything I need to know—I’m leaving.

“I understand. I’ll get everything ready,” she adds before placing the phone back on the receiver.

I hang my head, waiting for the speech that I know is coming. I’ve heard it a million times. I try to gather the strength to do this all over again. Meet a new family, make new friends at a new school, all of it. Every day I fight to keep it all from hardening me. I can’t let this life harden me.

I hear a few sniffles and the clearing of her throat before she calls me into the kitchen. It was just enough to break me. My throat burns and my eyes sting from the tears I can’t risk shedding. I bite my lip and take a few breaths to pull it together before standing to meet my fate.

I slowly make my way into the kitchen to find Sharon sitting at the kitchen table, her gaze fixed on a small wrapped gift in her hands. She looks the same way I feel, horrible. She has been good to me the last few months and I appreciate everything. She helped me with my homework, encouraged me to go to the homecoming dance, and even offered to pay for the dress herself. I will miss her terribly.

“I know what’s going on, Sharon. You can just tell me so I can pack up my bag,” I say, attempting to make my voice strong, appear like I’m okay on the inside, when really I’m trying desperately to hold myself together.

“Please, Campbell, just sit down. I need to talk to you for a minute,” she sighs, gesturing to the chair in front of me.

I stand still. It’s not that I refuse to listen to what she has to say, it’s that I’m unsure if I can emotionally bear it.

“Please,” she begs again.

Giving in to her plea, I quickly nod and slide into the seat. I fold my hands on the table top and wait for my impending doom.

“I understand you are aware of what is happening, but I need you to know that we have enjoyed having you here, Campbell.”

“I know. It’s was nice being here, too. Thank you for taking care of me,” I tell her.

I see her bottom lip tremble and I have to look away. “I’m so sorry, hun,” she says, reaching for my hand. My hand recoils, avoiding her touch. I know my action hurts her, but her touch would hurt me more.

She pulls her hand back and rests it on the present. “I understand,” she says, nodding. She takes a deep breath and slides the present in front of me. “I know you thought you weren’t receiving any Christmas presents this year. I didn’t want to put this under the tree because there needed to be an explanation with it.”

I immediately meet her tear-filled eyes, which match my own.

“When you came to stay with us, I knew it wouldn’t be forever, but slowly you have worked your way into our family and our hearts,” she stammers. “This day was going to happen at some point; I just didn’t realize how soon. This life has not been fair to you, but I see something in you that I rarely come across.”

I cast my eyes down in shame. “Damage. You see me as damaged. That’s why I’ll never have parents again.”

“No, Campbell,” she says, shaking her head. “I see the exact opposite. You are a strong girl who will accomplish everything she puts her mind to. Do you know why I believe that?” she asks.

“Why?” I whisper, my head still bowed.

“Because you forgive. When things don’t go as planned, you look for the good in people and situations, and you move on. You’re not vengeful or apathetic. You care for people. You will make it in this world, Campbell. You just have to survive in the meantime.” Sharon reaches again for my hand, but this time, I don’t pull away. I let her fold her fingers around my palm, absorbing the touch of someone who has been nothing but kind to me. Someone I now have to let go.

“Do you really think so?” My voice cracks as I try to hold back my emotion.

“I do. That’s why I got you this and wanted you to open it away from the others,” she says, tapping a finger on the top of the small present. “Open it. Merry Christmas, Campbell.”

My eyes lift to the small present before me and I take a moment to just look at the box. It has been a long time since I have been given a gift. I want to savor the moment; it might be a long time before it happens again.

The shiny red paper and white bow on top tempts me to tear into it, but I refrain. Instead, I slide my finger under the tape that holds the pristine packaging together and slowly separate it from the paper. Peeling away the paper, a white box is soon exposed. I pop off the box’s lid and when I see the gift inside, the tears I had been holding back, fall freely onto the table top.

Sharon takes the necklace from the box and stands to put it around my neck. As soon as the cool metal lies against my chest, I reach up to feel the beautiful flower jewel, which hangs from a white gold chain.

“The flower is a forget-me-not, Campbell. It is supposed to symbolize remembering someone. I want you to wear this and remember your kind heart. Remember forgiveness and the beauty this life has to offer you. Forget the bad, the sadness, all of the things that could break you. Let this be a reminder that no matter where you are, you are loved.” Sharon smiles through her tears and guides me to stand.