“Aunt Jujie, there’s a cop outside.” “AUNT JUJIE, LOOK, there really is a cop outside,” the four year old demanded as she pointed out the window. She seemed quite upset so I sat the phone down, stood up, and looked out the window. Sure enough, she was right, there in the driveway sat a state police car with a lone policeman inside. I bluntly ended the phone call and went outside to see what he wanted. I realized her distress was real; after all it has only been a couple of months since the police had picked her up and she hasn’t been home since then.

Our nine year old and our thirteen year old, who also came to us as older children, seemed equally distressed. They too, in their young lives, had experienced frequent, unwanted visits to their homes from police which sometimes resulted in the arrest of a family member. So they huddled in the doorway peering cautiously out the window the entire time I was outside.

The officer asked to speak to my husband; I realized he was one of his friends from high school days so I thought maybe it was a social call. The two children seemed relieved when I finally came in the house, but they kept a close eye on my husband while he spoke to the officer. The longer they sat in the driveway talking, the more I began to wonder if I was off track thinking it was a social call. The four year old kept going outside to touch and hug my husband. He reassured her that it was only a visit, told her that nobody was going away and introduced the officer as his friend. She would wander away periodically, but continued to come back to check on him until the officer left.

Neighbors began calling wondering what was going on down the road at our hay field. Apparently the police car in our driveway was only one of several, currently investigating a hideous tomb found buried in one of our hayfields. We were blissfully unaware of the whole scenario unfolding down the road since it is about a half mile from our main farm. An excavating team was down there digging up really big rocks that hinder hay baling for us, but sell really well for landscaping for them. While digging they found an old refrigerator in a shallow grave, chained and sealed shut for probably at least a decade that was filled with old bones.

The officer said it wasn’t too big a problem now, because they turned out to be dog bones. My husband told him that it was more likely that they were fox bones, as the people we bought the land from used to raise fox for their pelts. But the experience reminded me about the unknown “skeletons” that are buried deep inside our children that we adopt through foster care or other older child adoption programs. We cannot always anticipate when an experience might suddenly dig up those skeletons and feelings from the past.

Photo Credit Julia Fuller 2004

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