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 Grandma and Grandpa, Again We raised our kids. Now we're raising our grandsons. 
Welcome, and thank you for stopping by. I'm Brenda Fuller. My husband Lester and I live just outside Chattanooga, Tennessee, on two acres with a garden, a tire swing and more Matchbox cars in the yard than a body ought to step on in the dark. Lester is 56. He retired from the carpet mill after thirty-one years and now drives a school bus, which he says is the same as the mill only louder. I'm 52 and I work in the cafeteria at the elementary school. We have been married thirty-three years and we are members of the Baptist church down the road. Since February of 1997 we have been raising our two grandsons, Austin, who is 9 now, and Chad, who is 6. I'm putting up this page because when it happened to us we didn't know a soul in the same boat, and we didn't know where to start. It turns out there are thousands of us. We just weren't finding each other. If you're a grandma or grandpa sitting up late with a pile of papers you don't understand, this is for you. Our daughter Michele is our youngest. She was a sweet little girl who loved horses and sang in the youth choir. Somewhere in her twenties she got mixed up with drugs, and it got hold of her, the way it does. I won't go into all of it here. Some of it is hers to tell and some of it I still can't. I'll just say that we tried everything parents try, and some things we shouldn't have, and by the winter of 1997 she wasn't able to take care of her boys. On a Thursday night in February of that year, a caseworker from the state called and asked if we could come get the boys. Lester was in the truck before I had my coat on. Austin was six and a half. Chad was three and still had his blue blanket. They came to us with one grocery sack of clothes, and Chad fell asleep on Lester's shoulder before we were out of the parking lot. We thought it would be a few weeks. It's been two and a half years. Michele is in a treatment program again right now, her second, and she is doing better than she has in a long while. We pray for her every night, the boys and me, at bedtime. She calls on Sundays. The boys see her when it's safe for them, with the visits set up through the court, and they love their mama and she loves them. We don't say ugly things about her in this house, ever. She is their mother and she is our daughter, and she is sick, and we hope with everything we've got that she'll get well. If she does, we'll all sit down and figure out what's best for those boys together. If she doesn't, they have a home here as long as Lester and I are breathing. I'll tell you the truth: I've been angry at her. I've been angry at God. I've been angry at Lester for being so calm, and Lester has been angry at me for crying in the car. Our pastor told me that anger and love can live in the same house, they just can't both have the good chair. I think about that a lot.
When the boys first came to us, we had no legal papers at all. We couldn't sign a school form or a permission slip, and when Chad got an ear infection that first week, the doctor's office wasn't sure we could sign for him to be seen. That's when we learned there's a difference between having the children and having the legal right to make decisions for them. Here is the short of what we learned about the main choices: Temporary custody. A court gives you the right to care for the child and make everyday decisions, like school and doctors, for now. The parent still has their parental rights and can go back to court to ask for the child back. This is what we got first, through the juvenile court, a few weeks after the boys came. Guardianship. In many states, a court can name you the child's guardian, which gives you the legal authority to make decisions for the child, usually for a longer time. The parent's rights aren't ended. The names and the details vary a lot from state to state, so ask your lawyer what your state calls it and what it covers. Adoption. Adoption is permanent. The parent's rights are ended, either because they agree or because a court ends them, and you become the child's legal parents for good. That's a big step, and a heavy one when it's your own child's rights being ended. We haven't done it. We pray we won't have to. Whichever you have, make copies of your court papers and keep one in the car, one in your purse, one at the school and one at the doctor's office. You will be asked for them more times than you'd believe. Enrolling in school. Our school asked for proof that we had the right to enroll the boys, plus their birth certificates, shot records and proof we live in the district. If you don't have custody papers yet, ask the school what they'll accept. Some states have a form, sometimes called a caregiver's affidavit, that lets a relative enroll a child, and some don't. Our principal was kind and let Austin start while we waited on the court. Tell the teacher what's going on at home, as much as you're comfortable with. Austin's first-grade teacher was the first person outside the family I told, and she watched out for him like a hawk. Signing for the doctor. Once we had temporary custody, we could sign for the boys' doctor visits. Before that, the doctor wanted a signed consent from Michele, which we were able to get. If you can, ask the parent to sign a medical consent or power of attorney while you work on the rest. Ask your lawyer which form your state uses. I was too proud to ask about help for most of a year. Don't be like me. This help is for the children, not for you, and those children are owed it.
We started in the fall of 1997 with six of us around one table. Now there are more than twenty families. Some meetings we have a speaker: a Legal Aid lawyer, a lady from the welfare office who explained the child-only grant, a school counselor who talked about children grieving a parent who's still living. Some meetings we just eat and talk and cry a little and laugh a lot. Rachel Gragg, who is 69 and raising three grandchildren, started the group. She's the one who told me, my very first night, "Honey, you're not too old. You're just tired. There's a difference." I've passed that on to every new grandma since. Julius and Doris Ridenhour are raising their granddaughter, who's eleven and plays the clarinet like an angel. Pat Mathieu, who's 56 like Lester, is raising her grandson by herself since her husband passed, and she brings the best fried pies in the county. These folks are our family now. If you live near us, write me and I'll tell you how to find us. If you don't, look for a group near you, or start one. All it takes is a room and a coffee pot. Lester's Corner: Coaching T-Ball at Fifty-Six
The questions we had that first month, and the answers we found >>
Write to us. I read every letter, and Lester answers the ones about baseball. Grandmas and grandpas who've visited: Our country graphics came from Lorene. Thank you, Lorene! Last updated Monday, September 20, 1999 |
Second Time Around is a support group for grandparents and other relatives raising children. We meet the second Tuesday of every month at 6:30 in the evening at the county Extension office. Stephanie Fletcher, our Extension agent, lets us have the meeting room for free and helped us get started. While the grown-ups meet, teenagers from the 4-H club play games with the children in the next room, so bring the kids. There's always supper. Somebody always brings banana pudding.
