Someone Worth Holding On To

Foreword / Introduction

Sometimes people forget that foster care isn’t just hard for the children in the system who come and go. It’s hard for the children who are already there, watching everything change. When I was in foster care, I met a boy who remained like a brother to me. What I saw him go through was real—the strength he showed, the hurt he carried, and the way saying goodbye left scars nobody else could see.

I wrote this because I want people to understand what foster care can do, not just to the children in the system, but to the ones who stay (as in biological children) and have to watch it all happen. Sometimes, the hardest part is seeing someone else’s heartbreak up close, and that’s the truth behind these words.

Poem: Someone Worth Holding On To [narrative, confessional]

There was a boy who seemed to be made of pure strength, with a smile that never faded.
He was only six, but he moved through the world like nothing could ever make him jaded.
I’d see him fall and get right back up, the tears gone before they had a chance to even dry.
And I would watch him, this unbreakable kid, and never really understand why.

I used to watch him from a distance, the way you watch something bright that you can’t get too close to.
He was all laughter and sunlight, and I was just a quiet shadow passing through.
He had a strength that seemed so effortless, a happiness that was always there on his face.
And I was just… me, a boy who knew how to be silent, how to not take up any space.

Then one day, the words I always expected to hear finally came around.
It was time to leave, time to pack the single bag, time to move to new ground.
It was a familiar, hollow feeling, a routine I knew how to perform without a single tear.
Just another quiet goodbye, another vanishing act, another dose of the same old fear.

I thought he would be the last one to even care, with that strength he had.
I figured he’d just smile and wave, and it wouldn’t even make him sad.
But when he saw my bag sitting by the door, something in his eyes just changed.
The bright, happy little boy I knew became someone completely rearranged.

And then he just shattered. The smile vanished, his face crumpled up in pain.
The strength I had always admired so much fell apart like it was made of rain.
He ran to me as I sat on the floor, and wrapped his arms around my neck so tight.
And this strong little boy fell apart in my arms, losing his own fight.

He wasn’t just crying, he was bawling his eyes out, a sound of pure heartbreak.
His small body was shaking, and his tears soaked through my shirt for goodness’ sake.
We sat there for what felt like an hour, him just clinging to me, refusing to let go.
And I just held on to him, in a silence that was deeper than any I’d ever known.

And sitting there on the floor, holding him, I finally understood.
His tears weren’t about strength or weakness, or about being bad or good.
He saw a boy who was leaving, and it was breaking his heart in two.
And for the first time, I felt like I was someone worth holding on to.

He didn’t see a quiet kid or a problem to be solved; he just saw his brother.
He was crying for me, loving me in a way I had never known from any other.
He saw all the parts of me I tried to hide, the sadness I held deep inside.
And instead of turning away, he just held on tighter, with nowhere to hide.

That bond we made on the floor that day never broke or even started to fade.
It was the first truly real thing in my life, a promise that was silently made.
He still calls me his big brother, and when he hugs me, it’s just as tight.
He reminds me of that moment I was seen, a small beacon in the night.

He taught me what acceptance really is, without ever saying a single word.
It’s not about being perfect, it’s just about being seen and being heard.
He saw me, all my baggage, all my flaws, the quiet kid who was ready to stray.
And he just loved me anyway.