One the saddest blog entries I have ever read was published just recently.
You can read it for yourself at https://wearefamilyadoption.wordpress.com/2015/04/24/flowers/ but the most important section reads like this
"‘I don’t mind never being adopted I know it’s difficult for somebody to take a child of my age and that’s OK, the only thing that really bothers me is when I think of the future and not being in a family it upsets me to think that if I was to die there would be nobody to bring flowers to my grave."
That could have been me writing that for most of my childhood as a foster child. I was bright enough and perceptive enough to know that my future wasn't going to be like most of the children at school. I used to wonder if anybody would notice if I died or ran away. Sometimes I would see an obituary in a newspaper and think how short mine would be. "Loved by nobody, missed by nobody".
I only know three foster children who died but two haven't even got a proper memorial in the cemetery.
Nicola (my daughter was named after her) was lucky. Her final set of foster parents paid for a gravestone and Ella and I visit the cemetery a couple of times a year. But Wendy N is buried/cremated in a north London cemetery with no proper marker and "Boy Who Shall Not Be Named" was cremated near Blackpool - again with no proper marker. As far as our friendship circle is aware nobody even knows exactly where these last two graves are although I guess that the Cemetery Office staff might know.
Eve, Sunday 26th April