I sit expressionless in a questionable motel an hour away from my interview subject. I am empty inside.
The interviewee is perhaps the most important person to ever wear the label “foster care alumni”. She should be; she basically defined what it means to be an alumni.
She is dying. She is doing so on her own terms, her own pace.
I am on my way to hear the life lessons of a fading legend and my heart is breaking into more pieces than I feel I can reassemble. This day will surely change my outlook at life. At the end of this day I will hold my kids a little tighter, kiss my wife a little longer and stretch out the time spent with people I care about. At the end of this day, I won’t be myself anymore, I don’t know who I will be but I am sure I will be changed forever.
Misty Stenslie wrote the book on advocating as a former foster child. That’s not a metaphor, her lessons are taught in academia all across the nation. Her achievements are cataloged in an article you’ll find in this issue. I became aware of Misty through her impact on the generation of advocates that I find myself in. Nearly everyone I deal with has had some sort of relationship with the pioneer. The list of people she has mentored reads like a Who’s Who of foster care advocacy. Policymakers, D.C. insiders, child welfare experts, frontline workers, heads of nonprofits all bear the mark of Misty’s influence.
When I joined the Board of the FCAA, a group she helped create and served as its first President, I began to learn all about Misty. We began to communicate through social media and I immediately saw what all the fuss was about.
Misty had a gifted mind and an open heart, a combination that would serve to endear her to all she met.
I received a message a few months back that asked if I would run a self-written obituary in the magazine from Misty. At the time, I wasn’t fully aware of her health situation. I agreed to run the obit when the time came but was given no timetable.
Misty contracted Lyme disease which led to an infection, which in turn led to early onset Alzheimer’s. She’d been dealing with these afflictions since 2010, just a year before I would become a part of the movement she had started.
A few weeks after the obituary message, I received another request; would I travel to Minnesota from Pennsylvania to hear the life story of a still living legend. There was no way I could refuse.
I’m back in the questionable hotel, fresh from a few hour visit with a woman whose health is deteriorating faster than she can handle. Her body was weak from the disease. Her mind, while still full of brilliance, is interrupted by bouts of doubt and thoughts she can’t catch up with. She was funny and hopeful. Full of pride from a life spent in the service of kids like the one she once was, but weary from a fight she can’t win.
She informed me that, by her choice, her time was coming to an end. She’d made the decision to end things on her own terms. Though justification wasn’t needed, she shared her reasoning. Five years of dealing with any illness will cripple the average person, what made Misty’s situation so heart-wrenching was two-fold; there was no cure or hope for a cure and the brilliant mind that she’d spent her whole life fortifying was deteriorating and at an uncontrollable rate. It was that second effect that impacted her the most.
Years were spent pouring over books and case studies to hone her craft and ensure she had the tools to make a difference in child welfare. Years of college and graduate school were being erased from someone who could once boast the sharpest mind in her field. As she explained to me, some Alzheimer’s sufferers regress in their minds, reliving life as it happened. With tears in her eyes, she shared that her childhood was up next in this torturous “This is your life” episode. It wasn’t an experiences she wished to have again.
I’d been given inklings of information, more like subtle suggestions, about her end of life plans but they didn’t become a reality for me until we were face to face. I felt selfish feeling emotional about this information as she presented it to me. True to form, Misty blurted out, “I get it. You can feel sad. I’ve known this for a while now and you’ve known for 5 minutes.”. She spent a lot of our conversation trying to make me laugh, no hard task, in her moments of clarity she was much wittier than I am.
It was her want and need to make those around her comfortable that led to so many people adoring her. The weekend before her final breath, social media was flooded with an outpouring of love and memories. People from every corner of the country reminisced of their time with her, her achievements, her impact. I’ve been fortunate enough to become close with those who were closest to her. I’ve taken it upon myself to make sure I check in on those people. A loss of this magnitude can rock foundations. She was truly beloved among her peers.
I’m home now. I’ve hugged my kids tight, kissed my wife with feeling and have locked myself in my office. I can’t finish this column. I will, but it’s been a three-week struggle. A worthless complaint by comparison of what I know now. Misty is gone. The alumni community reeled. I’ve offered more condolences than I care to remember. I’ve been the ear for those who grieve. This is hitting me harder than I thought it might. This is out of my wheelhouse. But she’d work through, so what am I to do?
I can’t stop thinking about her husband Jay. He’s a private man, who I have never met. He’s now without the love of his life. Someone who he depended on, who depended on him, is gone. I can’t wrap my head around what that would feel like. My heart aches for him, Misty’s friends, her colleagues and her 3 grown foster kids. I’m a decent writer but nothing I could conjure up will ease the pain they must be feeling. But her story is worth telling. I started this mag to tell the stories that get lost in the mainstream.
5 years ago I had an idea for a magazine about the foster care system. I wanted to cover all of the areas of care that don’t have the pizzazz to get on your evening news. This woman moved mountains in the world of child welfare and there would be little to no mention of her accomplishments outside of her circle of friends and colleagues. This is the gratifying part of the job. Misty’s legacy and accomplishments will now be out in the public lexicon. Future generations of advocates will get to see the path she walked to get them a seat at the table.
Though it is Foster Care Month, this month’s issue is a little more somber than issues in the past. It’s important to have these more serious toned issues, it makes the success stories feel all the better. In this issue I have featured a Canadian graduate who took a hard road to the stage. She shares a poignant graduation speech. There’s the story of life in Mongolia told through the eyes of a filmmaker. The story of a young lady who found her way through care to a life in the military and of course, the life story of Misty Stenslie.
At first glance, it may not seem like these are uplifting stories. But each of these tales shows resilience on the way to success. Misty’s time, though short, was bursting with examples of glass ceilings shattered. There’s no telling what else she could have accomplished if she’d been given more time but we know what she did accomplish and that’s worth revisiting.
It’s a tough issue, but a thoroughly good one. I hope you had a successful Foster Care Month and you’re heading into the Summer full of energy and determination.
When I left Misty, she graced me with the sense that the best way to honor her memory was to bring my A game.
I’m alone in my office. The emptiness I felt in Minnesota has been filled with the love of my family and the love shown to Misty by all she knew. I’m determined now, as she was determined. I’m hungry again, like she was hungry. I’m committed, in the same way she was committed. And I’m bringing my damn A game because she damn sure would have brought hers.
Enjoy the issue.