The Seed My Mama Planted

By: Greishen Rodriguez

When I think about foster care, I do not first think about the system. I think about my Mama.

She was my foster mom, but to me, she was never just a title. She was Mama. She was the one who loved me in a way that stayed with me. Even now, as she lives with dementia, the love she gave me is still alive in me. Her memory may have changed, but what she planted in my life did not.

She planted a seed.

At the time, I do not think I fully understood how much her love mattered. When you are a young person in care, you are often just trying to make it through. You are trying to survive the changes, the hurt, the confusion, and the feeling of not always knowing where you belong. But love has a way of reaching deeper than we realize in the moment.

Her love reached me.

It was in the way she cared for me. In the way she made space for me. In the way she showed up. It was not about being perfect. It was about being real. It was about making me feel like I mattered. Like I was worth loving. Like I was not just a child moving through a system, but a person with value.

That kind of love does something to a child.

It plants something.

As a former youth in care in Illinois, I know how important it is for young people to have support that goes beyond services. Yes, resources matter. Housing matters. Education matters. Jobs matter. But relationships matter too. Safe love matters. Being seen matters. Having even one person who believes in you matters.

That is what I think about when I think about protective factors.

Sometimes we use words like resilience, support, connection, and emotional strength. Those words are true, but for me, protective factors feel more personal than that. They look like a person who stayed kind with you. A person who made you feel safe. A person who saw more in you than your pain. Mama was that for me.

She helped plant strength in me before I even knew how to name it.

That is also why I believe Cafés matter so much for former youth in care.

Cafés create room for people to speak and be heard. They create room for truth, for healing, for community, and for reflection. For young people who have spent so much of life being talked about, moved around, or misunderstood, that kind of space can mean everything.

In a Café, people are not just treated like a problem to solve. They are treated like people. Their voice matters. Their story matters. Their wisdom matters.

For former youth in care, that kind of space helps build protective factors in a real way.

It builds connection, because it reminds people they are not alone.

It builds resilience, because it helps people see the strength they have carried all along.

It builds trust, because it creates a space where people can show up honestly.

And it builds hope, because sometimes healing starts when someone finally feels safe enough to say, “This is what I have been carrying.”

I think that is why this work is so personal to me.

Because I know what it means to have someone plant something good in your life. I know what it means for love to leave a mark. Mama may be living with dementia now, but I still carry what she gave me. I carry her care. I carry her softness. I carry the seed she planted.

And the truth is, that seed keeps growing.

It grows in the way I care for others.

It grows in the way I show up for families.

It grows in the way I believe healing is possible.

It grows in the way I understand that one loving person can change the direction of someone’s life.

That is why I believe former youth in care in Illinois need spaces that feel human. Spaces like Cafés. Spaces where protective factors are not just talked about, but felt. Spaces where people can find connection, dignity, and support.

Because sometimes what changes a life is not one big moment.

Sometimes it is a seed.

A seed planted by someone who chose to love you.

A seed planted by someone who made you feel safe.

A seed planted by someone who helped you believe that your life could become more than your pain.

Mama planted that seed in me.

And no matter what dementia has taken, it cannot take that.

Her love is still here.

Her impact is still here.

And I hope I honor her every time I help create spaces where others can feel seen, supported, and loved too.