Fostering family
lynn — last october, renee dublin, the legend, sat in her little kitchen on the second floor of a modest gray two-family in lynn, talking about her 300 children.
some had been with renee and her husband, tommie, for weeks or months, some for years, some forever. it was impossible for somebody listening to their story for the first time to keep track of them all. had they had two biological children? how many foster kids did they eventually adopt? renee and tommie didn’t make it easy, because they refused to label any of the kids who’d lived in their home over four decades. any child who walked through their door was their kid, period. everybody got all the couple could give.
“some have done well, and some have made mistakes, but they are mine, we love them the same,” she said. a lot of their kids had endured unspeakable trauma in their young lives, arriving in all kinds of broken states, ready to test renee and tommie.
“We have kids who come through the door and say, ‘i hate you, i’m never going to like you,’ and i say, ‘ok, ok, but just try, because i like you,’” she said. the foster parents met every kid wherever they were. the fearful boy who insisted on sleeping under his bed got a cozy nook on the floor until he felt safe enough to sleep on top. the little boy who would run up and bang his head into the wall so hard he’d fall backwards, daring adults to abandon him, got unshakable love and consistency.
renee could count on one hand the kids she couldn’t handle. she never blamed them for acting out. she never blamed their parents, either.
“it’s not that they don’t love their children,” she said. “but it’s just not enough, because they are hurting.”
renee and tommie never had much, but they could offer consistency and good cooking, a huge extended family, vacations and cookouts at the family camper in new hampshire, and a lifetime of love.
they are proud of all of their kids: of the aspiring radiologist who got a full ride at harvard; of the boy who made mistakes, landed in prison, and emerged determined to put it behind him and build a good life; of the kids who grew up to love and look out for each other, and for them.
they kept taking kids in, even when their hearts were broken. they lost one daughter to an overdose in 2014, and another to cancer the following year. they said goodbye to kids who had lived with them for years, who found forever homes or whose birth parents could care for them again. two children they’d been raising for seven years were recently adopted. renee would have gladly adopted them, as she did five others, but she and tommie were 78, and it wouldn’t be fair to the kids. so they were grieving.
but goodbye has never really been goodbye when it comes to the dublins. they collected kids, the kids’ kids and various family members, even social workers who became like family. over the years, she convinced others in her family to become foster parents too, growing an epic extended clan. thanksgiving was always a huge affair. tommie and some of their kids made huge trips to the supermarket. renee baked piles of pies. nobody ever went hungry.
“it will be 65 people,” tommie said, of last year’s holiday.
the Globe was going to go back and watch them prepare for that holiday, but renee texted to say she’d hurt her leg and it had gotten infected, and so she couldn’t bake this year. christmas might be a better time, she offered. but she didn’t write again until february.
“i didn’t forget you,” she texted. “i have some health issues that have to be taken care of . ... i have been putting things off and now i have to deal with it. i will call you when finished. take care.”
renee dublin died at home over the weekend. she and tommie were caring for three children when she passed — three of hundreds who benefited from their calm, reliable care.
it is a seismic loss for all who knew her, and for those who now will never get the chance.