And so it happens

Today, on the eve of National Adoption Day, I sat in a small room and had one of the most emotional conversations of my life.  I couldn’t help but think of all the people strengthening and growing their families on this special day while I discussed disassembling the one I’ve spent the past year building.  The reunification ball has been set in motion. 

Now is when my test truly begins.  I knew how to welcome them.  How to embrace and attach to them.  I knew how to parent them (mostly) and how to love them. 

Now I need to learn how to let them go. 

How to live the next few months of my life with a pit in my stomach and a lump in my throat with tears that fall with the slightest breeze.   How to miss a child that is in my arms.  How to fill them to the brim with love so that no matter the days, months, years that distance us, they will always know they are so very lovable.  How to celebrate the same thing that is breaking my heart.  How to have faith in a system that I generally have very little faith in.   How to have faith in a God that I’m rather angry with right now. 

Today I don’t know how to do any of those things, but I will figure it out. 

Because I am a foster parent.

This is what I do.  This is who I am.

13 Responses to “And so it happens”

  1. I simply can’t imagine the depth of it. And yet, somehow, I know that you will rise to meet this challenge with the same grace that runs through all that you do. I wish there was more to do or say.

  2. I hope that with time you will find a peace with this. You are both so strong! I admire what you do more today in reading this, than ever. Hugs!

  3. I can only imagine what strength it took for you two to begin fostering. You have shown in it your care of these two precious children. I hope that same strength will be there to help you thru all the bumps of this road ahead. Hugs.

  4. I can’t imagine how hard this is and is going to be. I’m sorry you have to learn these steps.

  5. This is how I spent my yesterday: Sitting in a tiny, windowless room with Cordelia’s family. Watching them hold and jiggle her, none of it working to settle her because they don’t know her. I sat with my helpless hands in lap, holding back tears, feeling the embers of grief grow so large that I could hardly keep my breath.

    You are not alone. Your heart is not breaking alone. We are grieving for our loss, but we are also grieving for yours. I know that we both have given our children invaluable gifts. Gifts that will settle in their hearts, little seeds, that will always stay with them.

    That doesn’t really make this suck any less, but it is nice to know that we’ve made a big difference in our little time with them.

    If you need to talk, to vent, to cry with someone, to yell, to laugh at the absurdity of the system email me. We can call. I’m so sorry for you, my mirror friend.

  6. My heart is aching for you. I know that you will love those kids and teach them so much in every minute you have with them. They have been so lucky. You have been so blessed. They will forever carry that. And it doesn’t make any of it easier.

  7. I am crying for you guys. I can’t imagine. I pray all the strength that you can muster.

  8. It is so hard – each and every time. Our Littles went home yesterday: age 4 & 5. I have been working on a post directed to first time foster parents when our foster children leave our home but have been feeling too raw and sad to do much more today than read others’ posts. The Little’s baby brother was placed with first time foster mommas who are greiving and hurting far more than we are and I just feel awful for all of us and you…..hugs.

  9. I am hurting for you, for the kids, so much right now. I cannot make it better and I am so sorry.

    I hope you have been given a very specific timeline and what to expect as this process moves forward. You should know what kind of time you are looking at and what the possibility that this will be successful actually is.

    I am holding all four of you in my heart and sending all my love your way.

  10. I’m so sorry for what you’re going through- the pit in the stomach, the lump in the throat, the tears always just below the surface- I know the feeling exactly. At the very least, you can know that you are not alone. In my experience, it was always the kids’ feelings that made it or broke it for me. I hope your babes will weather this well with your help, and that they are going to something good. There’s nothing like this to make you appreciate every moment with someone, hm? I know you will. Be good to yourselves.

  11. My heart is breaking for you all. I’ve been where you are, and I understand.
    Please don’t forget what a difference you’ve made in the lives of those children. You cared for them, and taught them, and loved them during such an important time in their lives, when they’re forming into the special little people they are.

    No words are sufficient. 😦


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