Badbyes

   I didn't anticipate starting out this blog on such a rocky note. Originally, I had meant to do a brief bit of history on the organization before I launched into my everyday ups and downs. With life here, though, you always have to be expecting the unexpected. Chaos is liable to erupt exactly when you catch your breath - and that's what happened two days ago.

           Two days. It's been two whole days and two long nights. Somehow when I type that out, it reads false. Like if I don't speak the words aloud or put them down on paper, I can still pretend it didn't happen. But once the black ink appears before me, or the words fog up in the air, I know it must be true. I couldn't have dreamed up this nightmare if I had tried. 

          The call came from our supervisor, LH, yesterday. I was lounging in my room on a nap time break, and my phone lit up. Mo's phone fell into her soda cup a few days ago, so all the foster parent messages have been channeled through me. It seems like both a burden and a blessing that I answered that call. I am grateful that I could take just a tiny sliver of that pain away from Mo. Baby N is her boy. He is all of ours, of course. We are a family, after all. But Baby N has always belonged to Mo. I can't imagine her having to hear those words straight from LH's mouth, crackling across the phone line. "Hey, do you have a free moment? I'm afraid I'm the bearer of bad news..." 

          I paced in my room for a few minutes, attempting to gather my strength like a wall around me - a wall that would hold at least until I could choke the words out to Mo. I walked down the stairs and peeked over the banister, catching sight of her long red curtain of hair at the kitchen counter. 

          "Mo, can you come here for a second?" I stood two steps above her, the only moment I have ever looked down at her instead of up. "I'm so sorry. N is going home tomorrow..." Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes instantly paining, and we gathered each other's crumpling bodies in our arms. Choking out matching sobs, squeezing tightly in an attempt to keep the pain from splitting our seams. I told her she could go upstairs, and I would tell the others. The rest of the afternoon and following evening were filled with heavy moments of sorrow, punctuated by brief moments of dark humor. Ten p.m. found us on the floor at the foot of our pantry, a pile of junk food wrappers scattered around us. We folded up tiny clothes, packed up pacifiers, and finished off his blue-striped lifebook. For a moment, we were able to hold our tears at bay for long enough to read it from beginning to end. The pages start with just a little mop of black hair and wrinkled skin, and slowly evolve into a wide-eyed, smiling little boy. Every so often, someone would wander into his room to peek at him dozing, to smooth down his cowlick, to touch his tiny fingernails - both hoping he would stay asleep and praying that his eyes would open so we could get just a few more giggles in. That night, we held each other together. 

          It was less than twenty-four hours after I took the call that we were packing up little N. I'll never forget the clothes he was wearing - a blue and white checkered shirt and impossibly tiny brown corduroys. We had spent the morning as a family, entirely wrapped up in catching every last memory before the goodbyes. I must have watched him snoozing in his crib for ten minutes straight. His tan little arms stretched above his head in his "Touchdown!" pose. 

         Allison, Mo, and I - the three that have been with him for his entire three months here - couldn't decide on who would take him to the office. So we all did. His blue duffel in the trunk and the tears gathering in our laps were the only clue that this was not a regular day. If I closed my eyes and pressed the sadness away, I could imagine that we were driving him to his six-month check-up. It was supposed to happen the next day. It had been marked on the calendar for weeks. We had spent idle chats guessing at how much weight he had gained. Wondering if the doctor would be impressed at how well he could sit up on his own now. The thought that we wouldn't be the ones to take him sent a fresh torrent of tears down my face. 

         I wish I could have been stronger for you, baby boy. I wish I could have held those tears back, so that the last memory you have of us is not filled with confusion. But as the three of us sat on the office floor, holding onto your curling fingers and your tiny toes, there was no wall strong enough to hold back the sadness.You really didn't have any idea. How were you to know what that blue duffel in the hallway or the empty shelves in your room meant? We were not ridding our house of you. Please know that. We just wanted to send it all with you. We wanted to press courage into your paired-up socks, fill your baby bottles with strength, wrap your blankets in all the love we have for you. We want you to always feel the good of this world. 

          I cannot even begin to comprehend the amount of grief I felt the moment you disappeared around the corner in someone else's arms. It was encompassing and crushing and so very awful. The human body is a truly incredible thing. I felt that ache as sharply within me as I would a bullet wound, the invisible metal tearing a hole straight through my chest, filling the emptiness up with thick copper blood. Even two days later, my lungs still struggle to fit any air in beside all the blossoming sadness. 

          We are so very in love with you, N. I hope you remember that. I hope you will always be able to feel our palpable excitement from the afternoon you finally rolled over by yourself. Or the adoration that every person who walked through our door gave you. Or the lazy, even, contented love I hummed with when you would lie on my chest in the early morning hours - not settling until you were nestled perfectly into my neck, your breaths coming in just barely audible puffs. Take these memories with you. Let them comfort you anytime you feel afraid or alone. We will always, always be thinking of you. We will send our love like flashes of lightening, breaking up your darkness. Hold onto that spark whenever you need it, because we will never run out of love to send you. You will be forever ours, baby boy. 

 xoxo G