I have watched them grow, blossom and develop over the past year, and now I have to watch them return to the negative situation they were plucked from when they first arrived a year ago.
Friday, August 11, my cousin called asking if the girls could visit for the weekend. I hadn't had time to take them to her for their first weekend visit, so I welcomed her using her gas to pick them up instead of mine. I'm usually very protective and am very much "mother hen" when they are out of my presence, but this departure was different. A week prior I had sat down with each individual girl and told them how special they were to me, and that during their time with me and George we would instill all of the necessary morals and beliefs needed to lay a solid foundation for the rest of their lives. Little did I know that conversation was preparing their heart and mine for their soon return to their mother.
Last week a brief Facebook post turned into a detailed conversation with a friend who was going through the same thing with three little girls of her own. We were able to open up to one another about our fears and hesitations in raising someone else's children. I had always told people that I had four children, but recently found myself returning to saying I have one child and three whom don't belong to me, but who still have a special place in my heart. It had been my prayer that God protect my heart and not allow me to feel what I felt when Aaliyah (a child I was adopting and had raised from birth to two years) had been ripped out of my home. I couldn't handle that type of heart break, especially right now. I just started a new job, I'm revamping my business, taking care of my mother who moved in with us almost two months ago, still handling my Aunt Rose personal affairs as she is still in the hospital, I have no time for emotional drama.
I wasn't at all upset she had taken the girls back, I was upset in the manner in which she did it. George was away for the weekend on military duty, and none of us were given the opportunity to say goodbye. Friday as the girls were walking out the door, all Didi asked me when their music lessons would start, I told her when she got back home. Her mother knew then she wouldn't be bringing them back. She knew how they looked forward to the upcoming school year. Certainly I can think of tons of things to do with their room now, and how much time I will have now, and how my house will stay cleaned again. But the chaos and whirlwind they brought to this house is unmatched by any other joy. There's that human side of me that wants to hire an attorney and fight to strip of her of her parental rights, but there's that superhuman side of me that says "you've done all you needed to do with them." As I attempted to sleep last night, I prayed for their safety and their overall emotional/spiritual health. I turned off the TV and held onto my snoring husband and allowed time for just one cry. After only 4 hours of sleep (if that), I awoke early to begin washing and packing all of their clothes that were left behind. They have survived foster care, homelessness, and abandonment. Sugar and spice and everything nice, I think not. Those little girls are made out of nails, bobbed wire, and tungsten and I know they are not easily broken.
Friday, August 11, my cousin called asking if the girls could visit for the weekend. I hadn't had time to take them to her for their first weekend visit, so I welcomed her using her gas to pick them up instead of mine. I'm usually very protective and am very much "mother hen" when they are out of my presence, but this departure was different. A week prior I had sat down with each individual girl and told them how special they were to me, and that during their time with me and George we would instill all of the necessary morals and beliefs needed to lay a solid foundation for the rest of their lives. Little did I know that conversation was preparing their heart and mine for their soon return to their mother.
Last week a brief Facebook post turned into a detailed conversation with a friend who was going through the same thing with three little girls of her own. We were able to open up to one another about our fears and hesitations in raising someone else's children. I had always told people that I had four children, but recently found myself returning to saying I have one child and three whom don't belong to me, but who still have a special place in my heart. It had been my prayer that God protect my heart and not allow me to feel what I felt when Aaliyah (a child I was adopting and had raised from birth to two years) had been ripped out of my home. I couldn't handle that type of heart break, especially right now. I just started a new job, I'm revamping my business, taking care of my mother who moved in with us almost two months ago, still handling my Aunt Rose personal affairs as she is still in the hospital, I have no time for emotional drama.
I wasn't at all upset she had taken the girls back, I was upset in the manner in which she did it. George was away for the weekend on military duty, and none of us were given the opportunity to say goodbye. Friday as the girls were walking out the door, all Didi asked me when their music lessons would start, I told her when she got back home. Her mother knew then she wouldn't be bringing them back. She knew how they looked forward to the upcoming school year. Certainly I can think of tons of things to do with their room now, and how much time I will have now, and how my house will stay cleaned again. But the chaos and whirlwind they brought to this house is unmatched by any other joy. There's that human side of me that wants to hire an attorney and fight to strip of her of her parental rights, but there's that superhuman side of me that says "you've done all you needed to do with them." As I attempted to sleep last night, I prayed for their safety and their overall emotional/spiritual health. I turned off the TV and held onto my snoring husband and allowed time for just one cry. After only 4 hours of sleep (if that), I awoke early to begin washing and packing all of their clothes that were left behind. They have survived foster care, homelessness, and abandonment. Sugar and spice and everything nice, I think not. Those little girls are made out of nails, bobbed wire, and tungsten and I know they are not easily broken.
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