Tomorrow will be 2 weeks since Little Bear left our home. 2 weeks since I’ve heard his sweet laugh or seen his sweet smile. I miss him terribly. The crib is still set up in his old room and I find myself avoiding going in that room unless I have to. Sometimes I find my mind starting to drift toward thinking about him and I force myself to think about something else, afraid to really dwell on it, lest I fall apart. Yesterday I did just that. I was alone in the car and listening to Christmas music. The DJ had asked people to call in with their Christmas wishes. One lady called in and was hoping to be able to adopt their 3 foster children. That did it. I wept…and wept…and wept. I told God I was sad and that I wanted that little boy to be ours. I wanted to raise him, to take care of him, to love him forever. At least I get to do the loving him forever part.
Some days I think I’m moving on and at peace with it. That I’m truly trusting that God will take care of that little boy and that God’s plan is better than my own. The truth is, I’m not there yet. I’m not ready to face the grief. I just can’t let myself go there. If I avoid thinking about it the I won’t be sad. Sure, in my head, I know God has him in His sights. I know God made him and has a plan for him. I know all that LOGICALLY. But my heart doesn’t want to hear that just let. Sometimes “God has a plan for everything”, is not as comforting as we’d like it to be.
It also stinks because so few people understand. I don’t mean to sound like I’m fishing for comments, because I’m not. I don’t need pity. But it is hard going through this mostly alone. Hubby gets it, but we don’t really have time to talk about it and he didn’t get to be here when Little Bear left. I have a couple friends that are foster parents that get it. I have a close circle of amazing friends that get it as much as they can because we communicate daily in spite of being spread out around the country(ies). But most people, it seems, just don’t know what to say….so they don’t say anything. It’s like he died and no one is talking about him. Like he never existed. I’ve been on the other side – I’ve known foster parents that had kids moved out of their homes. I’ve known people that lost a child to death. I’m afraid I was guilty of doing the same thing. Of thinking it would be easier on the person if I didn’t bring it up at all when I didn’t know what to say.
But it’s not. And I pray I never make that mistake with someone else again. You don’t have to know what to say. Just saying something helps.
I WANT to talk about him. I want to remember him. I’m scared to, and I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do or not, but I don’t want to forget.
Some members of my own family haven’t even asked about him, or how I’m doing since he was taken away. That hurts. BAD. My in-laws have been awesome though, so that helps a lot. I’ve also heard some people say that they guess it’s not that hard because we “knew what we were getting into” or we’ve “done this before”, as if that somehow that keeps the pain away. If you had warning that your child was going to die, would that make it easier when it happened?
I did have a friend come up to me at church Sunday. She took care of Little Bear in the nursery each week while I was at Bible study. She gave me a hug and told me how much they missed him. Words can’t express how much that meant to me. To know someone was thinking about him and he wasn’t forgotten.
I’ll never forget. Ever.
I am trusting God, and I have deep faith that God is in control of all of this. I really do. I’m not over it, but each and every day I am trying to surrender it all to my Savior! I am drawing closer to HIM thought this and for that, even if it means I hurt, I am thankful. I am thankful that He is there for me, and He understands when no one else does. He gets it. He gets me.
Jesus loves me this I know. For the Bible tells me so. Little ones to Him belong. They are weak, but HE is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. Yes, Jesus loves me. The Bible tells me so.