I asked you not to sanctify me. I begged you not to sanctify me. When you do, it makes telling you even harder, letting you down like this. It makes this feel more like failure than it already does. I’ve been reminded by my wisest advisors, my husband and best friend, that I’m not on the defense so I don’t have to explain the decision to anyone. Still, you’ve been walking with us, heck, practically wheel-barrowing us through this process at times so you deserve to know main pieces.
The kiddos were picked up by their social worker yesterday and driven back up to Riverside County. To a home without other small children. To a home where they can make small mistakes and big mistakes safely. To a home where every ounce of attention is about them. We were prepared for tantrums and can get through those fairly well. Behaviors are only the flailing arms of the octopus. The need is at the core, the brain telling those arms to move. As weeks progressed into months and the behaviors increased and intensified it became evident that what we are able to provide these two did not meet their needs. You don’t know what you don’t know. We did become fairly attuned to their intricacies, so I am praying communicating that knowledge can help guide their future placements. I’m scared they are on the road to becoming statistics, but I am reminding myself that I believe in the One who can grow beauty in the midst of mess.
What do you do after you buckle the child you thought would be yours forever into the back of a social worker’s car on their way to destination unknown? I walked inside and started rearranging furniture. First things first, sort out the physical mess then I can deal with figuring out the emotions. Outside in, in this case. As I mentioned in the last post this hasn’t been a time for emotions because we’ve been living in crisis. Crisis is about action. It’s survival. So don’t ask me how I’m doing. Beyond the immediate layer of confusion and relief (can I say that without you hating me), I don’t know what I feel yet.
Next steps. Rest. There will be no steps forward until we simply rest well with sleep and family down time and outings filled with laughter. Heal. Mend the little chunks of our hearts that have been torn. Possibly provide some play therapy for the kids. Give. Once we feel rested we’d love to provide respite care for other families, taking their foster children for a few days to week at a time. Try Again. Stand up, square off, and start again. We are detoured but not deterred.
Borrowing the mantra from Glennon in this season: Next Right Step. The dream is the destination but haven’t found footing yet on the road and definitely can’t see the whole path. We just have to keep taking the next right step and pray we will make it eventually. I’ve never been one for being on time anyway.