Grief, that strange beast, never really lets you go. I held my 11 year old this week as big tears slipped down his cheeks. "I miss her" he says. Five and a half years later, he cries for the baby that was his. Tears triggered, I am certain, by his big brother leaving for a summer job and a hockey future. It's there. Loss. Still. I wonder if it will always be for him? A burden he never needed, but he is altered forever because of it. And he misses his brother now too.
I lay sleepless in bed. My heart is frozen in terror for a friend who has been told, after four and a half years of raising her babies since infancy, that because they are 1/16 and 1/32 a different race, the system has deemed her an unsuitable adoptive mother for them. 2 weeks notice. Say good-bye and by the way, if you're too upset by this, they will be moved with no chance for last moments. Because someone, somewhere thinks that this is the best plan. You are good enough to raise them, just not good enough to be their mother.
I pound out letters of appeal and support. I google names and addresses trying in vain to find a way to save this mother, and those children, from the pain of the journey I have been. I scream at God about the insanity of a system that seems to make no sense.
Best interest? BEST INTERESTS OF WHO?
It is trying to make sense of the senseless. Find hope in the hopeless.
But behind the fury is the loss. It drives me.
And I miss my son. I am pretty sure kids shouldn't be allowed to grow up quite so fast.