It’s another day of waiting for a post-court call. How many does this make? I can’t keep track. Can’t keep track of the hours and days of waiting to hear what’s happened in there while we’re left out here. Left out here like we’re nobody, because, I guess, technically, legally, we are.
I can hear our social worker say it again- “She won’t be in care when she’s 2.” I remember when she said it, inwardly flinching, flinching at her … continue reading
National Foster Care Month.
ALS Awareness Month.
International Bereaved Mother’s Day.
Mother’s Day.
It’s May. All of these calendar happenings have me remembering, which doesn’t take much, because May is a month of memories anyways.
And under the weight of this quarantine, the remembering of that season and the reality of this current one have me in a whole new mixed up place of ache and crazy.
ALS came crashing into my life two Mays ago, when it almost took … continue reading
Christmas is over. The New Year has come and begun. The holidays daze is done and I’m left in the wake looking ahead at winter.
The decorations are packed back up and put away- all that is except the stray ornament that managed to hide in the hours of clean up and is now hanging out solo waiting to be worth the walk into the basement.
I’m waiting. Waiting for a call, waiting for big news, waiting for a life-altering … continue reading
I watched the roller coaster climb and couldn’t even bring myself to believe he was on it. Fighting my own nausea despite not even being on the ride, praying ceaselessly, and resisting panic, I mainly planted myself in denial. This could not be happening. How could I let myself believe that my petite-not-even-40-pounds-just-turned-7-year-old was slowing climbing up that coaster and would actually plunge back down? I was confident he wouldn’t reach the ride-with-an-adult height minimum. And he had. And how … continue reading
I remember once, my brother asked, does it make it harder or easier?
This baby, this little one, placed in our care.
After the losses, the babies taken, the pain and grief; the now holding and swinging and swaddling…
Does it make it harder or easier?
Yes, I said.
It makes it harder, and it makes it easier. The baby stuff out, not getting dusty in dingy basement; music playing, lights shining, joy bringing. This makes it easier. A … continue reading
You only get eighteen summers.
That’s what the memes and posts tell you, remind you, warn you.
Eighteen summers with your little one.
Eighteen.
That’s it until that’s it, so cherish each one- eighteen, seventeen, sixteen…
I remember seeing the posts often last summer, scrolling and then the taunting of it all.
I saw the posts from my couch where most of my summer was spent. A catheter bag like a leash, and fresh surgery wounds healing, and what summer? … continue reading
“We are not adrift in chaos.” I hear Elisabeth Elliot say it often as I replay her words in my mind. Her lectures on suffering were an integral part of my journey last year, when the mind was muddy and heart too broken, and words of truth needed. Not just any truth-filled words, but one that came from a voice that knew the path of suffering.
Elisabeth Elliot certainly earned that position. Sixty-three years ago yesterday, her first husband, Jim … continue reading