If I Can Just Ignore My Pain

Something I've been doing every night since they left, and something I don't feel ready to quit doing, is that every night I close their bedroom door. "Their" bedroom door. The bedroom that used to belong to the sister and baby brother of my adopted children. I closed it every night they were gone on visits too. When I wake up, it's the first thing I see. Just across the hall is their bedroom door. Open? Means I wake up seeing that it isn't their room anymore. When they were gone on visits? It meant seeing their empty beds. Either way, I hate it.

Here's a poem I wrote last week:

If I can just ignore my pain,

If I can just ignore that they were here,

If I can just avoid the pictures,

Maybe I can forget all of last year.

I once had six children,

Twice as much as my current three,

If I could just forget how much I loved them,

How much easier things could be.

I need to get the pictures back up,

I need to watch his or her favorite movie,

I need to talk more about them,

I need to not avoid my grieving.

There's so much to be said,

about being strong and moving on,

But sometimes I need to slow down,

and maybe hear their favorite songs.

It's ok to cry,

It's ok to grieve,

It's ok to remember,

all those hopes and future dreams.

It's ok to hold on for a moment,

and really feel the weight,

that we never got to getting,

an adoption date.

I want to kiss his little cheeks,

and hold her little hand,

and help him make his dreams come true,

in any way that I can.

I want to see his little skip,

and hear them call me mom,

and listen to her brothers groan,

as she asks again for the Barbie coffee shop song.

I last heard that song,

on the very day they left,

thinking on it now,

brings the tears I have kept.

I really do miss them,

but thoughts on them I try not to dwell,

It's also ok to be strong,

and just pray they're doing well.

It's been 2 and a half months since they moved out, and we haven't heard a word from them, or about them, since about a week after they left. Dad started sending texts asking for information that we weren't allowed to give, so we quit responding, and then there just hasn't been any more since. 

Almost 4 weeks ago the caseworker hand delivered a small box full of toys and letters to mom, dad, and the kids for us. The message the caseworker sent me afterwards said, "I delivered the box tonight. And I talked to ____ and ____ about getting with you and letting y'all see the kids. They seemed very open to it." Almost 4 weeks since I was sent those words, and we have yet to hear anything back.

My next "plan" is to try making contact again. Maybe send another box of letters? Maybe send the few more toys of theirs we've found? Maybe send them a message on Facebook? A friend request? Or maybe text them and invite them to join us at the park?

That last one is the one I want to do the most, and the one I want to do the least. I don't feel ready to see the kids again, and yet... I need to. It's only been 2 months and I can barely remember ever having had them here. Life has gone back to "normal" without them. Normal-ish anyway, we're still dealing with some anger and tantrums and whatnot, but mostly we have a new normal again now. Life is "normal" without them here. And like people who have a baby and the day after they arrive they can't imagine life without them..... I almost can't imagine them here anymore. It feels so distant. And there's not empty beds, or their stuff, or... I have pictures to prove they were here, but the memories feel almost like a dream. I need to hug them again, hear their little laughs, and feel for a moment just how deeply I love them and wish they were mine and allow my heart to ache to the core that they won't be going home with me......

It's good to move on and be strong and all that, but it's also good the days and moments that come and I just want to cry because I miss them. I welcome the moments the tears come, because other times I feel numb and fear they never will.