The day we got him. I remember like yesterday. I had dreamed of him, three nights prior. Almost exactly nine months before he was born.
I knew what she told me, before she spoke.
The Social Worker that day. A child has been born. In the hospital.
And I ache. To see him, this little boy.
A face like my daughters, not from my blood, but my kin. The lessons, heard many times before, of how to take care of his “special” needs.
The one’s I implore.
I though he would cry, but he didn’t that day, as we put his preemie body in the car seat and headed away. Away.
A sister to her brother, so gentle, so tender. She holds him wide eyes, complete with surrender.
“Oh God, my plates full, but I trust you with this. Give me strength, give me courage, give me grace to care for Your child.”
Like a little lamb broken, to my shoulders he was tied.
I held him day and night, for if I didn’t he would cry. Abandoned in the hospital by The Sick One who had strayed. I soon forgave, as I saw her name on the official documents that they gave.
Who am I to judge. It could be me, on drugs.
I knew, my only job to do….was love.
Saturated. Deeply. His love into I. I cry. Thinking about our heartstrings. He and I.
The world around faded, as it always does, when there is heavens work to do.
I cared for you. Tried to be true, to you….till hope renewed.
Those little feet. Those toes. That funny, turned up nose. The smell of your skin. Baby smell. Rests in my soul well.
My hip attachment. Through laundry, dishes, children, life practice.
I wouldn’t let you go.
Little boy of mine. I wouldn’t let you go. You had to know. How much I longed to keep you. Raise you. Teach you. How much I longed to watch you grow….
But, I had to let you go.
For this….
I am sorry.
