Tough Love

As I struggle to stay awake after our late-night arrival home from our second visit with the boys, I realize that it is more than just the late hour that has me exhausted. 


I was so thrilled to see my sweet boys again. I loved hugging them as they arrived home from school, making their Christmas lists, doing Andru's homework while sprawled out on the living room floor. But this weekend was...long. The living room floor belonged to their foster parents, not us. I know that this process has moved "fast" by bureaucratic standards, but that doesn't make it drag any less for us, and for the boys. 


They are caught in a world on in-between, and so are we. We want to set our rules, lay the groundwork for our expectations...but the truth remains that they aren't wholly OURS yet. Someone else packed their lunch this morning, and someone else will tuck them in tonight. At 8 and 6, I cannot even imagine what that feels like. They have a mommy, but she's not there. They can call me, but I can't pick them up if they get hurt, or wipe their tears if they're sad. I'm 28---and I don't get it---so how can I expect that they will?  


Their whole lives, my sons have been torn away from things they should have been able to count on. At almost 9, Andru has the eyes of a very wise old man. He is so desperate to come here, to be a part of our family. He wants a new start, but cannot let go of what he has had to be his entire childhood--an adult. He was caretaker and disciplinarian for his brother. He provided food and safety, and it is very hard to believe that now, someone else will do that for him. He has this grin---so full of joy, so like a kid that you almost forget he hasn't been that for a long time. I wonder how long it will take him to realize its safe to be just that...my little man is so grown up, and I just want him to experience what life should have been like all along. 


Ethan is scared to death. He yells in his sleep, and crumples at the faintest hint of disappointment during the day. He is a 6 year old who has never lived a normal life. Five of his six years have been spent in foster care, shuffled from place to place. His current foster parents have had him for almost two years. They are the only stability he has ever known. And now we are taking him away from them, too. How do you tell a 6 year old that its okay to trust? I suppose you don't. We will try to show him everyday, and hope with our whole hearts that it works. He is so heartbreakingly sweet in moments when no one is looking. He will come up behind me, rest his head on my arm and slip his hand into mine. There we sit, two people hoping the other one likes them enough to keep them. In those moments, I am terrified to move, to break whatever magic it was that caused him to come close. 


Andru's moments are just the opposite. He is a whirlwind, and he will grab in a hug you're not even sure happened as he rushes from one thing to the next. I love them, and I love that I have begun to understand these moments. I love that Gabbi is okay with all of this, with two more people calling me mommy. She wants to hold their hand and wrestle on the living room floor. She wants to be in the thick of their activity, no matter how rough and tumble it might be. I suppose, at the end of the day, we are a family-in-waiting, hoping that we all can stretch out  the moments that make it worth it into something that includes us all. Soon, my sweet children, soon.