I just have a bad feeling that eventually they will take Jo Jo from me. Have I been foolish to let myself fall so in love with her? Could I really help it, anyway? My whole family bonded with her so quickly, and yet it could all be for nothing. Somewhere deep down I sense the darkness that lingers just out of sight, waiting to swallow me whole. She is here, but one day, suddenly, she will be gone. It won’t matter to anyone how much I loved her, that she thought of me as mommy, that she has a routine now and feels safe and loved, that she sees familiar faces all day and practices her beginning baby smiles on them. It won’t matter that this is her home and we are her family. It won’t matter that I know exactly what each of her cries mean and how to soothe them, that I know what time she needs to sleep and what time during the night she needs a bottle or a change. It won’t matter that her photographs are framed on my walls or that she has a lovely little nursery.
Like Death, Foster Care doesn’t care. A great-aunt, or 2nd cousin, or half-uncle (is there such a thing?) will trump me in the hierarchy of where she belongs. I will pack up her things and send her away and never know how she got through those days and nights of wondering why she’d been abandoned again, of wondering where she was and why I wasn’t coming to her to make it better.
If only there was a mom out there who knew she couldn’t parent, for whatever reason, and wanted to relinquish to me, give her daughter that huge gift of love, the ultimate sacrifice.
Dream on, girl. That happy fantasy is just that- a fantasy. I know better than to expect happy endings, let alone happy middles. Death came and snatched the sacred from my life, gutted me out of the blue and left me there to bleed. Why shouldn’t Life do exactly the same thing to me?