Letting Her Go

“I love waking up to her smiling face every morning,” said Baby’s mom.
She begins to cry as she is praised for her accomplishments over the last six months. Baby’s mom has reached the point where she will now officially gain custody of her daughter for the first time.

The caseworker runs to get tissue to dry her client’s tears.

It’s all playing out like a dream to me. More like a waking nightmare. The corner conference room has white, stale interior walls and high ceilings; the early-afternoon sun is flooding in through mounting windows. The sun is irritating. I would rather it be rainy and cold because that’s how I feel. But, for Baby’s mom it is beautiful. The sun is shining brightly for her. This is her time; her day. Her dream come true and my nightmare.

But, I am sitting there gracefully in pain.

The document that will release Baby to her mother is passed around for all parties to sign. We have the option of agreeing with the decision for Baby to go home or disagreeing. I feel some sense of empowerment that I am being given the opportunity to disagree with this decision. But, I check the box that says “agree.” I do agree. As much as I don’t want to let this baby go, her mommy wants her back, and has done all the necessary work to get her back.

We decide on a date and time that Baby will be returned to her mommy. I sign and date this document, stating that I agree to hand over the child at the agreed upon time and place. A necessary formality to ensure we don’t skip town with the kid, which my husband has kidded about since Baby came home.

The meeting wraps up and Baby goes home with me for the last time.

***

That sweet little “ahhhYaaa” rings from the baby monitor followed by thump…… thump.
Baby has recently learned how to lift both legs and let them drop; one of her many new found revelations about what her 6-month-old body can do. I prepare her bottle and walk upstairs. She has her pink furry blanket, with the pink and white polka dot satin trim, in her mouth. I greet her with a smile and a “Good morning Baby!” She greets me back with her huge, wide open-mouthed smile, showing off her toothless gums, beautiful brown eyes squinting from smiling so hard. I pick her up from her crib and sadness comes over me, for this is the last time we will greet each other in the morning.

She has that morning look; puffy eyes and face, indentation from the pillow on her cheek. The few hairs she does have on the back of her head look like a bird’s nest, and the generous amount of dark brown hair on the top of her head is puffy and floating. She is so warm and cozy, and my heart melts as I hold her close to me. I smell her face and kiss her cheek, taking her in, binding her presence to my memory. I have her dressed in a zip-up jumper with brown and green stripes, with a brown monkey sewn along the left side.

“Mommy, why is Baby wearing boy’s pajamas?” asks my 4-year-old foster daughter.

“Because Baby is going home today, and Daniel will be moving in,” I answer. “These will be Daniel’s pajamas soon.”

The last few days counting down to her departure are like a foggy, bad dream. I started to let things go in the house; clothes not washed, or the ones that are washed still sit in the clothes basket. Motivation begins to dwindle, and I wonder what the last six months were for???

After allowing some time to feel sorry for myself, I come back to my purpose, and ask that question again. “What were the last six months of my life for???”

My answer is to give Baby an extraordinary start to her life, a start that may not have been possible if she would have been placed in her mother’s care directly after birth. The last six months have allowed her mother to work through the issues that caused Baby to be taken from her in the first place.

The other purpose of the last six months was to teach me to conquer my worst fear of loving a child and ultimately having to let her go. I knew God would put me through this. I knew I wouldn’t get off easy on this one.

***

Husband, Step-Daughter and Foster Daughter came with to say “good-bye” to our Birdie, a nickname my husband gave Baby when she was born. As we approached the exit from the freeway, my phone rang.

It was my baby’s other mom.

“We are just getting off the freeway,” I answered. We were running a few minutes late as usual.

“Oh, OK.” She said in her high pitched, always forgiving voice.

As we drove into the parking lot I spotted her standing on the sidewalk outside of the Starbucks, where we have been meeting since Baby was 3 months old. Her hair pulled back in a ponytail, with a long sleeved purple shirt on, jeans, ballet flats, and her black, school girl-like glasses sitting on her nose. She looked ready to be a full-time mom. She stood holding onto Baby’s new gray and orange stroller, ready for Baby to occupy.

We parked the car. Mom walked anxiously up to the window of our car to where her daughter was.

I stepped out of the car and walked around to the trunk to retrieve Baby’s items.

“Hello.” She said in her cute, high-pitched voice, the way she always does.

I reached for her with an embrace and my gesture was openly reciprocated, something that came naturally for her for the first time since Christmas. Two mothers; in love with the same child. In that moment, the long embrace told the whole story. It was finally over. She was finally getting her baby back, and I was finally able to move on and find closure.

I didn’t cry like I thought I might. I’ve been crying over the possibility of her going home since she was a month old, and I had pictured this day for quite some time. I suppose the actual task of handing her over was not as intense as the anticipation. Everyone held and kissed Birdie goodbye, but I had to be the one to officially hand baby over to mom. It was a symbolic moment for me. A significant chapter in my life was officially ending as soon as that baby left my arms. And, I was at peace with it.

I told Baby I would love her forever, gave a kiss on her cheek and handed her over to her new full-time mommy. I became teary-eyed and I’m sure I could have broken down if I would have let myself. But, I had my whole family in the car, and stuff to do. I am a private mourner, and privacy I did not have.

“I can cry later,” I told myself.

Yet, since baby’s departure, it seems like my tears want to come at the most inopportune times. I suppose I need to get over the whole “private mourner” thing if I want to get through this in a healthy fashion. With a husband, a 4-year-old, two step-children and our new foster baby, “private” is a fond memory.

***

I picked up 4-month-old Daniel from his foster family yesterday. He is perfectly healthy with brown eyes, lots of curly brown hair and a big smile with dimples. As I sit here in Starbucks finishing this piece, he falls asleep on my chest. I go up to the counter for my free refill (because I am a gold card member), and my eyes well up. I feel Daniel’s tiny warm body resting against mine, and I remember Birdie. I order my coffee in a choked up voice. Have to swallow my tears again; can’t cry at the Starbucks counter. I don’t like the attention, or making other people feel uncomfortable. So, I stop until the next time my memories of Baby jerk at my tears. I am glad I have those moments, though. I have had a few of those moments over the last couple of days, but it is not a constant pain. It’s not like I thought it would be. And, I wonder if something is wrong with me; why I am not totally devastated at the loss of Birdie? I think it is because I am confident that she is safe and happy. I know that her mom is taking excellent care of her. And, I am at peace with this knowledge.

Plans with Daniel are that he is a keeper. He is soon to be adoptable, and most likely will be with us forever. THAT is an awesome feeling! To be able to look at him and think about being present for his first words, first steps and every other wondrous milestone he hits as he grows! I can finally find joy in this! I can dream, and this dream has the potential to become a reality! With Birdie, I would always have to stop myself from dreaming about her future, because the outcome was so uncertain. And until Daniel is legally ours, there is no guarantee. But, the odds are in our favor. THAT is exciting!

I miss Baby; our Birdie. I keep her blanket that she slept with at night in an easily retrievable place, to be grabbed when I need a little reminiscent whiff. Similar to when we experience the death of a loved one, we sometimes like to keep objects that belonged to them. With Birdie, she is still alive and well; just living the rest of her life somewhere else now. And, the thought of being able to see her again one day makes it all OK. Maybe that is why it is not so horrible. I know I will get to see her again one day.

It’s time to be Daniel’s mommy now, and let my Birdie go.