One Week After Goodbye

It’s been a week. I was right in the middle of my textbook stress and grieving process when it hit like an anvil. For whatever reason, my process looks like getting sick for a few days, entering into a state of denial that I rock at handling all of this, and then having it sneak up like a cruel game of “guess who” with its cold fingers covering my eyes. I turn around to look back, and there it is. I’m staring my grief in the face. Its eyes hold snapshots of memories I’ve had with the kids, and it squeezes unrealized dreams until they crumble into ash.

Reaching that one week mark made it real. The first few days I was able to compartmentalize their absence and treat it as if I had taken respite to catch up on sleep and laundry. But I can’t trick my brain into believing this is merely a long visit or a temporary break from the chaos of parenting 4 kids anymore.

Before the kids’ last day, I asked my 7-year-old son how he felt about the kids leaving. He told me he was going to be sad, but at least we wouldn’t run out of bread for pb&j’s as quickly. It’s strange, but in the beginning, I was 100% with him on his bread perspective. I anticipated the same future sadness, but until the mournful gut punch came, I could appreciate not having to change another morning diaper or locking and second locking the bathroom door so I didn’t have a 5 AM break-in.

The night I left an unattended pen on the counter and didn’t have ink all over the walls the next morning felt pretty amazing. In the years that we’ve been homeschooling, I have never gotten through my oldest son’s schoolwork so quickly. He could read a passage uninterrupted, and I could actually hear him do it. I was also floored by how much my 1-year-old’s vocabulary has taken off in the past 7 days. Those were all my versions of having more bread for pb&j’s. It was the little things in our daily routine that were easier, and I spent the first couple of days appreciating them.

While the first 2-3 days were manageable, I started to turn a corner around the 7 day mark. That’s when I started to feel the weight of each passing day as a growing chasm between me and the kids.

I don’t know how they’re doing. I can’t get to them. I’m powerless. They’re powerless. I question all the time if I prepared them well enough. And I miss them. I miss them so intensely.

Everything triggers a memory, a feeling, or a new worry. I went to the store this evening. I was there for just one item but soon found myself wandering to the kids’ section. Without consciously thinking about what I was doing, I started thumbing through the racks. She would love this dress. This would be perfect for Easter. It took me a moment to remember there won’t be an Easter. No Easter, that’s fine. I’ll just look at the regular girl clothes. It took me a longer moment to remember there isn’t a girl.

I stayed in the store until near closing. I couldn’t leave. What if they’re out shopping right now and come into the store? Don’t I have a greater chance of seeing the kids in this store at 10:30 PM than I do at home waiting by my phone for an update?

We had a litter of puppies that the kids absolutely adored. The runt of the litter stole my foster daughter’s heart, and she never put that puppy down. The last of the puppies left today to go to their new homes, and the goodbyes are compounded for us. What utterly breaks me is imagining the kids visiting or coming back, rushing downstairs to see the puppies, and finding nothing but an empty basement. Life is moving on in their absence, and I can’t slow it down to wait for them.

God, you have to protect them. You have to do all the things I can’t right now. Keep their hearts from trauma. I pray against confusion and feelings of abandonment. Please comfort all of us. Steady my emotions so I can get through the day. Make straight their paths, and above all else, may your will be done in their lives.