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When Boychild left, I was so caught up navigating life with Girlchild that I didn't have time to really stop and process how much I damn miss that kid. I miss them both, my son and my daughter, and the way they would wind up draped across the foot of my bed at night, petting cats and telling me wishes.
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After two weeks of radio silence, I look up and she's standing in my living room. She's here to get some of her things, and it's a planned visit, so I'm not surprised, except that she came in so quietly even Lola didn't wake. I think of all the times her galloping feet have shaken this home on its foundation and I watch her stand dead still, fear and hope at war on her face. She thinks I'm angry. She looks taller, and, impossibly, younger. She looks tired as I feel.
She lets me hug her, but she insists on packing up her room by herself. She won't even let me inside, though clearly I've been seen the mess in the two weeks she's been gone. Seeing her eases the mom-worry that's been thrumming beneath my skin. It also soothes something in me, even as it breaks my heart, to remember how fiercely independent she is at 13. I've been hurt she hasn't contacted me. Now I remember it's nothing new. It's just that she doesn't like others to see her turmoil, whether it's her bedroom or her heart.
I stand just outside the door, keeping up a stream of small talk so she can track my location by my voice. I pray, God, I pray, that she will do the same for me these coming weeks.
I found this on the phone she left behind. It's from a few months ago and it's so blessedly normal. This is what 13 year old girls post sometimes about their mothers. You wouldn't think this would give me warm fuzzies, but it does. She called me her mom and she treated me like one. This makes my heart feel validated. I WAS her mom for a season, and if I feel like I'm dying, it's because I had a daughter and she's not here anymore. They call it ambiguous loss, but I don't feel the first word tonight, only the second. Man, do I feel the second.
Without going into detail, I want to let you know that my boychild is moving to a different foster home today. This is a permanent move. I'm feeling a lot of things, but the very biggest one is gratitude that my girlchild will be staying with me.
The foster system: "Love them like your own. Get attached. There's no foster/adoptive/bio in our house, there's only son and daughter."
Also the foster care system: "We'll be there in two hours to get your kid and you might never see her again. She's going to a different foster home and we can't tell you why. We're not allowed to tell you anything. Also, we don't want to hear anything you have to say about all the things you've learned that might help her. Why are you crying? Why are you so obsessed with this kid, creepy foster parent?"
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There is a whole backstory going on that I just don't have the energy to type, but I need to tell you this one piece. The social worker in charge of my daughter’s case, who had never once been to our home, finally stopped by today. She came into the house, said hello to the animals, and, upon noticing our oldest, ill kitty, she immediately told my daughter a story about how her own daughter woke up one morning to discover their elderly cat deceased and stiff. My kid is terrified of death and will be ruminating on that one in the coming days, I guarantee. You can't make this shit up.
Lola is sleeping heavily, refusing to get up unless she has to, not even trying to eye me guiltily for food when I eat, and she didn't even bark at the mailman.
Mabelcat is losing weight dramatically although eating voraciously, vomiting frequently, normal bloodwork two months in a row, treated for allergies, still no idea what is causing her illness.
My daughter is leaving on Sunday for a new placement, and no, I don't want to talk about it yet because I have to hold it together until she's gone. It isn't a good week for my trio of teenagers. My heart is broken and worried and weary.
The alarm went off and I didn't immediately turn it off. Girlchild tossed and turned and put her head under the pillow and eventually yelled a frustrated "MOM!"
Mom.
Boychild's first football game of the season was last night. He made starter. I wasn't there because, with COVID, it was parents only.
What a ride, this foster care. My heart can feel so many things at the same time.
