December 5th 2013

The waiting room provides no comfort.  Long wooden pughs,  pastel blue walls - a feeble attempt to calm us.  I am not calmed.  I pray she doesn't come.  I love her.  I want her to get well, but I don't think she will.  I have been sitting here for nearly an hour as social workers, parents, foster parents, public defenders, and off duty police officers filter in and out.  I wait anxiously to see her.   The mother of my foster son.  I love him too.  I have good days where I thank her for all she has done for him, and I want so desperately for her to be reunited with him for them to live happily ever after.  I have bad days where I want to punch her in her face for all she hasn't done for him, for all the struggles he faces because of her.  I am the one to help him face those struggles, and it hurts to see him try so hard to overcome.  Babies shouldn't have so much to overcome.  She was just a baby when she first became a mother.  The cycle of life for some, and this is where I always end up.  Wishing I had a magic wand.

Black hoodie, dirty hair blonde on bottom black on top drawn up into a hasty bun on top of her head.  She isn't alone. Who are these people.  I feel the breath drawn involuntarily out of my body.  I can't breath.  They call his name and we all get up to head into the courtroom.  As I stand up I cannot feel my legs.  They are unreliable and I am so thankful that my mother in law has come today.  I will need her. 

More long wooden pughs.  The only seat is next to her, and her companions.  I find out later that I sit next to her sister.  We are so close our thighs share space.  "Your honor, I recommend the goal of Adoption."  They gasp and I feel their eyes on me like erasers trying to rub me out of reality.  It hurts.  I don't want to cry here, not in front of them.  I want to wait, but I feel it rising up inside of me.  "I approve the concurrent goals of relative placement and adoption."  I feel her heart break.  I feel it inside of me as if it is my own heart and I am not sure I can keep these tears from falling.  This is not what I wanted for her.  I want her to hope, to work hard to be the mother her son deserves.  I know she wants it.  I feel her desire.  I also feel her defeat. 

We share the elevator on our way out of the court house.  The silence is like concrete pressing down on us, engulfing us, drowning and paralyzing us.  Finally her sister breaks the silence.  I am grateful.  "How is J anyway?"  "He is great.  He is teething, so he is crying a lot.  But he is healthy."   I want to ask why she, and his mom didn't come to the hospital for his open heart surgery, or to visit during the 5 days he was recovering, but I don't.  I have so many questions.  EDIT:  I found out much later that sister didn't come because she was giving birth, and mom didn't come because she was terrified her baby would die during the surgery.  This makes me glad that I reserved judgment, even if everyone else told me I was naive.