Our children are often in our prayers, as are their family. Oh, I don't feel I pray as often as I should, but I do my best. Last week I decided that rather than just praying "for" our children, I would throw in a little something more specific. Heavenly Father, I'm going to pray that this little baby go to his family. Or something like that. Yep, I asked God to take this beautiful baby away from our family and to go to his own family. That was on Sunday. On Wednesday I got a call from the case worker. The Call. Paperwork was finally done, the baby would be going home to his grandparents on Friday.
Friday. That gives me two days. Hold on a minute, God. I know this is what I asked for, but isn't that a little short notice? I mean, our little munchkin is almost walking. I want to see him walk across MY living room. I have a lot to pack. I haven't finished his lifebook. I haven't even started his lifebook!
This was our first reunification. So many emotions went through me. This is the last time I give him a bath. This is the last time I sing to him. This is the last time I lay him down for the night. Every time I thought that I would cry. I did a fair share of crying for those two days.
Those two days before he left was a whirlwind of activity at our house. Much packing, getting paperwork ready. I typed up his daily schedule for the grandparents. I am so grateful that I have a good relationship with the grandparents, and the birth mother. Well, as good a relationship as I could have.
Finally, Friday arrived. I brought our little munchkin to Social Services, where we met the grandparents. There we unloaded my vehicle (a large-sized suv) and packed their vehicle (compact car). Then, after the packing, unpacking, and packing up again, I had to say goodbye. I had to give him back.
That was the moment that, when I tell people that I am a foster parent, most people bring up why they could never do what I do. Having to give the baby up. Give the baby up? He was never mine to keep.