Closure
Closure.
Yesterday was three years since he entered our home and took over my heart. Our story has intertwined with his since. Another removal and almost removals, supporting his mom and providing for them both, taking every opportunity for a weekend visit or a phone call or a kiss. I’m—as his mom calls me—his other mommy, the one who raised him, his godmother. He’s—as I think of him—my in-my-heart-son.
I’ve held a space for him since the day he left our home. The plan: if the state of New Jersey says we can have no more than six kids, then we’ll only ever have five to keep our final space wide open for him, if and when he needs us.
This is his home. That is his bed. This is his empty piece in our family. That is his empty hole in my heart. Those spaces have remained empty, waiting for him.
But we haven’t just waited and “hoped” for his return. We’ve done everything we could to work towards the opposite. We’ve done everything we could to help his mom be able to care for and provide for him. And she’s done just that. In one sense—the deepest, shouldn’t admit it to the world sense—I’ve worked hard to keep something that I so desperately want to happen (his removal & return) from happening. I’ve worked hard to keep a mother and child together, and I’ve secured my own heartbreak in doing so.
A few months ago, I finally felt ready. To fill the empty crib. To give to another child the space held in our hearts, our family, our home. To welcome another. To say goodbye to the idea that he was meant to be my son.
We said yes again. Another precious boy, just a few months younger than when my “should be” son came, the same wide eyes, the same beautiful complexion. It’s not that he’s replaced him—that would cheapen my love for both of them—it’s that his entrance into our family feels like the final and complete goodbye.
I can now accept the reality of a “successful” ending to his placement in our family. One that ended in reunification. One that ended in my own heartbreak. One that’s evolved, eventually, into a family (theirs) healed and a heart (mine) healed. I’m ready to say goodbye to one son and hello to another.
