This past week the foster kiddos staying with me had to leave.
The night before they left everybody in my family prayed together in their room. In the middle of the prayer, I realized that this was the last night time prayer with them. I realized that the next morning that they would have to leave. It all came so fast to me. I realized that there would be no more rides in the morning to drop the littlest one off at daycare. There would be two empty seats at the dinner table where they used to sit. They wouldn’t be there to read bedtime stories to. There wouldn’t be anymore little clothes in the washing machine. There wouldn’t be two extra booster seats in the car. There wouldn’t be anymore diapers to change. There wouldn’t be anymore code words for ice cream. There wouldn’t be anymore sippy-cups to fill up. There wouldn’t be anymore noisy siblings. They wouldn’t be there to say “I love you” to.
I wasn’t ready for all of the changes that would happen.
As soon as we were done praying, I went down to my room to read. Mom came in to say goodnight and all of a sudden I was wrapped up in her arms and we were both crying. Then, Dad came in and Mom went to bed. He layed by me and cried with me also.
He laid with me for a while and then finally went to bed. I went to sleep.
The next morning I woke up. Everything was normal, until I remembered that the kiddos were leaving that day. Sadness hung over me like a thick cloud. I had breakfast like usual with my family.
Before we left, my parents took pictures of all of us. The cloud of sadness clung to me, making it hard to breath or talk without crying. But I managed.
Lily, Eva, and Dad said goodbye to the kiddos as Mom, the kiddos, and I got into the car (Mom was going to drop me off at school and then drive the kiddos to where they were going to meet with the case worker who was going to drive them to their relatives’ house). I could tell that they were all trying hard not to cry.
In the car on the way to school, I tried not to think about saying goodbye and just stared out the window. I tried not to think about all of the sadness inside of me.
Once the car pulled up to my school, I took a deep breath. I climbed into the backseats and hugged Little Miss.
“Goodbye,” I said. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” she said. My eyes started to fill up with tears as I said goodbye one more time to her.
I turned around and hugged Little Mr.
“Goodbye,” I said. “I love you so much.” Little Mr. was only two so he probably wouldn’t remember me or my family at all. My tears started to pour over. “Can you give me a hug?” I asked him.
He reached his arms up out of his car seat and gave me a hug.
Sniffling, I got out of the car and grabbed my backpack.
Behind me was Mom.
I ran into her and gave her a huge hug and started crying.
The bomb inside of me had finally went off. The wall inside of me had finally crumbled to the ground. Inside, my heart actually hurt.
Mom held onto me and I held onto her. We stayed like that in the parking lot for a little bit longer. I looked up — still crying silently — at Mom. She was crying too.
“This sucks,” she said. “Now you have to go to school.”
“Think you can do it?” Mom asked me.
“Yeah,” I managed to say through my tears.
Mom let go of me and watched me as I walked into school.
I ran straight to the restrooms and cried in a stall until the first bell rang.
The rest of the day was tough. My teacher, Mrs. Simon, noticed that I was crying and asked me what was wrong. I told her what was up and started crying again. I felt like a baby.
I managed to hold myself together until recess, where Mrs. Derosier (my ELA teacher) asked me what was wrong since I was sitting alone by myself. I started crying again as I told her about what had happened.
The rest of the day, I held myself together and the next day I felt a little bit better.
I still miss the kiddos now, but I’m starting to get use to what life was like before they came. Although, life will never be the same without them. There will always be a part of my heart that feels missing.
Stay sweet, Ella.