memories

As days quickly turn into weeks since our gut wrenching good bye to our boy, our hearts are beginning to heal. I have been in contact with his Mama and we have even managed to visit him once since his departure from our home, which has helped. Still, of course, there are those days when everything seems to remind me of him and tears form in my eyes and streak my face as I relive memories with him in our home... the sights, the sounds, the feelings. The kiddos have their moments also, and we will pull out the Adrian video we made, or write him letters and talk about some of our favorite memories with him. There are so many.

Today was one of those days when memories abounded and tears fell freely. I can remember so well the feeling of those chubby little fingers wrapped around my own as we walk about. "Hand," he would say, "hand, Mama". He loved to hold hands. I smile when I see a pair of shoes lying about the house. "Shooz, shooz, shooz!" Little A. loved shoes. He would play with them, wear them, deliver them to their rightful owner, and sometimes put them away... just for fun.

As we hold hands and pray for our family meals, I remember how quickly A. understood "prayer" and would clasp his hands together and tilt his head downward. "Pay," he'd say at the beginning, then he loved to shout, "AMEN!" when we were finished... always followed by big smiles and sweet giggles.

The last evening we had A. in our home, we kept him up as late as possible, despite his unusual, obsessive draw towards bedtime and sleep. Oh, how that boy loved to sleep!! As he cuddled up on Jim's lap that night, the kids and I curled up around him, read our bedtime story, then began to pray for him and his home going. With hands clasped and head bowed, A. continued to turn his head to me and asked, "Ni-ni, Mama? Ni-ni?" Poor, sweet boy was so tired. While we were trying to savor every last moment with him, he was just wondering why on earth we were keeping him up so long. I remember so well the very inflection in his voice as he politely pleaded to go night night. It was precious.

And, I'll never forget placing him in his crib for that final time. What a strange moment. We all gathered around, stroked his hair, and sang Jesus Loves Me. He sucked his thumb and clung to his blankie, having no idea that his life was about to drastically change. I wanted to somehow prepare him, but there was no way I could. I wanted to protect him and let him know how desperately he was loved. I couldn't. Eighteen months of being this boy's Mama, and it was over. Just like that. It hurts so bad.

As we have ended our journey with A, we have been left with so many thoughts. First of all, is our boy going to be OK? Is his life back at home (a life that I would never create for a child that I love and adore) really going to best for him? What does his future hold? If we let our minds continue from there, worry quickly enters our hearts. However, I am reminded that God created this boy and loves him more than I can possibly imagine. I can no longer protect and care for this child, but I can entrust him to One that loves him even more. There's an old Ray Boltz song that says it well:

Jesus here's another child to hold.
Keep this child safe and warm, this world can be so cold.
Take this child in your arms, and never let him go.
Jesus here's another child,
Jesus here's my precious child,
Jesus here's another child to hold.

And, lastly, I have to admit that in our weakest moments, Jim and I have asked each other, "What was all this for? What did we accomplish for the kingdom? Did we, or will we, make any difference in the life of this little boy at all?" There, again, is a song that speaks to this matter so well when I am tempted to think along these lines. It was a song that Jim and I tried to listen to as we drove away from the house that A now calls home, after dropping him off that final time. As the song says, and despite the doubts we sometimes entertain, we cling to God's promise that says, "No labor of love is in vain."