When my heart is tired of grieving.
This past Monday, my heart trembled a little when our social worker wanted to stop by to talk in person. This isn't my first rodeo - I knew what that meant. A hard conversation was coming. As gently and compassionately as she could, she broke the news. She had gotten word that Baby M will most likely be moving soon. It wasn't her plan, wasn't her choice. It wasn't mine, either. I stood and nodded and held my tears in check. I thanked her for her kindness, for fighting for what she thought was best for M. As I closed the door, my heart was reeling, screaming to pull back, whimpering in the corner, "this is too much. I'm done. I don't want to do this anymore!" I was already bracing for all of the well-intentioned "I don't know how you guys do this..." comments that would come when people heard that M was moving. Bracing for the teary conversations with my children. Bracing for the painful process of packing up baby clothes and toy...