Hurting

I chose this, I wanted this, and I love it. That doesn't mean my heart isn't breaking several times a day.

Each afternoon, he looks around my house, shrugging his shoulders, and saying, "Mommy?" Every time, it makes my eyes get misty because I want to tell him that he'll see her soon, but I really can't promise that. He misses her so much. Each night, he wakes up many times screaming "No! No! No!," arching his back, and kicking the wall. Nothing I say can console him, so, in sheer exhaustion, I just lay on his floor and cry. When the doctor ignores my concerns and writes me off as overly concerned and naive, I feel stupid and helpless, knowing that I have the answer to the problem, but he's not hearing me. I'm still waiting to hear any news about this child's fate, and I'm at the mercy of the county. I just wait and I cry because I have no idea what's coming tomorrow.

At the same time, I love him more than I ever could have anticipated. I can't imagine my life before him or after him. This is, no doubt, the most meaningful and important thing I've ever done.

All I can do is hope that, one night, he will just sleep. My body and soul need rest.