Anticipating Lost and Loss

I have been both looking forward to and dreading this week for a long time. Fortunately, the looking forward has lasted longer than the dreading, but that actually doesn't help much.

Tomorrow brings the season premier of the final season of Lost -- the two hours of television that I think I have longed for more than any other television program in my lifetime. And that's pretty much all I have to say about that because. . .

Friday brings the court hearing that will probably signal the loss of my precious baby girl.

As much of a tv addict as I am (and, sadly, I'm a BIG one!), this news has completely overshadowed any joy I was feeling about this week. We've known for some time that there would be a hearing on February 5th to conduct a "progress check" in the baby's case. What we didn't know (because the baby's lawyer expressly told us it would never happen) is that they would be moving her back with her birth mother at that time (this weekend, most likely). Things had definitely been swinging in the direction of reunification, so we were preparing ourselves for the eventual transition, but we were quite sure it would not happen before the Termination of Parental Rights hearing in May. We were wrong.

So, what does it feel like to find out that the baby you brought home from the hospital and whom you've been caring for for four months is leaving? The best way I can describe it is like finding out that a close family member or friend has a few weeks to live. I go to bed each night ticking another day off in the countdown. Just 4 more nights left. Four more days of "normalcy" before there will be this gapping hole in our family.

You'd think you would want to savor every moment and squeeze all of the joy out of each second together. I do want to. But at the same time, all of my interactions with her are colored by grief. I'm afraid that she can feel it . . . sense that something terrible is imminent. I try to reassure her, but I can't even quite reassure myself that everything is going to be okay.

I wish I could be part of her life forever -- see her grow up, watch her personality (that we're already seeing beautiful glimpses of) unfold, support her through the challenges she'll face... But I have always known that she didn't ultimately "belong" to me. She's been "on loan." Yet, she has become a part of the fabric of our family life. Her little raspy breathing and sloppy finger-sucking noises in the co-sleeper next to me at night. The neat little rows of freshly-washed bottles that are ever-present on our countertop (they never quite seem to make it back into the cupboard.) Her bouncy chair in the bathroom that I am constantly tripping over. The bulky double-stroller that used to seem like such an eyesore in our living room (nowhere else to store it!) but now I don't even notice.

All these little things that used to seem like mundane baby peraphernalia now carry the sad weight of painful reminders.

The worst part, though, is imagining what the experience of separation and transition will be like for her. I know that babies are resilient and she will soon forget us completely (at least in any kind of conscious sense). However, before that happens, she will wonder. She'll miss our familiar presence, our smell, the sound of our voices, the particular songs we sing, the colors and textures of our home, her bed, our couch. Her mom probably won't give her a daily massage in the same way with the same lavendar scented lotion. Even her clothing, blankets, carseat, and stroller will change. We will send all of her clothes with her, but her mom has already shown a preference during visits for dressing the baby in clothes that she bought for her. I would probably do the same. It's about legitimacy and claiming... But the baby doesn't know that. For her, it's just about change and loss.

I don't know how to say goodbye.

We're planning a time of prayer together with family and close friends on Wednesday night. That will be healing for me. But at some point, that final moment is going to come, and I'm going to have to put "my" baby into someone else's arms, turn my back, and walk away from her. I don't know if she will be safe or what her life will bring. I will probably never see pictures, know how she's doing in school, hear about her friendships, boyfriends, attend her graduation or wedding... All of these things could have been milestones in my life, but now they'll be milestones in someone else's.

There are two things that I'm clinging to right now -- the only two that are getting me through this time.

First, something I heard the Holy Spirit whisper gently: "Lean on me. Love her." I cry out to God over and over these days, "I'm leaning on You! I'm loving her!" That's all that I can do at this point. Those are the only two parts of this crazy process that are actually under my control -- where I put my trust, and how I love this child while she's in my life.

And second, a passage that my friend and colleague, Michael, shared with me a few weeks ago:

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2 Corinthians 4

Treasures in Jars of Clay

1Therefore, since through God's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart. . . 5For we do not preach ourselves, but Jesus Christ as Lord, and ourselves as your servants for Jesus' sake. 6For God, who said, "Let light shine out of darkness,"[a]made his light shine in our hearts to give us the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.

7But we have this treasure in jars of clay [we are those frail jars of clay for the treasure that God has entrusted to us through this ministry of foster/adoption!] to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us. 8We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed; perplexed, but not in despair; 9persecuted, but not abandoned; struck down, but not destroyed. 10We always carry around in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be revealed in our body. 11For we who are alive are always being given over to death for Jesus' sake, so that his life may be revealed in our mortal body. 12So then, death is at work in us, but life is at work in you.

13It is written: "I believed; therefore I have spoken."[b]With that same spirit of faith we also believe and therefore speak, 14because we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus from the dead will also raise us with Jesus and present us with you [Sarah Jalen!] in his presence. 15All this is for your benefit, so that the grace that is reaching more and more people [Baby "Sarah" AND her birth mom -- God is working healing!] may cause thanksgiving to overflow to the glory of God.

16Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. 17For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. 18So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen. For what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.

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Thank you, God, that your grace is sufficient and that you work all things together for good. We are clinging to your promises and pleading that your power to heal and transform will be SO EVIDENT to many through the ripple effect of your love in Baby Sarah's life. Bless her with all good things, and may we see her again and rejoice with her some day in Your presence.

Thank you, Sarah, so much for the honor of knowing and loving you. You will be profoundly missed but never forgotten.