I’ve packed up my things again and I’m leaving to catch a plane. But first I hug you both close, saying I’ll see you later & I love you so much.
Only a few weeks later though and I get the news. You’re gone, you’re both gone, you’ve been taken away despite your sobs & protests, ripped out of the family you’ve come to claim as your own. When I get the news I fall to the floor, I fall apart, I fall into months of grief & rage. I grieve for your losses and also my own, I grieve this awful reality and I grieve the dreams I’m watching burn away into ash right in front of me. I couldn’t imagine that grief could ever leave me, and actually it never does. It evolves, it’s jagged edges soften, but the ache for you both remains.
I still hear the sound of your laughter in my dreams. I still wake up to feel your absence and the familiar sorrow that comes with it. I’m still here crying for the two of you, praying to God that you’re safe, happy, loved.
It’s a hot afternoon, I step outside and that’s when I hear you shout my name, “BRI-TA-NY!” and I’m shocked silent but overjoyed because finally I’m holding you in my arms again.
Two little girls, taken from us for two long years, brought back home again.
You are my wildest dream come true.
. . . . .
We’re sitting in a circle on a concrete floor, tossing cards into the center, shouting “UNO!” and laughing, laughing, laughing. I can’t take my eyes off of either of you and my spirit can’t stop praying, “thank you thank you thank you.” Holy ground, who knew sitting in a circle playing Uno could feel like such Holy Ground.
Thank you Thank you Thank you.