Oh, well, I couldn't resist.

I wasn't going to post anything else about her, but I just heard this song and it was so perfectly appropriate. This is it, I promise!

Daughter of Heaven
by Kate Rusby

Daughter of heaven Oh, daughter of now
Drifting away and don't make a sound
We'll cry when we hear that you ran from this town
She's gone to a new place now
She's gone to a new place now

Daughter of heaven Oh, daughter of now
The stars are your jewels the rubies your crown
We are standing off for your right to stand
She's gone to a new place now
She's gone to a new place now

Daughter of heaven Oh, daughter of now
Your eyes they were closed and your hands they were bound
There's a time in the past when I had to come down
She's gone to a new place now
She's gone to a new place now

Daughter of heaven Oh, daughter of now
Drifting away and don't make a sound
We'll cry when we hear that you ran from this town
She's gone to a new place now
She's gone to a new place now

She's gone to a new place now

Balance Beam

It's hard to maintain balance with the kids I have and my job and everything else, with stuff like this weighing me down on the other side. Beyond the devastating situation (because I'm sick of writing about it), I'm so disappointed that I had just recently dealt with my grief enough to get my self back, and now I'm having to grieve a new loss of the same person and struggling not to fall back into those patterns- irritability, anger, distancing from the people who are still in my life. But I'm so grateful that I did that emotional work recently because it helps to deal better now. And I have to deal better now- life is still happening. Prancer is having surgery in two days, Ringo is still adjusting to what is for him a grief-ridden experience, my wife is still wonderful and just as stressed-out as me and needs attention. This is why those negative patterns (for me, anger, irritability, distancing) are so handy- they don't heal but they make me functional. If there is a way to not engage in those patterns and still function, I may find the key to staying a foster parent. If not... I'll have to think about how much longer we can do this.

To heal or not to heal?

Such a difficult question when you're asking about healing from the loss of a child. Healing feels like a betrayal of her, and I'm still not convinced that it isn't. I want to put it off until I can be sure she will either be back home with us or that she is not endangered, but that game just keeps going on and on. That last visit and the apparent neglect and the aftermath of reporting on it threw me back six months emotionally and I really lost it again when it was all done. It became apparent to me that I really have to do something about this grief thing. Not that I didn't know that already, I was just choosing not to think about how it was making me change into this irritable, rigid, inaccessible meanie. I don't want to be that way, but it's what usually keeps me out of the pit of despair and therefore functional, if not likeable. But, it has to stop. I would like to be the nice person I once was and reopen to being an emotionally available mom and wife. So, I could have sworn somebody once left a comment on this blog suggesting that I read The Grief Recovery Handbook, but I can't seem to find it, so if you did leave such a comment, thanks. I'm reading it now and hoping I can bring myself to answer that question up there.

"I know you'll be calling me soon, and if I don't answer, I'm calling the moon..."

Thank you for your supportive comments. Between you folks, the world's best listener Jacki, and a wonderful religious retreat this weekend with my witchy friends, this is all so much better than it could otherwise have been. Last Wednesday was otherworldly. What exactly do you do after you give away your baby to an unstable and unpredictable future?
Our recipe for post-placement slump:
Go home and cry as much as you feel like or until you decide you can't keep crying
Go out to dinner and toast your baby
Walk together for a really long time
Spontaneously take a hot tub on the way back or other such self-care activity
Sleep, sleep, sleep

As in the previous post, I've done a lot of well-wishing and meditating and thinking on Sweetie's behalf, but I suppose there is only so much of that intense concentration one can do. Reconnecting with nature was a huge relief, too. The retreat was on Lake Ontario, which I had never seen (it looks like the ocean!!!). I don't think I've really heard a wave crash in almost two years, and the sound, which I first heard in the pitch dark because we arrived late at night, was inherently deepening and healing. The rest of the weekend at that gorgeous lakeside was so comforting and the waves so rythmicly soothing- I will definitely use a nature retreat the next time, too, if I can. Distraction is useful, too. This week I must catch up at work, go to a wedding shower, close on our new house, participate in a fall equinox celebration, attend a wedding, and start moving. Not much time for wallowing. Busy bee inspire me! Thanks again for the support.

And thanks to the moon and the water for taking me in again.
"Calling the Moon" by Dar Williams

"The moon wanted more of my night
I turned off the engine and the headlights
The trees appeared as they'd never been gone
I promised the fields I'd return from now on

And the moon kept on rising
I had no more to say
I put my roadmaps away
And surendered the day

And I know you'll be calling me soon
And if I don't answer, I'm calling the moon
Calling the moon, I was calling her then
I'm wondering, will she take me again
Oh, I'm calling the moon

When I called the moon back to me
I thought she wanted my beauty
I shone in the best that vanity buys
I covered the path where my life turned to lies

And the moon kept on rising
But I felt nothing at all
She comes when the empire falls
And shines on crumbling walls

Calling the moon, by the name that she chose
As Tennessee wandered in moth-eaten robes
Oh, I'm calling the moon
Calling the moon
Oh, I'm calling the moon

Oh, make sense of me, night
I can see so much from this cold height
The moon said, "Oh darkness, my work is done
I've poured this bottle of light from the sun

But their anger keeps on rising
And they don't understand
I've shown them all that I can
That the world is at hand

And I know they'll be calling me soon
And if I don't answer I'm only the moon
I can see by her light
This one's going out to the moon tonight
Oh, I'm calling the moon

Calling the moon, 'cause I know what it's worth
To tug at the seas and illumine the earth
Oh I'm calling the moon
Oh I'm calling the moon"

Here we go

I've discovered that grief is a sneaky thing. Regardless of all your mixed feelings, and in spite of your being just fine for the longest time, and even if you're totally unaware that it's waiting below the surface, it's perfectly capable of knocking you on your ass at any moment. I don't think there's any experience that quite compares to long-term placement foster parenting. There's nothing quite like counting down the days and hours to the exact time at which you will lose your baby. And she is our baby. You don't parent a kid as amazing as her for a year and not wind up with her being your baby- naysayers can stuff it. I don't know what else to say about it right now. This is only a two day visit. Next week Sweets will be gone permanently. Probably. And isn't that the kicker- the little possibility in the back of your head that she might come back- a voice that is so hard to stomp out. That's it, I guess- I feel sad today.

"It's the end of the summer, when we send our children to the moon."

There's a new chart on Sweetie's door now. Usually it's her sticker chart for good listening and using a big girl voice. Now it's a calendar. I sat down with her and marked out the next few weeks, put smiley faces on her visit days and little beds for her overnight visits coming up, and circled the last day in big purple marker. And now we're crossing off the days as we go along. Sweets is acting out like crazy. I'm only sane because I am religiously rereading my favorite parenting book. We're all starting to feel sad, I think. Hmm.