Empty Arms

“I loved you like there was no tomorrow.

And then one day there wasn’t.”  - unknown

The image, the haunting, nagging image, is forever etched in my mind.  The image of the white county-issue car, the social worker in the driver’s seat, the top of the baby seat just visible through the back window, heading down my driveway, the brake lights getting smaller with each turn of the wheels.  One of my most beloved treasures, the little one I adore to the very center of my marrow, is leaving.

I know that it is only for the day, for a little while.  I know that she will return later this afternoon, and I will once again hug her close and squeeze her chubby thighs and tickle her round tummy that jiggles when she laughs.  But for the next few hours there is a hollowness in my heart, a void that only she is able to fill.  For the next few hours, in a dark foreshadowing of what may indeed become real when the judge bangs the gavel for the last time, my arms are empty.

The image, the haunting, nagging image, is forever etched in my mind.  The image of the clear hospital bassinet, the wires snaking into it from the machines against the wall, the top of my baby’s head just visible underneath the blankets.  I am walking away from my beloved treasure, the little one I adore to the very center of my marrow, unsure of when I will see my baby again.

I know that it is only temporary, for a little while.  I know that I will see my child next week, or maybe the week after that, and will once again kiss her round cheeks and feel those tiny fingers wrapped tightly around mine.  But for the next few days, or maybe weeks, there is a hollowness in my heart, a void that only this baby is able to fill.  For now, with a frightening foreboding of what the future might hold, my arms are empty.

I will never forget the day I met her.  My family and I had received “the call” late one night, asking if we would be willing to temporarily care for this tiny foster baby, the one in the neonatal unit whose mother was not able to safely care for her.  With barely a moment’s hesitation, we eagerly volunteered, instantly opening our hearts and our home to her before we even laid eyes on her.  She was a priceless, precious child in need of love, and we were excited, as well as humbled and honored, to be the ones to lavish it on her. 

I arrived at the hospital the next day with a doll-sized dress, a soft pink blanket, and an empty car seat, and left a few hours later with my car, my arms, and my heart overflowing with the enormity of it.   I had been entrusted with this amazing gift, and I vowed to love her, to care for her, to protect her with everything in me.

I will never forget the day she was born.  It hadn’t started out, necessarily, as part of my plan for my life, but once I got used the idea, I eagerly looked forward to my baby’s arrival!  I tried, Lord knows I tried, to get things in order.  To be strong and healthy, to make good decisions, and to provide a safe place for my child to live. 

However, things didn’t exactly turn out the way I imagined they would. The nine months flew by in a whirlwind of complicated relationships, tumultuous events, and difficult circumstances, so that by the time she was born, I wasn’t fully ready.  I didn’t even get a chance to complete the online baby registry I had started.

But oh, how I loved her at first sight!  I was in awe of this sweet thing with a full head of hair and a miniature nose that looks just like mine!  It broke my heart to leave her in the hospital after I was healthy enough to leave, but faithfully, every day for the next month while she received the medical care she needed, I visited her, spending long hours cuddling her, singing to her, letting her know how much I adored her.

My heart ached at the enormity of it.  I had unexpectedly been given this valuable gift, and yet I felt caught off guard, unprepared to provide her with even the basic necessities.  I vowed at that moment to do everything I could possibly do to become the mother that she needed me to be.

I have thoroughly enjoyed every minute I have spent with this beloved girl!  Feeding her, watching her grow, celebrating her milestones, capturing her beautiful smile with my always-ready camera.  She brings more joy to my life than I ever would have anticipated!  I love her every bit as much as if she had been born to me.

However, the other side of the story is that I hate, with everything that is in me, visitation day.  The day each week that she spends with her birth mother.  The day I am reminded that my minutes with her are just that – minutes, instead of a lifetime.  The day a piece of my heart is missing, and I can’t help but count the hours until she returns safely to my empty arms.

The days are so terribly long and silent without her to fill them.  I hate, with everything that is in me, that she is living with another family, that someone else is holding her and watching her grow.  That she shares her smile with a mother that is not me.  And so I count, every week I count, the hours until my visit with her.  The hours until I can see her and hold her and kiss her again.

How can people possibly understand the emptiness I feel every week during her absence?  The terror in my heart when I dare to think about the day she will be gone permanently?  “This is what you signed up for,” they say.  “It was your choice to become a foster parent.  What did you expect?”  Those may indeed be the facts, but it doesn’t change the heart.  My heart was made to love, and this is the one it has chosen!

How can people possibly understand the emptiness I feel every day that she is not with me?  The terror in my heart when I dare to think about the day she will be gone permanently?  “This is your fault,” they say. “It was your choices and lifestyle that led her to be taken away from you.  What did you expect?”  Those may indeed be the facts, but it doesn’t change the heart.  My heart was made to love, and this is the one it has chosen!

We are not adversaries.  In fact, she may be the only person in the entire world who loves this child as passionately as I do.  Who understands the agony of being separated from her.  Who knows the fear of possibly losing her forever.  She and I are both mothers, on difference sides of the same coin.

We don’t know what will happen.  What decisions the courts will make that will decide this child’s future.  Where she will live.  Who her forever family will be.  Who will have the joy and privilege and honor of watching her grow.  Who will be there on her first day of school.  Who will be cheering during her recitals and championship games and graduation.  Who will be there on her wedding day.

For one of us, the court’s decision will be a day of rejoicing and celebrating with family, neighbors, and friends – all offering heart congratulations and best wishes.  A day of incomparable joy.  The end of uncertainty.  The embracing of a daughter who no longer has to be shared.

But for one of us, that day will mean heart-break and devastating loss and grief - a powerful and bitter grief that will be carried deep within the heart every single day until the final breath.  For one of us, it will mean the distant memories of having loved, ever so briefly, the sweetest thing on the planet.  Of always wondering if things could have turned out differently.  Of having a hole in the heart that no other child could possibly fill.

For one of us, that day will mean, with overwhelming finality, empty arms.