Today I feel all “gived” out.


I feel as though I have given all I have left in me, and now I’m coming up empty.


We were informed today that Z’s timeline is moving forward much more quickly than we were led to believe. I want him to spend Christmas with us. But I don’t know that we will get that. We will have court soon, then a family planning meeting, all to discuss Z returning home.


And when I say “home” I don’t really mean it. Z IS home. We are his home. He’s just going back to his first family.


After we got the news, (and I mean DIRECTLY AFTER, in person),  I was informed that a few people had “turned my blog in” for too much disclosure.


After the blow of hearing that Z is leaving, I could have cared less.


“Take my license,” I wanted to say. “Take all these stupid appointments, and this critical, judgmental eye off my home, and off my blog, and off my social media, and off me. Take the vaccines I don’t want to give my kids. Take the regulations, and the doctors appointments, and the trainings, and the tool boxes all locked up with medicine. Take the stress of being a foster family. Take the uncertainty of never knowing what is going on, and when, and having no say in the life of this child I have raised for 3/4ths of his life. You are taking this kid. So, please take my license, and for goodness sake, just let my family be.”


That is what I wanted to say.


I said nothing. I just cried.



God reminded me today that He told us to carry our crosses to follow him. He didn’t say, “pick up your hefty check, your gift certificates to the spa, and book those cruises, then follow me.” He said, “hey. Here’s a torture device intended to slowly kill you. Pick that up. Carry it. And follow me.”


Right now my torture device is letting Z go. Is counting down to court, then counting down to reunification. It is watching this sweet boy trust me with everything in him, and in the end, I have to let him go and not be his mom anymore. Our family has to figure out how to shrink to a family of 4. I have to be a girl mom, and not a boy mom anymore. And the one person I have given my all to protect with be out from my wings. He will wonder where I am, he will wonder what happened to his home, and I will just lay there all night long yearning for him and praying for him, and worrying that he’s not all right.


Maybe in time I will feel differently. But if there were ever a day I said “I quit” — it would be today.

PS. I am not angry at any caseworker, agency worker or social worker. I’m just upset at the timing, and the fact that Z must go through this. I’m not angry at people reporting me. I’m doing the best I can to be vague about Z, and real about us. I’m not perfect, and I even wonder if this post will get reported. (Sigh.) I’m sure the people who reported had our best interest at heart. I’m also not saying we will for sure quit. Just that for right now, I don’t know how to go on.

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