Making Cocoa

Several months ago, while the Squirmers was taking a nap, I stood in my kitchen and made hot cocoa. Sure, it was a summer afternoon in central Florida - sunny and incredibly hot - but what struck me as so odd was that it felt so normal.

After the last week of January and the first week of February, I was surprised to find myself making cocoa on an afternoon in July. My mother, a wise, tiny woman, had told me that while the pain would always be there, I would be able to keep going (keep going = functioning as a member of society, worshiping God just because He is Great, and making cocoa just because I wanted something chocolate). Grieving for a failed placement is odd - you feel like there was a death; but there wasn't a death; but there was. Your bedroom has an empty bassinet and you just close the door to the nursery so you don't see his name on the wall; but the tiny life you held is still healthy and keeping someone else up at night, you might even run into him at the grocery store someday. It was helpful to hear, from a woman who knows, that even though the pain will last, life can get better.

I have discovered a somewhat bittersweet effect from our experience last January - compassion.
Bitter, because it has broken me to hear about another failed placement. I feel selfish about this pain. It's not something you would ever wish others would understand. Sure, it's nice to be encouraged by others and for friends to bring you pizza. But to know that someone else experienced this - shortness of breath, trying to keep calm in front of your social workers, calling your family to tell them their grandson/nephew isn't joining the family, hearing your little sister start crying while she's at her desk at work, your husband holding you while you convulse with tears, sitting on the porch swing for hours unsure of what to do with yourself. Somehow, it hurts even more to know that someone else knows what this feels like.
Sweet, well, I'm hopeful that there is a sweet part to this discovery. Right now I think it's the depth and sincerity of my appeals to God for this family.