Lauren CasperLast night, I ran into Walmart to grab a few things for our dinner while John and the kids waited in the car. After rushing through the aisles, I made my way to the self-checkout.
As I loaded my bags back into my cart, I heard soft voices just a few feet away.
Turning, I found two little boys hovering over the candy display. They were turning the bags over in their hands and talking to one another about it – their faces an inch apart.
Something about the back of their heads was just so familiar so I stood there watching for a moment.
Then he turned around.
The air sucked out of my lungs, and my heart pounded in my chest as I felt a mixture of elation and searing pain. I was staring at the face of one of our foster sons.
I hadn’t seen that precious face for nearly seven years, but it was the same little face, just on a much taller body.
I stood there frozen, memorizing everything about him and then his twin brother turned around. My heart could have burst at that moment.
There they were, the sons I have loved daily for seven years, standing less than five feet from me. I was breathless. And then their gaze met mine.
I smiled softly and silently begged them to recognize me as I looked into their eyes. Two blank stares met my gaze.
Nothing. My heart broke a little as I realized they no longer knew me. How could they, though? They were 2 1/2 when they left my arms… they will turn nine next week.
Still, I had hoped. These boys I had rocked to sleep every night for 87 nights.
I kissed their boo-boos and wiped their tears. When they got sick, I wrapped them in blankets and held them close. We laughed and splashed at bath time and picnicked in the mountains.
I was there when they first saw the ocean. Now I am a stranger in Walmart.
Their father finished checking out behind me and called to the boys. They quickly dropped the candy bags and followed their dad.
I grabbed my cart and hurried behind them. Once outside, I stood and watched as they half-skiped/half-trotted down the sidewalk to the other side of the parking lot.
The joy I felt at seeing them quickly melted into grief as they faded from view. It was over in a blink – one minute, they were there, and the next, they were gone. Again.
As they rounded the corner, I was transported back seven years. Two little boys wearing two little backpacks were half skipping and half trotting to the social services van.
Through my tears I buckled them in when one looked up at me and said, “It’s okay! Jesus with me when I go bye-bye car.” The van pulled away while we stood weeping in the front yard. That had been the last moment I saw them.
As they disappeared from view, I stood outside Walmart with tears streaming down my cheeks, whispering to myself his sweet little words, “It’s okay. Jesus with me when I go bye-bye…” And I will do what I have done for the last seven years.
I will love, miss, and hold them in my heart forever because life isn’t always wrapped up in a pretty little bow, and some hurts last forever.
I would do it all over again because they are infinitely worth it.
