I lost a child today. A part of my heart tore out as we drove away from her as she waved and smiled. I told her I was sorry I couldn't do enough to help her. I told her I would always love her. I told her she would always be a part of me. Then I asked for a hug and kiss and got into my car with the rest of our family and drove away.
Just like that. She is gone. She won't be back. She has gone on to a new life without us, and she's more than thrilled about it.
Did we fail her? Did we really not give her enough love to heal all her wounds? Did we simply stop trying because the cost was too great? That is what those on the outside will say, unless they have been there.
I choose to not be ashamed of the choice we had to make. She was drowning in trauma every day she was kept in the prison she perceived our home to be. The captive had to be set free. We were only causing her further pain, fear, and harm by being selfish enough to hold on to her.
This post will not be published publicly, because it is our story to hold. We have already been betrayed by some of those we love, and exposing the most intimate thoughts of my heart will only be a welcome for more arrows to be shot at our vulnerable hearts.
Healing comes with time, with reflection, with claiming the promises of God, and with the security of others who hold the same story.
Our wounds began 40 months ago. They have left deep, ugly, jagged scars on each of us. They have forced us to find ways to cope with chronic pain, crippling anxiety, worry and burdens that no one should ever have to bear. Now there are new wounds- the wounds of loss. Our white-knuckled, bloody, broken hands finally released her to someone else who can help her in ways we can't. Those hands stand empty now, but they are also able to finally get the attention they need to heal. Bystanders, too many of them, will only talk about those empty hands and disdain them. Others will tend to them, though they may awkwardly fumble around because they don't know what to do. Yet others will hold them, stroke them, and make them feel useful again.
Our obedience will not be wasted. Our sacrifice will not be in vain. The story is not over for the impossible, broken little girl who walked into our lives 40 months ago. It is just starting a new leg of the journey.
