It's been a long time since I've seen the movie "Losing Isaiah". I remembered that it was a movie about a black child being raised in a white foster home.
Since I became a foster parent movies like this are seen through a different lens. I have a different perspective of the characters, the children, the circumstances. I was reminded of this when I caught the last 15 minutes of Losing Isaiah tonight.
WARNING SPOILER ALERT:
The scene I caught was the birth Mom taking the baby home. Then the foster parents are shown in their home. The foster dad tries to put a toy away and the foster mom tells him to leave it. He wants to move on, she wants to stay stuck in a world where she doesn't have to move.
And it felt like someone had stabbed my heart. I had lived several moments just like the one on the tv. The emotional reaction to the scene was immediate.
Hubby wanted to move out all the kids' stuff and I wanted to hang on to it. Deep down my hope was that they would come back. And we had a heated moment that ended with me crumpled on the floor in grief just like in the movie. The foster mom crying out she didn't know it would hurt so much to lose him. Words I uttered more than once.
I'm still crying 20 minutes later. Grief bottled up, spilling back out. This time I'm crying because of what will never be. The kids aren't coming back, although, they have not disappeared as I feared. In fact, we will be seeing them tomorrow. But my dreams for them, for us as a family are gone. And the fear of the unknown hanging over me.
A few months ago I was ready for sweeping change, now I'm craving stability. Or a plan. I'd settle for a plan.