Grieving

I knew it was coming. My husband and I have watched and waited for the other shoe to drop. Here he is, 10 years old, having lived with a wonderful foster family for 5 years. It was bound to happen. He finally let loose last night after Christmas Eve dinner. As we all sat around the dining room table, laughing and talking and doing what families do together, he watched in silence. Only later did it dawn on me that he couldn't understand a thing we were saying. Even the Littles (both from China and Finn home only a year) were involved in the conversations and talking in English. How alone he must have felt at that moment, realizing there was no one to talk to, no one who understood him.

And so once we got home from Grandma and Grandpa's house and I frantically attempted to get all the Littles into bed so we could finish wrapping and get the house ready for the next day, he blew and my night was altered.

I spent over an hour with him, holding him, rubbing his back and telling him I loved him and it was okay to be sad and cry. This is huge because although he was grieving for another place and another family, he let me comfort him, he welcomed it. Thank you, God, for that that small miracle. Thank you, God, for allowing me to comfort my son in his darkest hours. It is the one time that spoken language isn't needed. It's the one time that touch and comfort are what's needed. He knows he is loved. He knows he is wanted.

He's already melted down twice today so I know we have a long road ahead of us. But at least he has feelings that can be validated and he lets me comfort him. That is huge!