a series of goodbyes

i’m a mother of seven now.

to the person reading me for the first time, seven sounds like a substantial responsibility, but when i say seven, i really mean “one less than eight”-  the gap of her absence still resounds in this house.

one of our loveliest ladies left last week, leaving us waving goodbye with heavy hearts and downturned mouths.

to be honest, i can’t quite spell out why exactly the exit lights turned on so abruptly or who´s fingers flicked them, but somehow her mom’s custody papers went through faster than expected and all of a sudden she had the opportunity to leave.

we knew it was coming; it had been talked about. 

but it happened several weeks early;
so unexpected on an otherwise normal tuesday morning.

and how do you even react? the words barely came. “here, you can use my luggage to put your stuff into. but this all doesn’t sound right to me! you don’t have to go yet if you don’t want to- you have a voice.”

and the thing is, she was set on staying, until all of a sudden she wasn’t. the window of opportunity was open wide- she hesitated for a second, thinking, but then raced excitedly through, leaving a veering trail of tight hugs, radiant smiles, and blown kisses.

and it’s hard to know just what to say. in fact, i didn’t say much of anything. “i love you, beautiful, and hope things go well. we’ll be praying for you.” because how do things even happen like this? like my friend Alisha said

“Kids don’t just... leave. They’re not supposed to.”

i could list a hundred things i should have said after the fact. but that's beside the point- she has left. i was mulling it over in my head, and it's kind of like when you let a butterfly go after you've raised it from a caterpillar: it's this amazingly complex creature, and it's safe and sound (to a degree) within it's cage, but you know that when it's finally released to the open air, it's fly or tailspin. you know that it will encounter storms, nighttime, thick dark forests, and dangerous birds that'll want to eat it alive. but like another friend told me, "she's been here awhile and accepted the opportunity to do life outside. the only thing you can do now is pray for her, trust God to protect her, and ask that He would keep your doubts from coming true."

anyways. through it all, i'm constantly reminded of the transition in this community. it’s the very essence of life, and of this house especially. sometimes transition is devastating, and sometimes it’s beautiful, but a lot of the time, it’s just one big mix of both.

cheers to dealing with reality.
God, I'm trusting You to take care of all of us.