A couple of weeks ago I was out with Daniel doing errands....we had just bought plants to put in our garden and now he was testing all the riding mowers in front of the store (i.e. sitting on them). I happened to glance across the parking lot and my heart nearly stopped. My knees went weak. I was overcome with panic and just froze. They were too far away for me to see their faces, but the basic silhouettes from a distance reminded of me of Daniel's biological parents. After a moment of extreme panic I realized it probably wasn't them and resumed conversing with Daniel about the lawn mowers. Relief.
Why the extreme reaction? It's not that I dislike them. I have no feelings of malice or anger. Instead I think it brought back a flood of memories from 2.5 hard years that probably none of us want to relive. If I saw them, what would I say? What would they say? Would we talk? Would they be angry? There were times that I shared smiles with Daniel's biological mother over something funny Daniel did during our shared hour of visitation. There were times we conversed in the courtroom lobby, in a mixture of English and Spanish, just as I would with any other young woman my age. And then there were those awful times of stress, and tension filled moments inside the courtroom where it felt so adversarial.
In the end it was a jury who made the final decision about parental rights so it was out of my hands. After the verdict was reached and it was the end of the road for her, I felt no joy. I felt absolutely nothing except weariness and numbness. (Can you feel numbness?) After the trial was over and people said congratulations I thought "congratulations for what? This wasn't my personal battle...I hate to see another person suffer...What makes me better than another?" I knew people meant well and I appreciated their support but it was hard to feel joy at another person's expense. Relief maybe. In addition, the final decision was made based on what was best for Daniel's future. It was no longer based on what had brought him into DHS custody initially. No one was labeled as the "bad guy," and I cannot point a finger and say "so and so 'did it'" because I don't know and know one will probably ever know.
In the months leading up to the end of her parental rights, I prayed a lot for her (and him). They were not selfish prayers but prayers for their spiritual well-being. Those prayers had truly transformed my heart and feelings towards them, so that my emotions were no longer conflicted but I truly wanted God's best for them. Now 1.5 years later I admit I am not so faithful to pray for them. But my "glimpse" of them the other day reminded me that they are still out there and even if I never see them again they will, in a sense, always be a part of my life. So maybe it's a reminder to pray again.
