Gone But Not Forgotten

I was awakened last night by a familiar ache, sharp and demanding, from a place deep in my heart.  A place I rarely visit in these, my old days.  Yet, every now and then the door to that long ago heartbreak opens, and I remember to pray for them.

My daughters.

Cheryl Lynn and Cathy Anne.

It was 1971, and my then husband and I had adopted these beautiful sisters through Los Angeles County, state of California.  They were five and four when we brought them home, and they were now six and five.  Dark brown hair and blue eyes, bouncing energy and perky smiles, they were the culmination of all I had hoped for.

But, today. On this day the end of all my hopes and dreams was at hand. I was returning them to the State. I was giving them back. It was over. I had failed. My husband had failed. I just can't write it here. What I saw. How wrong and selfish I had been to bring them into this house, to satisfy my longing, my needs. There was no other step but to return them, so they might have lives of love and joy.  Not lies.

I wanted a good marriage, a happy family.  I wanted it so badly, my mind refused to accept things as they really were.  I had a husband who was a alcoholic, who had stayed sober for more than two years so we might adopt a family.  A man who had at least 36 affairs in the time we were married, whose every thought and word was convoluted to suit his heart. I had thought I could change it, and believed I had.

Until that night.  When I had awakened and he was gone, and his car was gone. I never heard him come home, my mind was so busy racing with what steps would I take next. For I knew it was all over.  So I arose in the morning to check on the girls, and found the eldest wrapped around my husband.  He looked to be naked.  I threw the bed covers off them, yelling for him to get up and get out.  I noted he wasn't naked, but was wearing under shorts as he staggered from the room.

Even so, the girls were going back. I knew there was drinking and abuse ahead, and I couldn't allow it to happen to him. So here I sat with Cathy on my lap, hugging me tightly and begging me to let her stay.  We rocked and sang, and cuddled and kissed until the doorbell rang. it was time for them to go. Getting belonging stashed in the car, lat second hugs and kisses.  Hold the tears, hold the tears. It is amazing how quickly people can be there and then be gone from your life.  They were there. They were gone. So suddenly. My husband was gone, had been gone. I didn't know where, and I didn't care.

I turned to the room and did a nose dive into black despair.  It was as though I was sucked into a vortex of illness  and trying to cling to sanity. So much of the following year is a blur, just a memory of pain. I was extremely ill, and my weight plummeted to 95 pounds. My husband and I no longer spoke, as I packed my car and left California. I drank and partied in a frenzy the next few months. I couldn't eat; I couldn't  sleep. I buried myself in the neon playground. I divorced my husband, and settled in to live with a man who was to become the father of my son. And still, nothing seemed to touch me, yet it all burned me. I was just so lost.

It was at Christmas time, a year later when I received a letter from the caseworker. She had included a picture of the girls.  She thanked me for my generous heart is being sure these girls found a good, stable home. Their foster parents and three older siblings were adopting them. She concluded by telling me how much the girls still loved me, and wanted their hair to grow like mine, and for Christmas to get "granny gowns" like what I wore.  They wished me a happy Christmas.

And there they were.  Hair long and pulled back on top, with tiny angel curls around their face.  They were smiling from ear-to-ear in their new gowns.  They were no longer mine, except for that special place in my heart.

The picture is gone, the letter is gone and the girls will be in their 50's now. And every once in awhile Jesus awakens me with their memory, and I get to recall that year I called them mine. He has called me to pray for them, and so I do. Then I take their memory, fold it neatly, and tuck it away in my safe place, where nothing can bruise them.

I peeked in to say "goodnight, and then I saw my child in prayer.
"Please, dear God bring me some ribbons, scarlet ribbons for my hair."
"Oh, dear Lord, I have no money" I cried out in wans rsad despair.
"She wants ribbons, lovely ribbons, scarlet ribbons for her hair."
Through the night my heart was breaking, just before the dawn was wakening.
I peeked in and on her pillow, in gay profusion lying there,
I saw lovely little ribbons, scarlet ribbons for her hair.
If I live to be a hundred, I will never know from where
Came all those lovey little ribbons, scarlet ribbons for her hair.

...seeing I had lost my children and was desolate, an exile, 
and driven about? and who hath brought up these?
...behold, I was left alone.  Isaiah 49:21