I started writing this last Friday...

...but then Friday turned crazy then turned into Saturday.  And by then, we knew that the CPS office in the region from whence our two little ones originally came had decided to come out and get the kids and bring them back.  So I let Saturday turn into Monday because it was gorgeous outside, and it seemed ludicrous in the last days we would get to spend with Little Bit and Baby Bit to sit on a computer and carry on.

     Tonight, though, our home will be a quieter place.

Our 6-year-old's Goodbye Card for the girls

     We will not hear Little Bit begin to screech as a dog comes around the corner, stop screeching as she remembers suddenly what we've worked so hard to teach her, then put her finger to her pursed lips and tell the dog, "Shhh. Go 'ay 'own."  We will not get to see the dog acquiesce in resignation and walk away.  We will not hear Little Bit's tiny hands clapping as she yells, "Yay!" just before throwing her arms up in victory over a creature that only bewildered and frightened her just a week ago.  She's learned so much.  But now she has to start over.  There will undoubtedly be new fears tonight.  New places, things, and strange people, and she will need to figure out with her young, young mind just how to trust in someone that seems trustworthy when the last family really, really felt trustworthy but then was gone.

     We will not hear Baby Bit blowing raspberries - a new trick learned earlier this week, one that has kept us all in stitches since.  We will not hear her vocalizations as she works so hard to mimic these sounds that everyone else, even big sister now, seems to be able to make and understand.  We will not hear the ridiculous noises and music from the toys planted atop the exersaucer as it is shaken and stirred by an infant who is kicking and bouncing in her quest to become a toddler.  The exersaucer will be empty and sit idle tonight.

     Our home will be quieter, but a lot of that quiet will be the result of a profound sadness and sense of loss.

     Our new mission, now, will be to overcome those feelings and see the hope that still exists in these little ones' future.  Part of that mission will be to remind ourselves and one another that life happens in moments and that we never know which moments are turning points among the morass of moments that are forgotten.  We'll need to hope that what we gave these little girls in their short time with us will amount, one day, to a turning point that will face them toward a more positive future than the past that brought them to our door late on a Tuesday evening.  We will need to pray for the family that takes them in tonight, and ask that they gain the wisdom and patience and love that will give these little girls in some permanent way the foundation that we worked so hard to begin laying for them within themselves.

     Known safety.  That's really all one can give to Baby Bit.  And it's really all that Little Bit needs.  When we know deep within us that we are safe, only then can we move forward.  For all that my wife is an amazing teacher and brought all of her expertise to bear in working with Little Bit, what our family provided was the known safety that would let her lessons take root in fertile soil rather than fall among the stones of fear and uncertainty.

     So that is my ultimate prayer and hope for these little ones.  That they know safety wherever they land.  That they can curl up in their beds at night and sleep the sleep of contented dreamers and wake refreshed with the hope that only a new day brings.  Like they did in our home.

     Good bye, Little Bit.  So long, Baby Bit.  Remember that this bridge is here.  You are part of us now.  Part of our family.  And you ever will be.  There will be pictures of you on our walls right beside your sisters and brothers.  Be careful with our hearts.  You carry them with you.  Always.

     I love you, both.