This time last year, Cordelia was just over a month old and we brought her with us on this trip. She was a beauty and wherever we went with that child in our arms, we were merely escorts to her radiance. Strangers stopped us just to gaze at here. People Leo works with fought to hold her. And we were smitten.
I’ve done a lot of healing over the past seven months since Cordelia was sent to live with her aunt. But it still really hurts when I think about her. And I miss what our family could have been.
None of that has been so raw until this week. And people remember her. And they ask where our baby is. And it breaks my heart to tell that story again and again and again.
Tonight I talked to another adoptive mom and she told me the story of a child that was returned to his mother after eight days. She couldn’t contain her tears when I told her how we had loved Cordelia for five months before family surfaced. That we had signed intent papers, that we had begun to plan a life together.
Those who know the IRL me, know that I’m not one to wear my emotions on my sleeve. I tend to smile politely and look for the bright side. It’s the southern in me. I think I’ve become really good at this since becoming a foster mom.
This week, though, I’m having a very hard time doing that. Each time I’m asked about my beautiful baby girl, a little more of my bright-side smile crumbles. And a little bit more of the sore loss feeling in my chest aches.
I miss her so very much.