Hurricane Hazel

I unhooked our girl from her carseat and carried her to the door. Taking a deep breath, I gave her a smile and knocked. As the door opened, I could see that there was a celebration about to take place inside, and her aunt was standing in front of us bubbling over with excitement. I wanted to be happy, because all the people inside were so excited, but I was heartbroken. 

The court hearing has taken place, and our girl has left our home, officially placed with her aunt for immediate adoption. In an instant, all of our excitement and all of our hopes and dreams were completely dashed. There isn't a thought that I have had in these past few days that doesn't involve her, and to be honest, I don't think I will ever get over Hazel.

She came into our lives with a hurricane force; when we got her, she had frequent inconsolable temper tantrums, she fell frequently and ran into things, and at almost 2, didn't say a single word.  She didn't know how to play with toys or look at books. She was recently diagnosed with a sensory processing disorder, which explained so many of her behavioral and developmental issues. We were finally able to research and learn how to help her in a way that she understood. I have to believe that this was our purpose in her life. She will now receive the services she needs because we noticed red flags and pushed for answers with doctors, therapists and case workers. 

The good news is that she is with blood relatives, and she is so loved and wanted by her aunt, her uncle and their expanding family. They are good people, and will keep her far removed from the turmoil and questionable activity that embodies her bio parents. She now has 3 new siblings, including a 3-year-old who is already her new partner in crime. Her forever home has room with a Tinkerbell toddler bed just for her, and a playground around the corner. She will be fine, and luckily, will have no memory of four different home placements before arriving at her forever home. We, on the other hand, need some time to heal. (And to voice complaints about the way this entire situation was handled.)

As I walked away from her for the last time, I couldn't bear to look back, until I heard her aunt laugh and say, "She's waving at you."  I turned to look, and she was. She was waving her little hand right at me, just the way I had taught her.