In the movie American Tail, Fivel has lost his family. As he sits atop the Statue of Liberty he sings the song, "Some Where Out There" to the beautiful night sky, thinking of his family, while some where, out there, his sister and family are singing the same song about him, looking at the same night sky. Fivel is unaware of his family's location, even though they're close by, and he feels reunification is a seemingly endless battle, but he still has hope. I know how he feels! I can't even begin to count the many times I have gazed at the stars, hearing that song in my head, and thought of my children, some where, out there. My children, some place in this world, looking at the same stars I am, sharing the same sky, but not sharing the same home.
I've been going through some struggles recently, and I seem to find myself thinking of the little lives I lost quite frequently these days. I think it's human nature to replay your hurts and mistakes through your head when times are tough. Lately, I've been thinking that it's not fair, things are different now, they should be home, wishing I could change the past, hoping for a magic wand to make it all right, or better yet, I'd love to wake up and realize this was just a bad dream, but it's not, losing my children is a reality, and this pain, is very real.
It's times like this that I am especially grateful for my relationship with Rebecca. Because of her kind, open heart, I can talk to and see Ashley, whenever she's available. This is amazing, but I would be lying if I said I wasn't jealous of Rebecca and her husband. It's a funny place to be in, to have so much love and admiration for two people, to have absolute joy over the fact that these people I love taking care of my baby girl, but at the same time, wish there was never a need to have met them. (I in no way regret my daughter's placement, or my fantastic relationship with her mother, just speaking from the bio-mom perspective) I wish I could have met them at church or the PTA instead of having to meet them because I failed as a parent. None the less, Ashley is still a part of my life, I'm still her mother, and I'm happy to be sharing her with such wonderful, amazing, brave, courageous, persistent, and consistent people, that love her unconditionally, just like I do.
And then there's Hannah. I go to bed at night knowing Ashley is safe, and in a good place. But with Hannah, I know nothing. There is a complete lack of communication between myself and her parents. Not a day goes by that I don't worry about what's going on with her. I worry, so much, that she thinks I don't care about her, or I don't love her and think about her constantly. I want to hold her in my arms, like I can with Ashley. I long for my child all the time, and I wonder is she some where out there, longing for me? Does she think of me as much as I think of her? Is she ever going to be able to forgive me for losing her? Does she, like Ashley, worry I didn't want her? Does she know how hard I fought for her? Will she ever understand?
As I sit, starring up at the same big sky that my children are under, and ponder these difficult questions, I know without a shadow of doubt, my children are still my children. And for everything I've done wrong, I've done twice as much to get better. Life is just testing me right now, on patience, tolerance and acceptance, and for my children's sake and my own, I will pass this test. I will never give up or give in to the dark thoughts I sometimes have about myself and my past. I will use those feelings as fuel for my fire, to fight for change of a broken system, to pave the way for mother's and families, to make sure they receive the help they deserve to stay together. I will succeed.
So, in this journey of healing, I acknowledge I have been given this path for a reason, and my children, no matter where they might be, are travelling this path with me So even when this path gets bumpy, as it is right now, I will continue to follow it, wherever it may take me, trusting that my children are indeed "some where out there", and we will someday wish upon the same bright star, together as a family, with their forever families there too. In the meantime, I will continue to have faith like Fivel, and know that love will see us through.