He held my hand, or kept his little foot on my shoulder the entire drive. He sang, he got grumpy, he lit up when I sang Barbara
Ann to him.
I tried to tell his new foster family everything I could think of. His schedule, how he likes to fall asleep, his favorite toys, his favorite foods, the quickest way to calm him down… I know there were things I missed.
We kissed him, gave him hugs, told him how incredibly loved he was, passed him off, and left. Our car empty. Our tears flowing.
We drove the 20 minutes back to our home. Our home that is filled with him, though he’s not here. His wipes are on the floor where I left them. His snack is still on the table; his high chair sitting right in front of it. His toys in the basket right where he was playing before we loaded him into the car. It’s silent. I turned his sound machine off for the last time this afternoon. There’s no giggles. No banging of toys. No “yelling” at Nollie. No pitter patter of feet. Silent.
I asked Tyler on our drive if he’d go back to November and say yes again, knowing that this is how it would end. Our answers are the same; yes.
