I teased you at the beginning of the week, saying we were expecting good news at the end of the week. We were. We didn’t get any.
I drove nine hours to get the news, tried to distract myself in the waiting for the news, prayed silently and harder than I ever have in a tiny courtroom, at the feet of a judge who could, should change so many lives for good and forever, thought of King Solomon (wished he had been there), and in 10 anti-climactic minutes it was over.
Somebody’s attorney hadn’t had a chance to talk with somebody so … the whole thing was postponed.
I got in my car and drove nine hours home, feeling bereft and disappointed – but not regretful I went.
Because if King Solomon had been there, he’d have known who cared most about the child. He’d have seen one mom willing to do the hard thing, walking away empty-handed, with no child and no promise.
And I’d do it. And I’ll do it. Again. And Again.
It doesn’t really feel like parenting if your heart doesn’t get good and flayed every once in a while.