"Don't be discouraged. It's often the last key in the bunch that opens the lock."
- Anonymous
I always hesitate to write a sad post - I can't help but think if I just refuse to admit how discouraged I am at the moment, the feeling will pass quickly and I will be back to my usual realistic-bordering-on-optimistic self. But then I guess my blogging about this journey wouldn't be true to the journey.
Emerson's paperwork has not yet been sent from her Social Work Center. And the Ministry officials have been very, very persistent these last few weeks to try to get it. I am grateful for that fact, but therein lies my discouragement... if they have tried so hard already without success, how can I hope they will be successful in the near future?
I feel very patient for our little sweetheart, but I'm afraid patience won't be enough here. I'm afraid February will pass. March will pass. And April and then May will arrive either still with no travel date or with plane tickets we cannot possibly afford. Our home study expires in July, we cannot afford to redo everything. And of course her heart, always her heart.
I know these are all just fears. And maybe next week the Center will pull through and those fears will have been entertained for nothing. But it takes a lot of energy to bite back fears and maintain hope every minute of every day. And right now I'm just tired and wondering if someone is trying to break it gently that there might not be a happy ending for us. Once doubt creeps in, it's like juice spilled on the kitchen counter - it spreads everywhere, running down the cupboard and into the crevices of the drawers, so you're sure to miss some when you're cleaning up.
Cade will turn 5 on Valentine's Day, Feb 14. He wants a Spiderman party. I can't plan one because I don't know where we'll be, or when. I know it's something so simple, so insignificant in the big picture... but it represents the enormity of what it means to pause your life, hold your breath and wait for something without knowing how long that wait will be or how long you can hold your breath before you pass out. I feel guilty that I have to make him wait to celebrate his birth while we wait to bring another child home. And I feel guilty for not being able to do anything for that new child. It's hard to fight back that doubt that says I'm failing them both.
Right now it feels like hope has retreated to the shadows in my mind. But somehow I can always still just see the outline and remind myself that maybe tomorrow she will step out again, ready to scrub the counter.
