It has been three weeks since the kids left.
The day after, their mom called to ask me to pick Spanky up from his school program. I said yes. In the moment, I felt like a sucker. In retrospect, I’m glad that I went because it was the last, last time I saw them.
I spent the days after in a whirlwind of holiday travel. In many ways, it was noticeably easier and lighter with only myself to fend for. In other ways, it felt very empty.
My girlfriend helped me pack up the kids clothes and belongings. So many memories in two years of living together…
Thankfully, she also rearranged the house. Their room is gone and my stuff is organized again. The space feels good.
Some of my coworkers know but many don’t. Each day is like the continual process of coming out. ”How are the kids doing?” turns into an explanation of how they aren’t my kids anymore. Never were my kids in the first place…
I’m sad. It hurts worse than I expected.
Next month, I’m supposed to talk to my licensing worker’s MAPP class about my experience. I don’t know what to tell those people. ’Go be a foster parent! Do your part in the life of a child!’ Meh.
It was the best of times and the worst of times and I’m done with it.