I didn’t cry the day Jen, Victor and Nick left. They were our first foster kids. Our first kids period.
I was so exhausted. At the end of all the ropes. My body couldn’t even process it.
Part of me devastated. Part of me relieved.
Wondering whether it was ok to feel all that I was feeling. Or any of it.
So I kept it in.
At least until the next day.
I was at a local Vietnamese restaurant waiting for my pho. I munched on a tray of fresh veggies and reached up to rub my eye.
And then screamed. And continued to scream as my eye burned with the fire of a thousand dragons. Jonathan rushed me to the only restroom. In the middle of the kitchen.
All the emotions of the last 24 hours and 6 months poured out.
I wailed and cursed in that tiny kitchen bathroom as Jonathan doused my eye with water, stroked my back with kindness and apologized to the staff with fervor.
He then ushered me out the door. Looking back at our table with my good eye, I spotted a juicy jalapeño bleeding all over the bamboo shoots on my plate.
After that I didn’t need jalapeño to cry. The emotions flowed fully and quickly. And still do.