Lucy came surrounded by heartache. Her mother hadn’t spoken to me in six years, and although there had been some communication in recent days, I was not invited when she went into labor. I walked down to the hospital and wandered the halls in the labor and delivery unit until I heard voices I recognized behind a door. I stood alone in the hallway, crying, while my third grandchild was born.
Lucy left yesterday, 30 months later, again surrounded by heartache. Of necessity, her mother made peace with me and let me become Lucy’s primary babysitter for about a year, then Lucy and her mother moved in with us. Seven months later, they moved up the street, so it was easy for us to watch Lucy when her mother worked and went to class, or to just pick her up for a quick visit to the park.
We never missed a chance to see her, and when her other babysitters bailed out, we jumped at the chance to fill in. We all love Lucy.
When her mother told us they were moving to a distant state, we cried and secretly hoped that it would work out that they would stay, as it had before. But they left. They left five days late, which was hard, because we had to say goodbye to her three times, and now they’re gone and it hurts to breathe and it hurts to close our eyes and it hurts to see all her stuff around the house.
It hurts, but we wouldn’t trade our time with her for anything. I learned long ago that what we give to our children we give freely, not for them but for ourselves. I can’t think of a better way to use our time and affection.
Hurry home, Lucy. We love you....
|Can't wait to say, "Lucy's back, Lucy's back...."|