Dear ex-foster child:

I saw you today.

We talked a bit. It was awkward and a little strained. We both wanted to talk, but words didn't come easily. We talked about the day, about school, about whatever we could.  I longed to squeeze your frame and tell you how much it hurt to let you go.  But I tried to be the adult and continue the conversation light-heartedly and smile.  I hope my eyes told you that I love you.

I loved you then.  I love you now.

It's been 8 years since you moved out and I guess I'm still not completely healed.  I mean, I think I am.  But I'm not.  My heart still aches.  I suppose it always will.  I still see you curled in my lap, tears running down your cheeks as we tried to distract ourselves with a Scooby-Doo movie.  Neither of us were really watching it, but we needed the background noise.  I sniffled & kissed the top of your head a hundred times and whispered "I love you.  I love you.  I love you." over and over.  I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you again and I wanted to make sure you knew.  And wouldn't ever forget.  It was as if I said it over and over it would somehow soak into your pores and stay locked inside you forever.

When you and your brother left, I didn't think I'd ever stop hurting.  I guess I haven't.  It's like a death, really.  You don't ever forget.  You just learn how to move on with your life.  I have.  I don't dwell on it all the time.  But now and then, it hurts just as fresh as it did then.  I know it hurt you far more to move again.  Being uprooted, switching schools, learning a new place, making new friends, getting comfortable in a new home.

It makes me so happy to know that you're nearly grown and you're doing so well.  I know it should make me happy that you barely remember us.  You were so little when you left.  I get it.  You've grown so much since then and you're really home now.  That's as it should be.  They've raised you and done a beautiful job of it.  You're healthy, smart, happy.  That makes me so richly, abundantly joyful.

There are still drawings hanging in my kitchen, right where you hung them 8 years ago.  I have never had the heart to take them down.  Maybe removing the magnets and putting them away means you weren't ever mine, even if for a little while.  And I don't want to give you up completely.  For a little while, you were my child.  One of your pictures made in preschool while you were here still hangs in a frame.  I'm proud of who you are and what you've become.  Preschool was ages ago and high school is your home now.  Hours away from here.  With your family and your friends.

I hope you know that you'll always be a part of my life, even if I'm not in yours.  And I hope, as you fall asleep tonight, you can still hear me whispering "I love you.  I love you.  I love you."