Housekeeping

My meme is gone. Today at noon her caseworker came to take her away. Last week when I was told that she'd be leaving, I sobbed, noisily and snottily and gaspily (yep, real words!) as I thought about losing her. Today? I'm ok.

Here's the thing. I believe that God has a plan for her life. I believe God knew her before her conception, knows the number of her days, and has plans to prosper her and keep her safe. I really believe that, and so my grief, while still present, is softer, easier, manageable.

Also? There will be other babies. Other babies who need love and compassion and someone to rock them to sleep and tickle their chins and play peek a boo with them. Other babies who need the safety of a nightlight and a soft voice at 2 AM, the security of a warm bath, fleece jammies, and a cup of warm milk before bed. Other babies who won't have an auntie and a grandmama to go back home to. Other babies who will need what I have to give.

I can hope to see my meme again, to call out, "what are yoooo doooo-ing" and have her look at me with a wide grin and then crawl lightning quick into my outstretched arms. That may or may not happen. But I can also pray for her safety, pray for her heart and spirit, pray for her future and rest in the knowledge that whatever happens to my beloved meme will be part of her planned life and that all the love I drenched her in will be a part of that.

Tomorrow I will put away the toys, the highchair, the safety gates. I will wash the crib sheets, put away the wicker baskets of extra clothing, sanitize and pack away the bottles and nipples. I will clear away the plethora of infant soaps, dreft, bibs, washclothes, tubes of desitin and other detritus that makes up the daily life of a baby. I will swiffer doghair along with mopping away drool stains, polishing off the tiny fingerprints on my coffee table, and will clean my meme out of my house.

But she'll never leave my heart.