Where Did Love Go?

My baby is gone. No she isn't dead or anything like that thank God, but she is gone from our house and temporarily from our life. We have returned her to from where she came. It feels like taking something back to the store, only we are not returning just any merchandise we are giving back love.I believe it is the right thing to do and I believe that ultimately it will what is best for her. We will have to relearn our relationship with her all over again in time. When she does return to our house she will come back as our grand daughter not our child. Right now the pain is just to much for us to deal with.

You see my husband and I have raised her almost from birth and she in a little more than three years old right now. We are Soleil's grandparents, not her parents. To me all this was mostly a technicality though. Sure I am much to old to bear a baby anymore in fact I will be 60 this year, but in my heart of hearts I was as much her Momma as if I had given birth to her. My husband and I were there when she was born for that matter. We got to see her take her first breath and then were among the first to welcome her into the world. I know, most grand parents do the same things under normal circumstances, but for very personal reasons my daughter was unable to take care of her so because she loved her enough to admit that fact and accept the fact that her small daughter was better off with someone who would love her and take care of her as if she was their own she came to live with us. We opened up our arms and our hearts and fell madly, deeply in love with our angel.

Don't get me wrong, it was far from easy. You see my husband and I had only been married two years when Soleil was born and my husband through choice had never wanted children. He didn't even have much use for them and was completely inexperienced in what it entails to raise a child. I relearned what I had forgotten so many years ago and my husband willingly took on the thankless job of being a new father in his 50s. We did it all. We did the every three hour feedings. My husband had sworn he would never change a diaper and then Soleil needed hers changed and her Poppa changed it. We bought diapers, formula, baby clothes and pacifiers. We debated over what kind of baby wipes seemed to work best and we learned to work our way through colic and teething.

My husband who is an author and an Internet radio show host gave up the office that he had waited so long to have in order to turn in into a nursery for our little one. Fairies took the place on the wall that his world clock had held. We had been free to head out of the house for dinner at a moments notice and now when we went we had to carry an infant seat and find a place to sit it on a chair at our table where we would pray for a chance at a quiet dinner before Soleil would begin to cry and we would have to leave. Surprisingly most of the time it was quiet, unless she was hungry too. The we left quietly and she ate. She was our Princess and we her loyal subjects. We burped, bathed and creamed her delicate skin. We toured so many clothing stores for children that my husband could probably guide tours at most of them. I know I probably could.

We, all three of us, grew together into a family. Now she is gone from us. Our house where blocks covered the floor is now neat and clean. There are no screams from a growing little girl who saw a bug flying near her and decided it was a bee. To this I am sure the neighbors will be relieved. I however seem to be stuck at the moment in an empty, silent void where kisses are not a part of a bedtime routine. Her stack of books sits in one corner of the book shelf where every night together she and I would read, "Hippos Go Berserk." Right now I can't touch them, because when I even think about going there tears run down my face. Now her birth mother will read her those stories. This is where she should be I tell myself. My daughter has healed and can now take care of the little girl that we love and treasure beyond any amount of gold. I'm sure that you wonder why I have chosen to write about such a private pain, but I have learned that writing is a way of expelling hurt from your soul. Writing is a healer of sorts. My soul needs to heal.

Pain passes and so will this. I wouldn't change any of this. My husband and I got to share the joy of becoming parents at our advanced age. We got to look over our little one's head and silently share the pride and happiness that new parents take in their child's accomplishments. We had Santa Claus visit our home. The Easter bunny left baskets and Halloween gave us a chance to show off our little Fairy with the world. My husband would lay on the floor with her and play with her (he actually watched her and she played) if he would get frustrated and get up she would call him back to "Come play-toys- Poppa." He became her trusty steed and she learned to hang on tight to his neck as he would crawl around the house screaming, "Horsey ride -horsier ride."

Our little one has gone back home to live with her birth mother and her two brothers. She is being loved, taken care of and she will be happy. She is finally where she belong and for this I am happy. I just wish my heart didn't hurt so much. My husband wipes away his tears