Two year old grief.

Life just isn't always fair, and from my vantage point right now it couldn't be more true.  Life has been unfair to the little boy we picked up this afternoon.  For those that haven't been through it before, let me tell you that what we experienced this afternoon and what we are experiencing as I type this isn't for the faint of heart.  The loss this little boy has suffered in his first two years is something I wouldn't wish upon anyone. 

To sit and watch a sweet and innocent two year old boy grieve like I would expect myself to grieve if I lost a loved one is SO difficult.  To listen and watch as he desperately called out for his "umma" until he couldn't muster up the energy to do it anymore after leaving his foster mother behind this afternoon was gut wrenching. 

This poor boy that we can now call our own is scared, and I would be to if I were him.  He has had three women in his life up until this point and he has lost each one of them. 

After leaving the agency this afternoon with him, we joined 3 other families in a van that took each of us to our hotels.  This is when he was calling out for his foster mother to no avail.  He called for her, he searched for her through the window, he climbed the seats in an effort to leave the van to find her, all until he just couldn't do it anymore and fell asleep standing up, landing softly in Sara's waiting arms.

He awoke as we approached our hotel and seemed to be in a good mood.  We knew the worst couldn't be behind, so we enjoyed the few moments of him being happy and we even caught a glimpse or two of that smile of his that could light up a room. 

After a few minutes of fun, we could tell he was getting upset.   Upset in the worst sort of way.  He was trying his hardest to fight back tears, almost as if though he didn't want us to know he was crying.   It was like the realization had set in within him that he wouldn't be going back to his umma.  From that point on he has been grieving.  Grief is a hard emotion to watch.  We feel almost helpless.  We can console him to the best of our ability, but that just isn't enough right now.   How can you convince a boy so young (that happens to speak a different language), that has been through so much, that he is in good hands? 

With tomorrow comes a new day, and hopefully the opportunity for Camden to rest assured (at least a bit) that we can care for him, and that his needs will be met, and that we love him to no end.

If you're reading this, and you're so inclined, please keep Camden in your thoughts and/or prayers. 

Thank you.