The last morning I had Little Girl, I took her to Walmart to pick up some pictures for her to take with her to her new (and hopefully permanent) home. I wanted to find one of those little plastic photo albums to put the pictures in, one that she could hold with her chubby little fingers and not do much damage to.
On the drive there (we had just left a visit with some of her relatives), Little Girl started screaming angrily. I think she was hot and hungry and tired, but I think she was also mad that she had gotten to play with someone who had been the closest thing to a mother to her, and then I took her away. Mad that whenever she starts to feel happy and comfortable somewhere, she gets taken away. So I told her to scream louder. I screamed with her in the car. I told her I was mad, too. And I was, and I wanted her to know that it was ok to be mad.
Anyway, we went in to Walmart and I found the little photo books I had been hoping to buy, and the first one in the box was light blue and had the word “hope” written on the cover. Perfect. When we got home (with about 15 minutes to spare before her case worker was supposed to show up) I slipped the pictures in as quickly as I could manage, and sealed them in with scotch tape.
I looked up a quotation that I had thought of after seeing the word “hope” and also knowing how important anger is in this child’s situation, and I wrote it on the back page of the little photo book: