Once Upon A Mother

There are 13 photographs in this collage. 
There are 13 different little faces in 13 little card stock framed windows, under glass, in a plain pine frame. 
Thirteen hearts shining from blue, brown, hazel, green, and black, wise little eyes. 
And all 13 of them were loved by me, however briefly, once upon a time.
There were more than 13 but I don't have pictures of them all.  That makes my heart sad, but I still know in my heart the feeling of holding each of them in my arms.

Dori, Ari, and Lili called me mama.
Maddie, my little meme, also called me mama.  She wanted to help make my morning "foffee" and would call down the stairs to the big kids by saying, "guys! guys! C'mon guys!!!"

Ray, Kevi, Nico, Xavi, Jelly, Jazzy, Liz, and Ci, didn't call me anything at all; either because they were too young to speak, or because they weren't with me long enough to name me as their own. Flit was one of the the ones who could say my actual name, but refused.  He wasn't the only one - as I said, there were more than the 13 that I have pictures of, but he is one of the ones I remember actually ACHING for. 

Flit, whom I nick-named after the hummingbird in the Disney movie Pocohontas, was terrified of the dark, and of closets, and held fast to the belief that the only foods worth eating were chicken nuggets, or white bread with peanut butter.  One night Flit, all of 5 years old and barely 40lbs, woke up sometime after midnight screaming"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" and had to be wrestled out of his urine-soaked pajamas and put into soft, dry ones, and laid onto soft, dry sheets and covered with a soft dry blanket, and still he stiffened up and refused to be held, or sung to, or cuddled, or soothed.  He just whimpered, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..." the whole time.  My heart broke a little that night in a way I didn't know was possible.  Until the next one.

Little man was barely 2, like maybe 21 months.  His baby sister was just 10 months old.  You do the math... go on... I'll wait...

Little Man and baby sis were brought to me at about 7pm.  Little Man, at barely 2, was one of my favorite ages - and was all big eyes and totally expressionless.  He was blond, with chocolate drop eyes and a round little tummy... and a green-snot encrusted nose.  Baby sis was a dirty, stale smelling, rashy bottom, sticky mess.  I moved to unbuckle her from the cheap plastic infant bucket seat the social worker had left her in and Little Man made HIS move.  He threw his little baby body over that plastic seat, over his baby sister, with the intention of protecting her from me.  He was not even 24 months old.  He was still - for all measures - a BABY... yet he felt he had to protect his baby sister.  He risked the completely unknown for the salvation of a helpless infant when he himself was just an infant.  I cannot even describe what that felt like to see and realize and understand. 

At that point in time, I had 3 kids of my own.  Three children born from me into breastfeeding, organic homemade baby food, and cloth diapers.  Children who were read to and tucked into "family beds" and then fed hot breakfasts in the morning before getting on a bus to the local public school.  Children for whom the worst punishment was loss of watching tv, or an early bedtime, or a 5 minute time out in the corner on a chair.  Children who sat at the dinner table with both parents every night and ate kid-friendly, nutritious, and balanced meals; who showered or bathed every night and wore clean pajamas and clean clothes every day.  Children who left their younger siblings without a second thought because...why should they worry?

Little Man and his baby sis stayed only 2 nights.  I can't remember now if they were taken in by family or shifted to a longer term foster family, but i remember Little Man's eyes... and the way he wanted to protect his baby sis even tho he was a baby himself.

I remember Dori and Ari and how I called them "the ladies" and would say things like, "c'mon ladies, lets get going" and "alright ladies, this way now..."  I remember Lili and dressing her in everything pink and pretty.  I remember my own children wearing yellow raincoats and yellow rainboots and how I would call out, "c'mon duckies, this way...".  Maddie was a different story entirely, and deserves a post all of her own.  There is a Maddie sized wound in my heart that will never heal. 

Thirteen pictures of 13 souls - and there are so many more than just those 13 - that will forever be the beginning of 13 stories... and I loved all of them.  There were more like 18... or 20 by the time I had to quit being the foster parent I'd always dreamed of being.  There were babies and toddlers and preschoolers that stole bits of my heart and pieces of my soul and they all started with the line, "Once upon a..."  time? drug habit gone wrong? bad date? bad childhood? mother? Once upon a mother... yeah, thats it... Once upon a mother...

Once upon a mother, there was a child that needed a heart to love it.  And then there was D. 

Today on Mothers Day I think about my momma and how long she's been gone - 24 years.  I miss her more than I can admit because missing her makes me choke, sob, and keen in grief, ... still.

I think about my mother in law and how long I've been divorced - 10 years. She loved me as best as she could.
 
I think about Maddie - it's been 11 or 12 years since I saw her - she must be 12, or 13 now... and what has become of the baby who arrived with bite marks on her thighs and a blank expression on her face - who turned into the laughing Buddha baby who wanted to make my morning "foffee" and who yelled, "guys! c'mon guys!" to the big kids down the stairway.  The brown girl, in the sun, who stole my heart.

I think about oldest girl with the starry eyes and sunshine smile who lives so far away and whom I miss with an endless ache every hour of every day. 
I think of my oldest boy - my Mowgli man-cub with the wild curls and the 'to the bottom of your soul' brown eyes, and the music that erupts from his pores.
I think about my youngest girl with the crazy hair and the stern eyes and the laughter that is moon beams and ocean tides...
and I think about my boy-oh, my WTF child, my upside down inside out life shaking soul splitting shake n shimmy firefly child... and how once upon a time i wasn't a mother yet and how much I would NEVER go back.  Not for a moment, not for a day, not for gabazillion dollars.

Once I was a mother - and I always will be.