Leaving wasn’t quite what I expected it to be.
It was harder.
It was the night before the 28th. I was sat downstairs…checking my wrist watch that I bought in Thailand, every few minutes…waiting for the clock to strike midnight. It would be medicine time for the babies, which meant that I could hold my sweet Ruby while she got her injection. As soon as the nurse went upstairs, I bolted up after her. I turned the corner into Ruby’s room, and saw her asleep in a super ridiculous position, in the swing chair next to her sleeping Ayah, who we affectionately called, Grandma. I reached under her back and quickly cradled her in my arms…she stirred for a moment and let out a cry of frustration, and dozed back off. I rocked her back and forth as I approached the nurses station, and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was a nasal vaccine. No pain tonight. After the medicine was administered, I walked downstairs and sat in the arm chair. She was fast asleep, smiling every few minutes because of the good dream she was no doubt having. This is the first time I really cried when I thought about not having these moments anymore in 24 short hours. Tears landed on her blanket as I reflected on all the moments I took advantage of my time with her, and regretted not putting something aside to go and hold her one more time than I allowed myself to that month. I put her back to bed about 30 minutes later, and walked down to my own bed…and spent the night tossing and turning. Willing myself to sleep, when sleep was the last thing that I wanted. I wanted more time with Ruby.
The next morning, I opened my eyes and didn’t move. I laid there, feeling the weight of what that day meant. Piles of neatly folded clothes, packed toiletries, and medicine sat beside my mat…and with a heavy sigh, I pushed myself up into the land of the living. I spent the morning packing. Placing things strategically in my pack so that there was room for everything. I couldn’t understand why, after sending about 10lbs of things home, that my pack still barely could hold anything. I got dressed into my travel day outfit quietly, with my teammates next to me and music playing, to try and take my mind off of the giant red elephant in the room. After a while of packing, I couldn’t not hold her anymore, so I ran upstairs to Ruby’s room, and snatched her up into my arms. She beamed at me and began to “talk” to me as she always did…catching me up on her morning. We talked until we got downstairs, and she continued talking as I placed her on my bed to “help" me “pack”. I took pictures, sat there, staring at her, to memorize the lines and facial expressions I hadn’t yet memorized, and sang to her. After everything was packed, and the room looked empty, I scooped her up and brought her upstairs to where the rest of the WR group was sitting. The SCH team all had their babies in their arms, laughing, tearing up, and holding them close. Treasuring these last few moments with their kids. Ruby fell asleep in my arms and I caught myself staring at her in contentment, longing, and fear. Contentment, because she was in my arms. She was happy. And she felt safe there in my arms, enough to fall asleep. Longing to have her in my life longer than this short month. And fear for not just her future, but my future without her in it.
I was talking to the House Nurse at SCH, and she mentioned that Ruby had Muslim features…the pale skin…her bone structure. Since that discussion I’ve been sick to my stomach. I can’t and won’t picture her in a home where Jesus isn’t the foundation. My heart breaks to think that she could grow up in a Muslim household. And I actually find myself praying that her shoulder and the skin graft prevent a family from wanting her because she isn’t perfect. Because I know that means my American friends have a better chance of adopting her. Because she’s not “perfect” in the eyes of these countries. It’s something I have to release daily to the Lord.
45 minutes became 30 minutes…30 minutes became 15 minutes. And soon, my squad leader yelled “Cab’s are here”. Tears flowed from my cheeks. Giant wet tears fell onto Ruby's blanket. My throat closed, and soon sobs were the only thing I could muster as I clutched Ruby close to my heart. Every second became precious. I was all of a sudden hyper aware of her tiny body in my arms…Of every sound she made. I walked her upstairs…feeling more and more sorrow the closer we got to her room. I rounded the corner and just stood in her room…one last time…crying. Her Ayah approached me with concern in her eyes…worried that something may have happened to Ruby, but I tell her that it was our time to go. When the explanation finally hits her, and the language barrier breaks, she begins to sob loudly. She pulls me into a hug and we cry together, with Ruby still cradled in my arms. I pull away from the hug and look at Ruby. Blinking the tears out of my eyes, I see her eyebrows raise with concern, and her eyes lock with mine. And in that moment, she knows. She knows that it’s goodbye. Her lip pouts, and she begins to quietly cry. I kiss her forehead and hug her to me, swinging her back and forth. I couldn’t do it anymore. I walked over to Grandma’s bed, and slowly, and shakily place her down. She looks up at me with pleading eyes and her cries become more desperate. I put my hand over her belly and pray that the Lord protect her. That He keep her. That she finds a Jesus fearing home. And with one last look, I let out a sob and managed to tell her I loved her. And turned away. I almost ran out the door, down the stairs, and outside…not looking back.
I’ve said goodbye to a lot of people in my life. Never before has it been so difficult. I’m sitting here in a coffee shop in Nepal, eyes filled with tears as I remember in detail the last few moments with my sweet baby girl. I knew that I was going to fall in love at the beginning of last month, but I couldn’t possibly imagine just how much love I would feel for this little girl. I went into last month expecting to fall in love with a different baby that I followed on Instagram. But ended up giving my heart to a brown eyed girl who helped walk me through complete freedom from my own past. I am so incredibly thankful for her…for last month…for what God did in both of us. I do not want this to be goodbye forever, and pray that I am able to stay a part of her life as often as possible.
I’m at peace knowing she is in a place as wonderful as Sarah’s Covenant Homes. She’s loved. She’s safe. And she’s happy. She's not an orphan, but a daughter of the King who loves her and cherishes her…and has plans to prosper and not to harm her. Thank God for that.
To my sweet Ruby…
It’s difficult to explain just how much your little life has impacted my own. God has used to you break the chains of inadequacy, regret, shame, and complacency…and not a day goes by that I won’t think of you and be grateful for you. You’ll always hold such a special place in my heart. And I can’t wait until I can scoop you into my arms again.
Until we meet again, my gem.
I love you always.
Ama
