The hard part of fostering is, once again, upon us.  In eight days, we will go from a house of nine to a house of seven. We will say goodbye to one set of sweet sisters that God has allowed us to love on for 15 months. Their foster care journey will end with reunification as they head back home to their father.  A comment I hear often from others continues to echo in my mind today as I try to come to grips with the fact that I must let go of two little girls whom I have grown to love—two little girls who call me momma.

“I couldn’t foster because it would hurt too much to let them go.”  Yes, I am at that part of fostering: the part that hurts so very much.  

And now, knowing they are leaving soon, I find myself acutely aware of all the little things they do (and we do together) that I will miss. 

I will miss their fighting with each other over who gets to pray over our meals.

I will miss Little-Bit crawling into my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and spending time with me when she could be playing with the other kids. 

I will miss their hugs and kisses in the morning as they leave for school.

I will miss the way we three sing “sleep tight and don’t let the bed bugs bite” to each other as part of our bedtime ritual.

I will miss putting their hair up in ponytails every morning.  

I will miss coming home from wherever I have been to see them running through the hall to greet me.

I will miss our “I love you more” competitions.   

I will miss them singing at the tops of their lungs to K-Love as we drive to and fro. 

I will miss their sweet smiles and their infectious little laughs.

I am just going to miss them.

For a year and three months, I have been their momma. I have potty-trained Little-Bit. I have helped Miss-Priss learn to read.  I have nursed boo-boos, and I have calmed tantrums.  I have celebrated birthdays and played the tooth fairy.  I did everything for them that I would do for my own children.  That is because for over a year they have been two of my own children.   

And now I have 8 days to reconcile myself to the fact that I am no longer going to be momma to these two girls. My head understands that this is part of the process, but my heart is having a hard time accepting that in a week two of my babies will no longer be living with me.

I won’t know when they are sick. I won’t know how their school day was.  I won’t get to see their excited little faces on Christmas morning. I won’t know if they are safe. I won’t know if they are happy.  

I wonder if they will think of me much in the weeks to come? I wonder if they will miss me when they are sick or sad? I wonder if they will remember me after a few years or more have passed? I wonder if I made an impact on their lives? 

...because they made an impact on mine.

So I have eight days. I will hug them a little longer and a lot tighter. I will soak up all of their preciousness. But most of all, I will cover them in prayer.  And before I know it, next week will be here, and my sweet little girls will walk out the front door for the very last time and out of my life for what is probably forever.