Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Strong Little Boy

When I left X, my older son (I'll call him Caden) was about two and my younger son (Sean) was three months old.  Little guys.  Throughout the months following our departure, I would wonder if I was putting them through too much.  I felt truly ashamed for dragging them through such rough changes.  But I would remind myself that I was doing it to save them.

The night we left, I packed a gym bag of our clothes, a plastic bag of baby bottles, and a bag of diapers.  I had no where to go, so I took the kids to my office to think.  I called a women's shelter and was told that once I got there, I'd have to stay for a full forty-eight hours and couldn't leave until after.  I wanted to be able to see my victim advocate before the weekend, so I decided to try to find a place to stay for the night.

I dragged the kids to Wal Mart at ten at night because I didn't remember to bring any formula for Sean.  After that, I waited in line at a cheap hotel to see if they had any space.  My arms were full with Sean and the bags.  Caden was busy getting into everything a toddler could possibly manage and I was in and out of the line, trying to keep him from causing too much trouble.

Our room was a far walk from the parking lot.  I had Sean in my arms, the gym bag, the bottle bag, and the diaper bag.  Caden wanted to help, so I gave him the bottle bag.  As we walked, I'd keep my eye on Caden to make sure he was keeping up.  I was tired.  I was scared.  My arms ached and I had a migraine.  I wanted to just get to the room.  I found myself getting ahead of Caden and had to stop to wait for him.

Halfway to the room, I stopped and turned to wait for Caden and my heart dropped.

There he was, a two year old little kid, standing with a plastic bag almost as big as he was.  He had the biggest frown on his face and his eyes looked so heavy.  It was almost midnight.  He looked up at me, dropped the plastic bag and said, "I tired Mommy."

Tears rolled down my cheeks and I knelt down in front of him, setting the bags down.  "We're almost there, honey," I said.  I gave him a hug and kissed his cheek.  "We're almost there, okay?"

He nodded, the frown still on his face, and picked up the plastic bag.  "Come on," I said, trying to sound reassuring.  He said "Okay" and contined to walk with me.

During the next several months, they'd changed daycares, saw their dad on supervised visitations, moved to a different house, and went through more changes that I knew were stressful for them.  And my heart still breaks when I think of that frown and the little voice that said, "I tired Mommy." 

I pray every time I think of it that God will continue to bless us and to always guide me to making the right decisions for them.  I don't ever want to have to run again, dragging two innocent little kids with me.  Every decision I make that involves a change for them will always be made after remembering that frown.

I pray that I will always keep my eyes on God so that I would make the decision He wants me to make.


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