The line taxi is full of people and
ready to pull away but the hugs aren't finished. How can she let go
again? It hurts a thousand times less this time but still, it hurts;
like pressing on an old wound.
Two mom's crying.
Two mom's crying.
In urgency, she hugs hard and looks
hard, memorizing his face. We are too soon pulled away and ushered onto the crowded
van. She stands on the curb waving and crying. I stick my white
hand out the window and wave. Panic for the finality of this moment
overtakes me- “Wave goodbye to your mom” I command. He turns and
waves through the dusty window and I hope she sees him.
“Why did you cry, Mom?” he asks me
on our walk from the taxi stop to the house where we are staying.
How can I explain why this hurts me too?
“Because I can't imagine having to
say goodbye to my child again.”
I also cry because I know that I am the one that
takes him away. I am the priveleged one that gets to take him home
and watch him grow.
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