I want to make a clarification. I said, in an earlier post, that Jaiya John had no religious upbringing. Er, well, I said something along those lines. He was raised in the Catholic church. He just didn't make mention of it until page 156. And I, uh, hadn't gotten that far. I am now about fifteen pages from the end and, for the most part, Black Baby White Hands has been an incredible tool for me regarding our transracial family.
Today, at the pool, Garrett and Matthew were both wedged into a blow up ring. If the ring had been pink instead of blue they would have looked a lot like Neapolitan ice cream. It was adorable and they were having a blast. Garrett was actually letting Matthew gnaw on his finger although he did refer to it as biting. I pulled them around the pool. For a moment, I turned my head away to navigate through eleven million kids. When I glanced back, I caught Garrett giving Matthew the most gentle kiss--right on the top of his head.
It melted my heart.
I cannot lose that baby. I cannot. I. Cannot. For I simply cannot grieve the loss of my son while picking up the pieces of my other son's shattered heart.
I generally live in denial. Leave it to a three-year-old's sweet kiss to yank me jarringly out of my ignorant bliss. We meet BF on Saturday. Please pray for us. We really need it.