People are starting to ask about her again. It happens during those fleeting quiet moments in conversations. At first, it's just a regular conversation, usually about nothing important, then they get that look in their eye. It is like they are looking for that signal inside of mine that tell them to go ahead, ask her about it. But people don't usually know what to say, after all, what do you say to someone who feels like they just handed over a piece of their heart and walked away? Still, they try, sort of. Once they get that look in their eye, their lips part slowly as they say "So, how is.." and they give me a nod. Without a hesitation, I nod and say "A? She's doing okay, I guess."
It's a lie though. I know she's not doing okay. I've heard she's acting out constantly. She won't listen to anyone. They don't understand "what's wrong with her". I try to explain she's four. She's experiencing a major life change, whether anyone over there wants to realize it or not, for the past 18 months, she has had stability. Eighteen months to a four year old may as well be a lifetime.
It kills me though. She should be in school. She should have a routine. She should come home to dinner. She should come home to play with the family and read books. She should get a bath. She should get her teeth brushed. She should get rocked. She should get put in bed once she's asleep. This is what she's used to. That was her comfort, her security, her routine.
It truly breaks my heart. I know, as well as any family member reading this blog, the best place for A was with us. Without a doubt. No questions asked.
I just hope she finds peace soon. I hope she adapts to her new normal. I hope they get patience. Until that happens, I just keep praying. And hoping. And wishing.