Life. This isn’t supposed to be her life. Her youngest is thirteen. She was almost done.
Life; Now is driving children from place to place. Is school, basketball practice, doctor’s appointments in the middle of the day. Is rushing home for foster care visits.
Life is trading in her silver Audi; the one she got for twenty-five years of marriage; for a shiny black Lincoln Navigator to tote grandchildren, grandnieces, and grandnephews in.
Audi’s don’t fit two car seats, two booster seats, and two more seats where her daughter and grandson will argue over who has shotgun. Audi’s don’t fit her life; don’t fit her “I was almost done with this damn fight for shotgun.” Don’t fit her quick reminders spoken more to herself “But I love my grandkids.”
“Life, these kids don’t think about anyone’s lives but their own.” She might say if you catch her at the right moment. If you can catch her in between all of the newfound duties that seem to have taken over her life.
She is almost done with some of the duties. The grandkids will convert from fosters to adoptees. This will lead to less regulation, less appointments, and more time for her to enjoy her new life.
If you can catch up with her she will probably be wearing athletic gear; black tights, black top, bright shoes. They’re slimming. They’re fun. “If I’m dressed for working out I can sneak a work out in. I need to lose some weight to save my life. These kids got my blood pressure high 150/105.”
Not her grandkids, grandniece, or nephew. The ones who lost them to the system; her son-3, her husband’s niece -2. The one’s whose irresponsibility changed, for better or worse, her life.