I was angry the day they came to get the girls. I almost could not contain it, and there is no use denying it. I was truly beside myself, as were Kyra’s, and baby Evan’s, aunts, Susan and Alyson, along with her Grammie, and her foster mother Christy.
We had spent three years loving her and nurturing her and playing with her and teaching her Bible verses and songs about Jesus. Three years of trying to make sure she was safe and happy in this foster home. Three years of making her a part of our lives, not a foster child but a child, for us to love. For many reasons too long to go into, Kyra and her sister were now being moved to an Indian foster home since their birth mother was Creek Indian. The tribe wanted them…but we did not want to give them up. The thought of running with them actually passed my mind as I was walking to place the baby into the social worker’s car. She had not even brought a car seat for her, so we had to construct a makeshift seat out of her carrier and pray that she would make it safely. “Run”, I thought, “Run”…but there was no running…because there would be no safe place to which I could run.
We placed Kyra in her carseat in the back of the Tribal representatives car. I was angry all over again that they sent a man in his 50s or 60s, with no woman to even help soothe a 3 year old being torn from the only home she ever knew.
We put suckers in each hand, we piled babies and blankets and favorite toys all around her…we sent instructions for what she liked, how she slept best and what would soothe her if she was scared. I am not sure he listened or even passed on that information.
“Bye-Bye Grammy” she waved with a fist tightly grasped around her sucker, “Bye-Bye Su-Su”, she grinned. “Bye-Bye – I see you later!!” she yelled out the window as the car drove off. Those of us left on an empty driveway knew we had fed her to the wolves that day…but we were powerless to do anything about it except cry and pray…and pray…and pray some more. I remember thinking surely this was one of the worst nightmares I had witnessed. I was wrong, it was the second worst.
On Friday, November 6, her new Indian foster father beat her, then waited until Saturday to take her in for medical care. By that time her brain was already swollen so much even shunts could not reverse the damage to two thirds of her brain. The sweet little body we had hugged and loved, was covered now in bruises and flea bites. No one had even been checking to make sure the house was clean…let alone safe. She was pronounced dead and taken off life support on Tuesday, November 10, 2009.
I have struggled trying to make sense of this horror, but there are horrors that cannot be explained. The more I thought about the tragedies she suffered at the hands of people who were supposed to take care of her, the farther into darkness my spirit fell.
After several days of sadness and darkness, I had to ask the Lord to please take Kyra off of my mind. Help me to think of something, anything, except the torture she suffered these past months.
How sweet He was to answer my prayer, only I was surprised by His choice. Instead of obliterating Kyra from my thoughts, the Lord, my Father, gave me a new picture to think of when the demons of the old thoughts came lurking.
A picture…a vision…a Hope…to remind us that when we are pronounced dead here, we are pronounced alive in Heaven and there is much rejoicing when we make it home.
So, for all of us touched by this tragedy…allow these thoughts to comfort your soul.
Heaven’s Nursery
(For Kyra…safe and sound)
If we could see past heaven’s gates
I believe that we might find
A very special paradise,
Where every touch is kind.
A sanctified and holy place
Where dwells the least of these,
The damaged, broken little ones
Now safe on Jesus’ knees.
A nursery in Glory’s house
Whose rooms are filled with Light.
Where baby hearts can play and rest
Without the fear of night.
Where every word from Abba’s lips
Speak love and hope and life.
And He, with gentle healing strokes,
Removes the scars life left behind.
Where little darlings dance about
With joy, if so inclined.
With no disturbing memories
To haunt the shadows of her mind.
Blankies snuggle soft and warm
And baby dolls hug extra long,
With pillows softer than a cloud
To lay sweet heads upon.
Giggling sounds fill every room
Along with angel’s lullabies
“You’re home, Dear one.” He whispers soft,
“I’ve claimed you…you are Mine.”
