Monday, August 17, 2009


How to articulate the emotions of this day. I don't have the words or the manipulation of language to adequately express how this feels.
Honestly, I didn't think it would be that hard.
I was wrong.
When the alarm went off at 5:30, I knew what needed to be done. But the tears began as soon as I walked into the little boys' room and saw the three of them sleeping there, knowing it was the last time.
I painfully sorted through the clothes--this one stays, this one goes. Where are his Sunday shoes? Will he ever use them to jump to "Sunbeam" in nursery again? Not this child. What suitcase should I send? Which diaper bag? I desperately didn't want him to be a "foster" child. Foster children notoriously carry their belongings to and fro in black garbage bags. Not my child.
Then I turned to the toys--again, which to stay, which to send away. I could barely utter the question, "Where's his light saber?" to Tucker. But I couldn't send him out into the world without it.

I ended up trying to send something of each of us with him on his journey:
From Brad: his book, "Daddy Cuddles." If only I could send the real thing.
From me: his homemade Christmas pajamas, the only ones I'll ever make him.
From Heidi: Her old duffel bag with her name on it. Maybe one day he'll remember her.
From Tucker and Ben: The light saber. I couldn't send the opponents or their tickle matches.
From Lily: An orange swim noodle. Orange is her favorite color, and they spent so much time playing together in the pool.
From Micah: "Good guys"--action figures. For the many hours they spent playing together.
From Hyrum: This was the most difficult of all. I wanted Angelo to have a piece of his twin, something that really means something to Hyrum. So I sent his favorite Spiderman shirt, the one Hyrum would never let anyone else wear. Maybe he'll remember Hyrum when he wears it.
From all of us: two family photos, the photo from my blog header, and this one, the one I received for Mother's Day this year:Time passed, and CPS was late, as usual. I had to send a seventeen-year-old out the door sobbing, a nine-year-old left broken-hearted that he wouldn't hug her goodbye, and I watched as my two-year-old kissed and hugged and waved as he was strapped in the car seat, saying, "Bye, Hy-um." And then they drove away.

And left behind of Angelo: a few stuffed animals, one shirt (for Hyrum), an empty high chair, an empty bed, and many memories. I know he'll never remember us. With his attachment disorder, I doubt he'll remember us past the end of September. But we will remember.
Good-bye, Jello.


  1. Boy, I don't even have words for this one. Just hugs.


    Wish I were there to give 'em in person.

  2. I am so sorry Jenny. He will always have a place in your heart. He is a part of the Denton family.

  3. Never forget that you did a wonderful thing for Angelo and sometimes doing the right thing is painful. We are all thankful that you did your best to give this little boy a fighting chance. I'm sorry for the sadness that remains, but I think all of you learned more about love through this situation. I hope the memories will soon be easier to have. Sweet little Jello.

  4. Sorry, I got nothin'...except sending tons of love and prayers your family's way...and of course that includes Angelo.

  5. I'm so sad he's gone, I just wish I would have given him a bigger hug when I left... Sweet little Jelly-o. He'll be alright though: God will take care of him.

  6. Thanks for making me bawl like a wee baby! Holy crap this all just sucks so bad! You are such an amazing woman, and you sent the perfect things for him. Somewhere, deep in his spirit he will remember the love he experienced in your home. I'm so sorry for your pain.