Sherry would indulge and encourage us. “Oh, there’s something you know about Thorin I didn’t. He loves a foot massage!”
Each night, Sherry would stay in the living room and allow us to give him a bath and put him to bed. The first night, we debated how much water was safe to use.
“That’s not enough,” Ward said. “I think that would be an unsatisfying amount.”
“Listen, let’s err on the side of too little tonight,” I countered.
We saw Thorin sitting on the bath mat with his head in his hands. We were going about this all wrong.
“How’s this look, Thorin?” I motioned for him to look in the tub.
He pulled himself against the tub and looked in. We got a big smile. I was going to help him in, but he stopped me. He shook his hand back and forth.
“Hah?” he asked.
“Hot?” Ward clarified.
Thorin nodded yes.
I put some of the water in a plastic cup. Thorin very tentatively put his index finger in the cup but just barely. He pulled it out dramatically and said, “Hah!” We found after a few more attempts of adding cold water Thorin liked his water tepid.
Before we left to go home, we looked into his crib and said about a million times, “We love you.”
I am not sure what he thought when he looked up at us. He was more serious during these moments than earlier in the night. His gaze alternated between a hard stare and a furrowed brow. He was taking the greater risk here. He risked not only his heart but also his survival. Maybe he even thought, Could these two smiling geeks pull it together and do right by me?
Sherry allowed us to take Thorin a week before we had planned. She had been through this routine thirty-seven times before with other children. She knew the signs.
“I can see it. He’s getting confused where he should be. He doesn’t know if he is here with me or with you two. That’s always a sign. Better get him home.”
Two days later, we did. Sherry had made arrangements for Jacob to stay with a neighbor when Thorin left the house. They had said their goodbyes earlier in the day. None of us—Sherry, Ward, or myself—said anything as we moved from the house to the driveway with Thorin’s belongings. Ward carried a box with his clothes and some toys. Sherry held his Playskool Sit ‘n Spin.
Now it was time to leave. I held Thorin in my arms. We stood in a half circle next to the car, and it was difficult to know what to say. We had all prepared him as best we could, letting him know he was coming to live with us. But, this wasn’t the time to remind him where he was going or to tell him his new bedroom had freshly painted yellow walls, a braided rug, and a lamp with the shadow of a sleeping cowboy. This night was about leaving Sherry.
The three of us had tears in our eyes. Thorin’s eyes were dry, and he was silent. I saw a look, a brief flash that he knew his life with Sherry was ending. Ward moved to the front seat to drive, and I sat in the back next to Thorin. We made it to the end of the driveway and then Thorin . . . let go.
His sobs were painful and angry. It was unbearable. He raised his arms above his head and brought them crashing down on the arm rests of the car seat. He repeated this gesture until he slumped into his seat. Ward and I looked at each other in the rearview mirror. I tried to comfort Thorin by putting my arm around him, but he shook me off. I moved my hand to the seat between us.
I quickly realized you can’t say to someone whose life you have just upended, “You can trust us,” and expect their agony to subside.
So, instead, I said over and over, “It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
His crying became like a scream. I had a knot in my stomach. I could see Ward’s shoulders were stiff and tight.
“Should I pull over?” he asked.
Pull over to where? To where it wouldn’t hurt anymore?
I told Ward, “Keep moving.”
I started looking frantically through my purse for something. Anything. I saw one of my business cards, pulled it out, and turned to Thorin.
“It was so great to meet you. I hope we can keep in touch after the conference. Please take my business card.”
I handed the card to him. Still sobbing, Thorin took it.
From the front seat, Ward said, “I don’t mean to be critical . . . but that seems, maybe, not right.”
I kept up the chatter, “Oh, it’s just been great getting to hear your ideas. I hope we keep in touch.”
Thorin eventually stopped crying and handed the card back to me, making little talking sounds. I didn’t question it. I just kept it going. For that long hour drive, we handed the card back and forth and communicated that we wanted to stay in touch.
CHAPTER TWO
The Longest Labor
Ward and I wondered what we should expect when we brought a two-year-old foster child with Down syndrome into our home given we had no experience with two of those descriptors. What was unexpected was how low Thorin’s Down syndrome ranked in our list of immediate concerns. Of the three—foster child, toddler, and Down syndrome—his diagnosis was dead last.
When the day came for Thorin to move into our home, we were immediately overwhelmed. All first-time parents are. If you’re not, you’re either doing it wrong or have an excellent supply of tranquilizers, in which case, you’re doing it wrong.
Most first-time parents get to ease into toddlerdom. For the first year or so, parents are trying to get their kids to either
