Today, I cried.

Grief is funny like that.

It sneaks up on you sometimes.

All because I got a text this morning.

It simply said: 

"7 August today" 

Short and sweet. 

Bittersweet.

The tears welled up and for the first time, since I learned that he died, I let them fall.

Ten years ago, a two year old boy came to be part of our family.

He was almost three. He was potty trained. And if you asked him when his birthday was (because for most kids, birthdays are very important) he would say, 

"Seven August." 

And we thought that was the cutest thing ever!

He could also talk. Oh, could he talk. And debate. And argue. 

He was a bundle of energy and vitality like we have never seen before.

During our time together, we taught this little boy how to sleep in a bed.

We showed him what it was like to live in a two parent family where the manipulation he was used to didn't work so well.

We took him to meet his biological father for the first time. A priceless experience.

We told him about Jesus. Even though he was Jewish.

We loved him like our own.

Except that he wasn't.

He taught us how to hone our debate skills.

His situation forced us to learn about vicarious trauma.

He helped us understand and experience the joy of reunifying a family. 

When he left, I cried tears of joy. I knew in my heart that he was where he belonged.

God gave us a special gift, allowing our family to love on this boy for a whole year.

He went far away to live and we kept in touch every few months for awhile. E-mail is good that way. A phone call here and there on holidays when he was missing us. We kind of thought that someday we would see him again.

But then one of those e-mails bounced back saying there had been an accident and our little boy so full of life had been killed, along with his parents. 

A tragedy.

And I never cried.

Until today.

On seven August.

His thirteenth birthday. 

The LORD gave, and the LORD has taken away; 

blessed be the name of the LORD.

Job 1:21