Impossibly Slow

My heart decelerates to an impossibly slow rate, each beat exaggeratedly dragging on and allowing my mind far too much time for far too many thoughts.  The first isn't even fully formed before the second knocks it down and the third clambers desperately over them both.  My head is working out the completely irrelevant logistics of what clothes to pack, what toys to send, and how the move-out date fits into our schedule, so that it doesn't have to focus on how exactly I will hand one of my own over to her own and walk away.  The incurably long lulls between each protracted, plodding pulse move time in the most twisted of slo-motion movies.  I watch myself read and reread the email and marvel that I am not crying, not shaking, not panicking.  You can do this, I tell myself.  I hear myself saying that I'm so glad the agency has no absolutes; so glad everything is case-by-case.  A few short months ago, on paper and by the numbers, this was never 'supposed' to end this way.  But how great for H that she has earned the right to parent.  How wonderful for Little Pip to be able to be back with her mom, her dad, her brother, her grandparents, her heritage, her family, her home.  There are more words coming out of my mouth about the wisdom of the powers that be and of the One to Whom Power Belongs.  But the thought that clambers desperately over all the others, is the one I cannot say aloud: I love her deeply and I don't know that I can want what's best for her more than I want what's best for me.  Tonight my grief outweighs her joy.  May she forgive my selfish soul.