Monday... A Day of Hope

It's one minute before midnight on a Friday night. I am wide awake. Tomorrow our house will be full with 50 wonderful people. Many young adults, who are sacrificing their time and talents to practice for the benefit concert that is coming up in eight days. They are helping to bring Maida home.

There is so much I ought to be doing to clean and organize and prepare for them, but instead I sit here in the quiet of the night grieving.

Grieving for my daughter who has gotten another day older...
                                                                                             without me.



This week has been a whirlwind of activity gearing up for three big fundraisers. Two music concerts and a yard sale.
In the midst of the flurry of phone calls, emails, texts, trucks and trips; my heart stands still. I want Maida. I don't want all this busyness and planning. I just want my daughter. I just want to be a mom. To her, to my other girls.
 No matter how hard I may be working, sweating, laughing and talking, all I think about is getting to her.

Right now we are waiting on her passport to be issued. Once we have that, we are in the last leg of this trying, character building, heart wrenching process.

It's Friday. Five days have passed, ten days have passed, too many days have passed and the world keeps spinning and I have to keep going but still no passport.
I must get through Saturday and Sunday to get to Monday. Monday the Congo courts will be open (we hope).  Lawyers will be working.
 Monday can't get here soon enough. Monday may bring a passport. Every morning when I wake up I take note of what time it is in Congo. The day is more than half over there. Did her paperwork get picked up? Will I get an email today from my agency telling me I can file my last documents?

Monday... let's see what happens Monday.


Beth