“If your heart was full of love, could you give it up?” -Birdy, ‘Not About Angels’.

I did. It wasn’t a relationship with a significant, either. I think I would’ve taken that over losing what I lost. I had these nephews, these two blue eyed boys that stole my heart. They’re mom was my second oldest sister and at the time was also my best friend. These boys, I looked at them and loved them as if they were my own sons. I’d babysit them all of the time and we’d play games, watch cartoons, I’d make them food, play some more and then I’d read them to sleep. They were my boys.
Unfortunately, their mother was also an addict and kept choosing the needle over her own kids. Unless I was around, they’d go weeks without a bath, hardly any food, wouldn’t be taken to school and instead would be with her peddling for cash. I tried to take them out of there myself once and almost got taken away in cuffs. The cops said they couldn’t do anything because she was their mother and legal guardian. I was probably too young to take care of them entirely alone, anyway (I was seventeen when it started). So, I went through CPS and called them to report it all. It took about a year until the boys were taken into foster care. They got them and I was updated at first, long enough to know they’re separated and that they seemed like they were happier, according to their social worker. After that, I was informed that I couldn’t have contact with them, like their mom, because it could “hurt progress”; still hurts, but I get it. I haven’t seen the youngest one for three years and the oldest for two and a half.

Everyone tells me, “You did the right thing.” I know I did the right thing, or at least the best thing I could think of at the time and I don’t know why people tell me that. They also like to say, “Well, they’re not dead. Why are you so upset?” Maybe it’s because I can’t see them, talk to them or hold their hands for as far into the future as I can see. I’m missing their childhood and all of these moments I always looked forward to seeing. I can’t read them to sleep or play with them. I can’t make them laugh away their tears, anymore. “You’ll see them, again.” You don’t know that, you can’t see the future and I’m not getting my hopes up for something that might never happen. The fact is, right now, they’re gone because of the decision I made to try and get them out from the environment their mother created and maintained. I’m not a stranger to a loved one dying and the feelings of despair it creates.

Why is the feeling of losing my nephews, who are still alive, equivalent (or worse) to the despair of losing someone because of death?

I’m posting this here. I’ve almost done it before but couldn’t actually click the “create thread” button. To say that this subject hurts is putting it lightly. I know that to some people this will sound stupid because I’m “not their mom” but it’s not stupid to me. It’s real and it ****ing hurts.

I miss my boys so much.