This is a picture-less post. Apparently, I only exist behind the camera. And I hardly ever write about myself. That wasn’t the intended purpose of this blog, so I hardly come up. I always have a song for the moment though. So, when there are no photos, there’s music. My kids laugh at how I get on a musical jag and listen to the same song over and over, and then just move on.
The last week has been complex. A week or so ago, I mentioned watching a family fracture to adoption disruption. I watched another family re-home their son this week. They asked FPD and I to help. We can do respite right now, but that’s not enough. Sometimes, nothing is enough. I don’t know how to put into words how I feel about this. I try not to judge. I was where they are. I cried into FPD’s chest as we wondered what we could do for our daughter, how we could possibly heal her heart.
We have resources. We made it through. Some families can’t.
Trauma is an ugly beast.
These bruises make for better conversation.
Loses the vibe that separates.
Last night I consoled ShyGuy as he cried and cried after a tough conversation about birth parents. Some of our children know their birth parents. Some want to know them. Some don’t at all. We try to give the kids a wide birth to feel what they need to feel. We try to remove ourselves as much as possible from the dreaded adoption triad. We have a son who doesn’t want to know his birth mom, one who would love to but can’t, and one who knows his birth mom a little too well. It’s complex for me. I don’t know how they manage it.
Loss is an ugly beast.
It’s good to let you in again
You’re not alone in how you’ve been.
The birth parent conversations are hard for me in a different way. I want the aforementioned biological connection with birth parents for my kids, because every worthwhile study published on adoption and all the adult adoptees I’ve ever spoken with have told me to leave that door open. I won’t lie though. For me, if I were totally selfish, I would shut it. I would love to slam that door and never have to think about it again. I would love to somehow make them ALL mine. Adoption is rooted in loss. They lost their birth family, their birth family lost them. I acknowledge that loss. In order to nurture and care for my kids as they grieve their loss, I have to acknowledge my own. I lost my chance at ever having a biological connection with the kids that I love more than my life. Would I change my kids for anything in the world? No. Would I jump at the chance to take away the pain, judgment and misconceptions that they face because they’re adopted? Hell yeah. Last night, in all his blessed innocence, ShyGuy was crying about the loss of his birth mom. He looked at me and said…
“When I get older, will I be allowed to move back to Ghana?”
I ripped my heart out of my throat and answered him without tears or judgment, because I’ve acknowledged my loss, but never to him. He has no idea how hurt I was by this. He’s a child, he shouldn’t have to worry about hurting me because he wants to heal. It’s my job as his mom to be strong and therapeutic in my answers to these questions.
“Yes, buddy, you can live wherever you want, and I will come and visit you all the time.”
He will always be my son. Yet, at the same time, he’s not.
I share a little boy with a woman I didn’t, and would probably never, choose.
We’ve all got bruises.
There are two unanswered baby shower invitations on my desk. They will remain unanswered until the last possible second. I will politely decline and then celebrate the baby like nothing ever before when he or she arrives.
I just can’t do pregnant people.
We’ve all got bruises.
who is sure she will get an unprecedented amount of crap for this post. It’s okay. She knows she’s not a horrible person. She’s just got bruises.