Burdens

My child had some issues to talk about recently one night in the car. She likes to talk in the car so you don’t see her eye to eye but she can snuggle if she needs to - I’m notorious for pulling off the road if needed for a needed hug. She is remembering more small details about her past, some are a bit confused and merged together. Many are very hard things to hear - things I know but am still affected just to hear about them.

She told me some details I know were not true but I could easily see it was what she would have WANTED to happen. I let her dwell on that. I know she knows the truth and I know it too but her “lie” was empowering for her and at least she was able to understand what she could do if something happened ever again.

She told me the things that happened in her past were her fault and I pulled off the road at the point, to pull her up to the front in my arms, to tell her again and again the things that happened to her were not her fault. She didn’t want to be held and repeated it was her fault. So I flipped the switch and said, ‘Ok, it was your fault”. She got feisty and told me NO it wasn’t and I said why. She responded with the right answers (the details I’ll skip). I smiled and told her it wasn’t her fault she was failed by some of the adults in her life. She laid her head on my shoulder and we sat on the side of the road quietly, each lost in our own thoughts.

It took all my emotional energy to keep it together. I stay supportive and honest for her. I don’t gloss over issues, I just try to let her get it out and be there for her. Inside I wanted to scream, to rage, to cry. I feel so many things when she unburdens herself but most of all I feel grateful. Grateful she is talking, she is feeling and she is putting things away in her head in the places they need to go. She is dealing with her past and I can only hope that means good things for her future.

I got back on the road and continued onto her to practice. I watched her playing, happy and laughing, confident in her skills and I knew in my heart we are doing right by this child and while she still has sadness and pain to deal with, she is now growing up healthy.

Pledge for an Adopted Child

While I know all of us don’t share the same religious paths, there is a wonderful pledge by Debra Nussbaum Cohen that really touches me. Call it a poem, a prayer, a reflection or whatever suits your nature.

We did not plant you,
True.
But when the season is done,
When the alternate prayers
For the sun and for rain are counted,
When the pain of weeding
And the pride of watching are through,
We will hold you high.

A shining leaf
Above the thousand seeds grown wild
Not by our planting,
But by heaven.
Our harvest.
Our own child.

- Debra Nussbaum Cohen

Background about our family, part III

got a bit cranky waiting and was very happy when the meeting with the social worker arrived. She gave us ‘the speech’, which served to either try and scare you to death or make you cry. Being realistic is very important so we needed to hear all that - all that being about what these children have been through and what children were available.

One of the most important things she told us, which she had to remind me of several times, is we need to be prepared to be honest and stick to our guns. It was key we take a long hard look at our lives, past, strengths and weaknesses. She was there to help us and together we needed to come up with what kind of child we wanted.

I knew we’d have to do that but it still gave me creeps. The good side is saying yes to parenting a child - the bad side is saying no to so many others. The idea that I would have to look at a child’s profile and say ‘no’ was very depressing.

We knew we wanted one child and possible one other sibling and a big one for us, we wanted them to be at least still in elementary school. Neither of us come from big families so we didn’t have a lot of experience with raising children. We were first-time parents. We knew what we had to offer as a strength was educational opportunities, time and access to resources. I felt like I was being horrible when I spoke about those things, as if I was some elitist turning my nose up at children. Our social worker Janice really helped me work through that. She explained that we’d be doing a disservice to a child who had special needs that we couldn’t fulfill. Honesty was the best policy and our requests were fine but we needed to be prepared it might take a long while to find a child that matched.

We knew it would take time - we knew we might have to wait two years. My husband was the strong one who was ready to wait for the child who was a match for us - me, I might have taken in every child out there whose profile crossed our path.

After the social worker was convinced we knew what we were getting into, she gave us enough more forms to fill out than I’d ever seen in my life. It almost became comical. Then we scheduled home visits. I made a mental note to scrub every inch of my house with a toothbrush and then hire a cleaning crew to do it with a q-tip. I’d shave the dogs to keep the dog hair away and force my husband to never ever wear shoes in the house again. Maybe that plastic stuff on furniture wasn’t so nutty after all.

Fast forward two weeks. I’ve worked on the paperwork every day, assigned my husband things to do and a schedule. I cleaned my heart out and yes, I hired a cleaning crew to come in. I emptied closets I hadn’t looked at since we moved in. I cleaned under beds and wanted to move the stove to clean behind it. I was so nervous about our first home visit. I’m dressed up as if to say ‘confident, unflappable suburban soccer mother in waiting’. I drilled my husband in responses to questions.

We wait. And wait some more. 30 minutes later I get this bad feeling in my stomach and I run for my calendar. The appointment was next week, not this week. I wanted to kick something but I was afraid I’d mess up my house. Could I keep it clean for a week? No, my house doesn’t work that way. I informed my husband I would need to hire the cleaning crew again. Jeff, who didn’t think it was needed at all, told me that wasn’t happening. I rolled my eyes and considered again removing all his shoes from the house.

A week later she arrived and yes, my house was still pretty clean. I was sad to find out she wasn’t going to look behind the stove or in the closets. She checked out the house generally, didn’t look under or in anything. She checked the stove worked, which was actually on a form she had to fill out. Naive me thought it was a joke at first.

I had been diligent in my completing of my part of the forms, so we went over those. We talked more about foster children, about how we were raised and about how we hoped to raise our children. She talked about the high percentage of children available for adoption that are sexually abused. That was scary to hear. I expect a bunch of them to be molested but not the 90% she cited. It still seems to unthinkably high to me.

The MAPP (Model Approach to Partnerships in Parenting) classes that the agency offered were starting soon and she made sure we were all signed up. We lucked out applying when we did because the MAPP classes started just three weeks after we were approved. Four Tuesday nights, two Saturdays and with all the paperwork in place, we would be licensed foster parents before March!

Adopted Adapted

I recently came across a website with a remarkable ‘comic’ book called ‘Adopted Adapted’. I have comic book in parentheses because it isn’t your average comic book. The illustrations are black and white, simple drawings but the words share from deep in the heart of a child who was adopted. Interspersed in the comic work are pages of thoughts pertaining to the topics.

This new fully-illustrated adoption book is both funny and meaningful . “Adopted Adapted, Parents e-Edition” is written for everyone involved in adoption (adoptees (young and old), adoptive parents, birth parents, and social workers). It brings consciousness to the situation of the inner adopted child.

Mine arrived yesterday (they are slow on shipping so don’t panic) and it was wonderful. The writer really illustrates his feelings in a very powerful way. This is a tremendous CD that delivers great messages. This is something as an parent I found helpful and I think teenagers would find this interesting as well. It could be used to open a dialogue about adoption with a teenager as well.

Read more and buy Adopted Adapted, Parents e-Edition at www.adoptedlife.com/ComicBook.htm. If you do purchase the comic book, please let me know your thoughts

Missing mail

An envelope came from DSS to my daughter and I was so hoping it was something from her first mother for Christmas. When you go through an intermediary, you learn to be flexible about the time frame of holidays and special occasions. Two to four weeks late can be pretty common for gifts and letters. Social workers do their best to get packages out but there is no question that they are completely swamped.

Her birthgrandmother sent her great stuff as did one of her sisters. She was thrilled with the gifts and the look on her face is as if someone turned on a light inside her. We try to do our part as well, we sent gifts to most of the circle of her first family. Nothing big, just small stuff that we felt was personal or meaningful.

I pick up the card and open it. I will open any card from DSS to her until she is older. Sometimes, things must be filtered or explained in terms she can process.

No luck. The card was a thank you note with photos from her sister for her gift. Nothing from her birthmother. This happened on her birthday last year too. She has send two letters over the past nine months so that is something positive and we are appreciative of that. But she has promised gifts that never come and that is unfair to do to a child.

My daughter waits for gifts that appear to be not coming and I know deep in her heart she grieves. When she asks me if I still write her birthmother, I tell her I do. I try not to inject to many ideas into the discussion. I let her talk and cry if she needs to do, I am there for her - present in this moment and strong enough to hear her words. I tell her how wonderful she is and about all the other people in her life who love her. I remind her that her firstmother loved her too. And that no, it isn’t fair. And yes, she is loved very much.